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 Lena was a beguiled Songbird, an allured nightingale, a spellbound swallow, listening to the calls, the whirls, the aria incantations of the merry bells, of the serene hymns, of the tranquil canticles, blooming in vibrant, warm crescendos – she listened to the symphony of carols striking a wholesome, wondrous symphony, and joined underneath her breath. A mellifluous opus, a whispering accompaniment, a careful, quiet, serenade breathed and exalted through her lips, parted in sacrament, in harmony, hoping to entice peace, repose, amidst the ever-gathering throng. It was a appreciative change from the denizens of murder, from the vicious, virile swirls of loathing, of contempt, the never-ending mystery stealing lives and pinnacles, as if everyone took a moment to remember gifts, benefits, presents of life. They endured so much grief, so many deaths, friends and foes frozen in demise, resolute and determined, stalwart and steadfast, forever forgetting the things they fought for, the tranquil elements and essences that used to exist. Slowly, softly, a petal on the wind, a nymph exhumed from her springs and groves, and thrived on the growing din; smiled towards Kahlua (Mauja? - and if she crept close enough, could her song heal the spectacle of wounds mired across his frame?), nodded towards her brethren, forgot all the abysmal horrors and terrors stretching and unfurling, uncoiling and unwinding, behind the backdrop of goodwill. Then, she continued to sing, honeyed, dulcet, euphonious, delivering her convictions, her invocations, her enchantments on the wind and on the sea, on the leaves and the flames, a crisp, light delicacy, a beautiful note, to match the beatific riches and the carillon whims, hoping, perhaps, others would join in and recall the materials of equanimity. Lena</style> |
