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 She stood amongst the threshold of wilderness and sanctity, breathing in the humid air, pondering how long the serenity and tranquility would last. The Songbird and her kitsune had been there too many times before, bearing witness to a segment, a sliver, of compassion, and watching it be pummeled, twisted, punctured and lacerated until it resembled only havoc, misery, and entropy. Wars, cataclysms, a spiraling, noxious blend of monsters and cretins and fiends, dancing to the tune, to the labor, to the sway of nefarious, sinister, carnivore amore arts: no battle hymns of the republic, but mere sanctions of violence and villainy. She had no will to bear that flag today, no inkling to observe more suffering, more afflictions, under the banner of divinity and celestial beings. Her eyes flickered over the waiting tides and the pooling waters, the gathering of the rising din, glancing along the outline of her brethren sauntering into enigmas, into mysteries, all the forms and frames contorting to bask in the glow of the sun or battle the ensuing storm, the lavished tempest. Her heart pounded, and she relented with a ghostly essence; slow, methodical, an otherworldly grace fostered by fairies and strummed by pixies, maneuvering into shallow depths and carrying the gracious Imogen upon her back, listening to the birds warble and the conversations scatter across the main land – another one of the throng, swept away only by curiosity and the growing sensation of doom. Apprehension clouded her features, no smiles brimming across her lips, no grin lacquered to her mouth, and she gave only the offering of reverence to the gentle deity and his growing covenant, paying oath and privilege to be amongst the overflowing whims and capricious efforts. Lena</style> |
