[P] unbraiding the sun

[Sabine]

for those who dream of stranger worlds,  S A B I N E ♥ To hunt is to dance.  Moving bone married to the bright opaline glint of a predatory smile.  The heaviest heart set against the lightest breath; bated, metal, rooted right into the earth upon which it crept. The hunter is an author eager to draft great tomes using but the blood of its prey.  These words licked the inside of her brain like ravenous hounds, as though they had grown wants and needs of their own; urging her to follow their instruction with an urgency that could not be contained. They brought her placid pace inward, silencing the sound of her weight as narrow hooves pressed into the brittle soil underfoot until she came to a square halt. Memories scrawled their way across her vision, blinding her with their remarkable tangibility - Sabine wondered whether they would curl neatly into her palm should she extend one pale freckled hand? She knew they would not linger long, for nothing in her life ever did. It occurred to her, nevertheless, it to be strange that these very words belonged not to Raum ( Raum, who lurked like a fever-dream in the pitch of her peripheral vision ) but to her mother.  Sabine knew the sight of Rhoswen's lips moving over and over again, reciting the lines as though she were following an ancient script etched into her very flesh. Rhoswen's veins were caskets and her blood carried the corpse of a life she had once believed in. The last time Sabi saw her mother, she knew - like the moon knew the night - that such a belief was surely dead. Sabine had never known how to interpret these phrases; she had always wondered to what they might reference. Were they a gift? An instruction?  But now, as she stared out over the mouth of the desert, she knew.  They had been a warning.  It was as though time had walked right out of the door. Daylight bled into darkness, only to arise once more upon the dawn. Birds fell and fledglings flew. Leaves shrank into floridity before peeling into skeletal annihilation. What did the laws of nature matter to a girl whose father was the hunter in her mother's song? What did they call him now? (Lucifer, Abaddon, Apollyon) She wanted to scream but her lungs harboured blood and ash and grief in the place of air. They trembled and splintered, desperate to keep the anguish within from swallowing the little girl whole.

art created by chrystalunicorn | table by kezz