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02-07-2016, 12:14 PM
Lena I'm buried and covered peaceful under millions of stars Intricate and defined, cordial and regal, they set out into the void with a song on their lips and a tune in their heart. There were no true intentions in their step, no pursuit worth chasing, only a gentle, dulcet clamor of stanzas, sonnets, and reverie – a clamor of calm and composure. Lion-hearted and blooming in the winter’s vestiges, they gathered rue and decadence, striking out against the eldritch incantations of another season, another time, and draped every inch of melancholy, every burst of haunting, poignant damnation into pockets of radiance. They bestowed art in rapture, in reverie, in defiance against darkening whims and sinful caprice, veiled in taffeta, in sacred, reverent silk, in satin expressions and gilded tresses, curling over land, foam, mountain valley and oeuvres to stand, stare, and pause in a minuet’s delight. Together, fox and Songbird, kitsune and swallow, they coiled amidst hollowed corridors and shackled lines, embraced sanctuaries and interludes, weathered storms and forgotten caresses, drinking in the warmth of the sun and the melodies rustled from memories. Tied by knots and laced by labyrinths, they became intangible figures guided by wind and spirit, by determination and sanguine shades, by the ebb and flow of mystical choreography, by the arch and surge of power, by the bright, startling dominions. With no rhyme, no reason, for their strides and cadence, the world was theirs for the taking – sparkling and sizzling, cold and chilling, slumbering and effervescent, cajoling past frozen streams and resolute drifts, basking in the delight of dawn, in the rolling abyss of absolute nothingness. No weight on their shoulders, no tainted cords strangling their movements; all motion was ethereal and unearthly, melting into air, into finite granules of harmonies and symphonies, lavished in the cordial spring of another day, another hour, blessed and beneficent. Drawn, enticed, and allured by the beguiling art of seasons before, their eyes latched onto the kaleidoscope canvas, the dazzling array of bright, unfettered hues shirking over worn, archaic marble. Lena breathed in the lush, distant quiet, the serene, tranquil plumes, watching her breath curl and puff beneath the rotunda’s smooth edges and ancient beauty. She laughed, once or twice, to listen to the resounding echo, the bounce and twirl of life stirred amidst hushed snowflakes and muffled sounds, to remember the way she’d once delighted in a world, to recall, to recollect, what it was like to feel alive, untouched, untamed, not taken and disheveled by cruelty, villainy, and injustice. Imogen provided the same, chirping and delving into merriment, into silliness, until both were united in song, in gentle, lilting tunes, and the winter birds resounded from their perches, and the chimes were hallowed, holy, virtuous and right. |
@Tiamat
