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09-03-2013, 08:49 PM
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A coat silver as clouded moonlight with ribbons of shadow black dark upon his slender legs, a glistening grullo stallion, with a full mane and a tail of the sooty lion, lithe of build, cloven-hoofed and graceful, a horn of obsidian diamond twining from his brow. A philosopher and muser, a poet and writer, eloquent and silver-lipped but honest as can be, drowning under the world's weight. Pushed from a past violent and full of misgivings, washed up on the shores of a distant world, soaked and smelling of salt, wishing the rain could wash away the sins lying heavy in his lonely heart. ♀ Isildur ♂ Hóparyon |
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The summer rain is warm upon my skin, and it recalls to me places far away, of leaves sinking under the weight of pooling liquid gleaming in shafts of golden sunlight slipping through the trees, illuminating the darkness in auburn gold, till the forest blazes, the dew on fire from the shine of the distant sun, a flaming cathedral, a hall scorched to the ground. We are blasphemous, sacrilegious shadows undeserving of our lord's praise, skulking profane beasts. The rain keeps falling down, washing away the hot flames, but it cannot repair the damage down. Careless words brought us to our knees, bowed our brows, and still we are lost and alone. I am alone. The sun shines through the trees, glistening in the smoke pillars of our once-glorious threshold, ashes soaked beneath our cloven hooves. My eyes are wet. I begin to run. Thin, weak, unprepared for the needles beneath my delicate feet. They scatter, leaves blown by an autumn wind. Run. |
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When he first set eyes upon Lôminzil, the blossoming night flower, his breath was stolen from his lungs and cold water poured over him, the rain at last falling from the divine heavens above, their cascade drowning out the sounds of her sweet lips moving. She was exquisite, brimming with life that shone from beneath her coat of silver, her eyes a rich vermilion, with a horn of sleek silver standing tall and proud upon her elegant head. Lôminzil was the light of the moon poured and captured into the body of a doe, with a tail long and feathered curling to rest at her cloven feet, her nose dark and glistening wet. He fell in love with the unicorn of deer, and caught in her beauty, enraptured by her grace, he held her close and whispered his gentle words to her ears. Yet the harlot was not crossed by the stars as he was, and fled, a silver thread vanishing in the deep velvet weaving of night. |
