There is love in your body but you can't hold it in,
It pours from your eyes and spills from your skin,
Tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks,
And the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

The water washed away the hissing bloom of her ire, disappointment and agony. The ruffian slide of a droplet crossed over her features and promised, blessed, while the fervent rain kissed away the gloom of sin, tore away the hidden terror that flooded through her shuddering, shivering body. Even when the filly was alone, she still had the peaceful tapestry of the ether to guide her – lion hearted in the breadth of remorseless blood, turned to gold in the sunlight. A flicker, a twirl, a pirouette blessed from her warm, hushed countenance, the quiet spirals of her movements merely muffled by the swarthy, soothing waves; the ebb and flow twisting to a mystical choreography, whimsical, veiled in opulent taffeta. Sanguine shades, visceral incantations of enigmatic contortions, beautiful and labyrinthine, mellifluous and lilting in their breathy, divine hymns. One slender motion, one bright, startling oeuvre, taunted the haunting bellows of unholy dominion and decadent melancholy, radiantly fixating in the lush, poignant aperture. Grace, finesse, poise, conjured and cajoled amongst the slumbering tides, untouchable, intangible, unattainable, reaching for the dulcet reveries, melting into air, a whispering captive to the dunes, the earth, the water. Lavished in the cordial, sweeping steps of hallowed corridors, the open, endless eternity of horizon, sun and stars, delicate fixtures advanced into the breaking waves, felt the surge of power against strong columns and billowed in the arching, rippling tunes, the essence of elegance murmured into lucid, spectral entities. The silken wraith, the ghostly softness of a silken canvas, flowed into the current, satin incandescence and majestic light. A paintbrush’s malleable, pliant, mold, brushing strokes of warmth, her lissome candor polished by a tender visage, broken and reshaped by fragments of supple regality, noble rapture re-sculpted by her own beatific ministrations, beliefs, and yearnings. This was her sacred, revered dynasty, spilling from skin and sinew into the earnest, resolute drifts, the raw tenor of her enigmatic rapture.

The shore beckoned her with a mellifluous cadence, singsong, bright laughter, and as she sprang, limbs lofting, potency in the darkened treads of serenading elements, another voice – not of gulls, not of waves, echoes over her ears. She ceased all movement for a moment, silent, still, surprised, a pause in the minuet, an interlude in the lonesome bolero, a respite in the recital. Dipping her head towards the salty brine, the strong breeze caressing her coiled tassels, her benevolent gaze landed upon a sinuous form, a rightful, serpentine caress, a snake in the water. Yet, she does not exude the calamitous fortitude of her companions, this supposedly feral, bestial, bedlamic monster of tricks and wiles, deceit and guile, polishing a grin along her fanged teeth and forked tongue, cheery vocals spilling across the sea. Lena cannot help but be slightly baffled; stare widened, heart racing, but endeared her blessings upon the blessed creature, matching a smile across pliant, wholesome lips. "Oh! Why thank you!” She laughed slightly, a caught bubble in her throat, of relief and cordiality. She leaned closer to the beast now, lowering her cranium as the water tickles at her countenance, stirring an amiable refrain. "Would you like to join me?”

But before the invitation can be accepted, another’s approach entangled the threshold, a familiar, benevolent presence. As her affable stare turned to glance at the newcomer, she recognized the patchwork of vines, the willowy conjectures and blossoms dappling her vivid hide, the illumination of a quiet, harbored bravery. Poppy. She had enjoyed the other femme’s presence, intertwined and mingling in the threshold, but had ultimately not followed her – what fate now, to have her here and be able enjoy her company once more. Lena, contented by this prosperous day, of dancing, new and old companions, had barely heard the plea of her beloved friend, rippling like a weakened appeal across the silken wind and briny contents – but, the circumstances alarmed her, caused her breath to hitch. Why did Poppy appear so terrified, horror-struck as the waves crashed and toiled, as if she were sinking into the sands, as if she were distressed by the unsung conditions? Swiveling her gaze to where the silvern one’s eyes locked, she noticed the fixation upon the serpent. Ah, she doesn’t realize! A soothing melody conjured along her mouth, pulling, assuaging, subduing and lulling the anxiety entangled within the equine’s body. "All is well, Poppy. No one is hurt or going to be hurt.” A reassuring nod followed thereafter and a distracting tone to further appease, longing for serenity, tranquility, bliss again. "How are you?”