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10-26-2014, 12:04 PM
Silence hung, gathered, tethered, and clasped hold of the wintry landscape. The sylph watched and waited, patient, regal, and composed, a nymph of the mist and ice, awaiting the finality of the decision, the altered state of their befuddling interactions. Where the rest of her herd may not have even agreed to meet with the flying King, she’d granted him an audience, reminded and remained stalwart, valorous, polite, and courteous, even when they hadn’t been bestowed the same accord – the results were quiet, listless, and languid, but a telling tale: for once, he’d been willing to listen. It was a step, a tread, towards some pinnacle beyond the icy, malicious measures of violence and abhorrence. Her eyes followed his to the ground, flowed, drawn, to the movements of gold and steel, tracking the motions until the Falls Lord revealed Mirabella’s destined trinket: an earth amulet, spun and webbed with silken threads and vibrant, gilded plumes, a resting nook of apologies, apprehensions, and trivial games they’d all played: an artifact of trials, tribulations, and attempts to sow over torn grains. The lithe femme noted its twirl, its innocence, its honeysuckle embraces, as if naught had ever happened, as if it was all just a murky misunderstanding, another shift into the world of paradigms and labyrinths. She followed suit, taking hold of the proffered token with her maw, dipping her head low towards beloved Imogen, who settled it around her neck, another mighty monolith of the snow. Soft arias, warm, bright, tender with compassion, with intrigue (would the girl accept it, or would the jewel be left to shatter, a moment destroyed by the bitter, rancorous notions of ignorance?), ripened and enriched amongst the Siberian threshold, noble head gesturing a nod. “Of course.” The pair turned to leave then, twisted through the archaic windfalls of frozen bliss and tempestuous earth, grinding amongst the gelid rime and past the bleak, lost caverns, measuring out the ways of her personality with a final smile, a beneficent grin. “Take care!” Then they vanished into the barren regime, lingering into the icicle void. her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
