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09-17-2012, 05:56 PM
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L E N A
look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it
Gone were the delightful days, the whims and hymns of jovial times sullied, vacant, and listless, against the heavy, suffocating drums of war. No longer could she traverse in her simple, transient reverie, where a smile healed old wounds and words soothed aching barbs – an invasion was not recoiled by the beam of a grin of the smart candor of a wise nymph. In truth, she wasn’t entirely sure how to react. With fear, flush against her veins, throbbing in her heart, boiling and fuming until she was entirely consumed with an old ailment? With hope, a sinuous, enlightened thread woven through her mind, that everything would settle, be just, be right? Or with valor, humming a triumphant tune that lilted in her chest until she was truly divine, truly ethereal, truly an entity that contained power, perseverance, spirit and audacity? Of the three, she chose the last, despite what segments of the former fluttered within her tender mind, within the once fanciful essences. She carried herself with the bravado and pluck of her brethren, strong, enduring, crown high, and sword bared, world clashing and unraveling from her warm eyes. She stole glances at the many gathered, so many recognized, so many unknown, and the intruders themselves, all hues and species, tarnished, gilded, an overwhelming sight of acrimony and violence, eager to shed blood for their chosen one. She can hear the words of distaste, the raw, enamoring phrases of clipped, blunt, arduous souls that crisscross over material lands and deities, that act as they think just, all misaligned partisans. But it’s the meshing of letters and frames that Kri, the Throat leader Lena remembered and recalled from retrieving her King’s daughter, that inspired a slight irking, a vexation, a proud echo of words crossing over her lips before she can cease their motions. Soft, sweet, but entirely riddled with the nuance of specious, piercing, sharpness. Perhaps the threat of war even invoked the guileful, sly sentiments of a gentle creature. "It seems your words don't bear much weight."  |
