the Rift


[OPEN] True Hope is Swift and flies with swallow's wings

Lena the Songbird Posts: 663
Aurora Basin Time Mender atk: 4 | def: 10.5 | dam: 6.5
Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 :: 6 HP: 69 | Buff: NOVICE
Imogen :: Common Kitsune :: Fire Heather
#1
L E N A
Virtue is bold
And goodness never fearful


Orangemoon’s resurgence beckoned her like an idle trance, tracing and sketching the outline of her movements, enticing, alluring, beguiling, ensnaring, the touch, the caress, of autumn’s cool, daunting embrace. Dawn’s intertwining fingers tucked and stroked against the intricate, lithe contortions, played out over the venue and vestige of sienna, honeyed hide, keen and lissome, twirling and contemplating the edges, the fringes, the brim of her own anarchy and presaged lacings. Cajoled, she floated along the rime, into the crisp air, into the ethereal chords, harmony and mellifluous alms persisting, persevering, in the wavering calm. Bliss and finesse, refinement and elegance, enigmas and quandaries, an anomaly amongst the boundaries of meticulous, diligent upheaval, rising and falling with the shifting hands and weight of domination, dominion and sedition; surviving, valorous and unearthly, otherworldly and Delphic. Striving, reaching, eager and content for a race in the substantial winds, sculpting and unwinding on the curls of satin or the coils of Siberia, ignoring the caustic, callous burns or the forlorn, idle avarice of the summits peeking and coveting the horizon. A swan on the plains of frost, a butterfly drenched and soaked in ardor, in passion, in zeal and fervor, a pixie, a fairy, a fey, unwinding her sprite dust upon the lands she cherished, loved, adored and strove to uphold. Piano tunes and concertos, a humming, hymned opus and oeuvre of haunting masterpieces and symphonies, she strolled with reverie in her mind and elegiac dirges clattering in her heart, a press, a requiem, a lament not managing to pierce through her waltz. Chasing ghosts of the past, fled companions, fleeting ministrations, discarded, absconded shards of remaining souls, silent, wilting pleads made by taut strings, sharp, stark, narrowed and distorting, until she hoped she saw them streak across the skies, remembered and rekindled, for all the things they’d lost, for all the things set to oblivion. A composition of the strayed, she continued and scorched, seared and simmered, quelled and assuaged, gliding, twirling, pirouetting the eternal dance of pleading circumstances, striving to forgive herself, to find and search for the misplaced whims and the righteous morals, the virtues and paragons, the layers and lacquers she’d cherished and blossomed beneath the glorious sun and the brilliant moon. Imogen followed, an ivory moth to the ambrosia flame, and together they wilted, withered, decayed, festered, then became reborn, icy phoenixes and guardian sylphs, softened, dulcet petals – and they wondered, pondered, how many more times they’d have to be resurrected. Quiet arias, hushed ditties, inaudible strains, echoed and pulsed into the void, and sought to chase another from their hiding place.

@[Roux]




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