An End
The third path does not rot and burn like the two before it. This part of the maze refuses to be anything but grace and beauty. And so it's more flowers the great the mare who choose this way instead of decay. More and more yellow flowers bloom and the pollen of them dusts each petal in a fine sheen of pink dust.
The mare blooms with her path. Soon it's not skin over her bones but petals and stems. Bits of white-bone and organ shine though the garden of her skin, lovely in a macabre sort of way. There is no gore, for it's pollen rushing through her veins like glitter instead of blood. She looks like truth, beauty split open to show the inside of it.
Each step she take towards the mare brings her flowers with her. The pull like wallpaper from the hedges and rush like a river back into her skin. With one last blink her eyes too are nothing but roses blooming from her skull. Each of her teeth, when she starts to speak, is a flower. Each word pulverizes them between her lips (that are strangle still flesh instead of foliage). “Beauty is always cruel.”
And when her body is nothing but flowers and her hooves mounds of soft soil her body collapses into a meadow of wild-flowers.
Ahead there is nothing but empty hedges, dull and plain with no paths to reveal.
@Sloane
Note: This path ended, but I've sent 50 signos to each participant. A reply to this before 12/28 will also earn another 50.
The mare blooms with her path. Soon it's not skin over her bones but petals and stems. Bits of white-bone and organ shine though the garden of her skin, lovely in a macabre sort of way. There is no gore, for it's pollen rushing through her veins like glitter instead of blood. She looks like truth, beauty split open to show the inside of it.
Each step she take towards the mare brings her flowers with her. The pull like wallpaper from the hedges and rush like a river back into her skin. With one last blink her eyes too are nothing but roses blooming from her skull. Each of her teeth, when she starts to speak, is a flower. Each word pulverizes them between her lips (that are strangle still flesh instead of foliage). “Beauty is always cruel.”
And when her body is nothing but flowers and her hooves mounds of soft soil her body collapses into a meadow of wild-flowers.
Ahead there is nothing but empty hedges, dull and plain with no paths to reveal.
@
Note: This path ended, but I've sent 50 signos to each participant. A reply to this before 12/28 will also earn another 50.
