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04-12-2014, 08:26 PM
Could she ever be anything more than a desolate north wind, doomed to scavenge the earth for some pinprick of purpose, another reason to cling onto this damned place? Cloven hooves trailed through springtime mire, pulled onward almost unwillingly, as if burdened by some great weight. Spring bloomed gloriously around her sleek, sterling form, sprawling across meadows and through forests like some great green purge, sullying the death and destruction and darkness from the landscape, leaving no vestige of its filth on the newborn leaves; but Huyana felt an unease settle onto her soul, a cancerous thing which grew more and more each day. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, in the marrow of her bones. Was she frivolous for for shirking her position? Was it disgraceful and irrational for abandoning such a respectful occupation for some gut instinct? She bowed her crown—no; it would have been more contemptible if she had remained in a post that she did not love, consulting a god she did not believe in; age did not mean complacency. Through a grove of pine she entered a breathtakingly beautiful glade—clean spring sunlight gleamed off colored glass supported by snow-white pillars. Curtains shifted gently in the breeze, and from behind the linen she espied a familiar form looming under that kaleidoscope sky. Restraining herself under a cool facade, she had to map each step to avoid running toward her statuesque lover. Almost like the marble icon of some forgotten god he seemed, a mirage glimmering beneath a tantalizing veil. Desire, a long forgotten sensation, was aroused in the pit of her stomach as she drifted over the pale steps, pervading between the white sheets. There he was, brooding image of death; shards of sapphire in place of eyes, body made of black marble, both soft and hard, rigid and fluid. As if in a dream, she strayed toward him, unable to express anything more than the basest instinct, the most carnal of reactions. She was not thinking rationally—but then again, Huyana had enough rational thinking for a lifetime. So, with nothing more than her lips dragged across his skin, that careworn nymph fell into the arms of her Hades. "" & it's peaceful in the deep, cathedral where you cannot breathe |
