her heart aches like violence beneath her skin. her heart aches like a wolf that pines for the soft embrace of a full moon. she wants to feel the moonlight across her flesh. she wants to drown in that silver embrace, full of awe and horror and sweet, sweet wonder. she wants to run away from them all. run far, far away until there is nothing left but the heavy sigh of stars upon her lips and their infinite galaxies, descending her curves as the estranged darkness might. there is a bruise in her heart, that swells like the rotten sugar of spoiled pomegranate seeds. she has tasted these pomegranate seeds. she has tasted cruelty, despair and loneliness; and the cruelty of this world, has made her anxious, bittersweet and so very, very hungry. she is the sweetness of roses, turned silky black by a lack of motherly tenderness. o, but could she be death, too? could she make others suffer, just as she had suffered? would it feel good?
it's the darkness that embraces her now. the darkness whispers into her ear. the darkness bleeds around her like the arms of a doting mother. the darkness cradles her soul and holds her. she is Persephone and these walls were her hell. she is a child that is meant for happiness and springtime, and yet all she has ever done was taste the coagulating embrace of shadows. they took my life. they imprisoned my heart. they killed my soul. she inwardly cries out, yet her lips cannot form the painful words. she wants to weep upon his shoulder and yield beneath the chill of his unfathomably, cold eyes. she wants to grab his wrist and drag him into the darkest corners of the underworld, where she may whisper of her heartache and share with him her fears. she wants to tell him of the unrelenting loneliness that devours her from within. would he follow her into that black abyss of grief? would he yield to her girlish whim? would he cry for the murder of her innocence? would he open as a rose might open, surrendering to the first stirrings of dawn across her flesh - or would his breath, his touch, his arms, his embrace; would they all feel as empty as the caress of his dead, dead eyes? she wants to bathe in the stars of their surrender. she wants to breathe into that temple of need. she wants to fill his bones with blackness and ice.
o how she wants to wrap herself against his arms, press her lips to his cheek and whisper into his ear, that she is made for darkness, too.
she hides her pain behind walls of childish indifference. she hides her fear behind barriers of stoicism and icy despair. she hides the ache that burns in her chest, hoping her wounds would go away by mere breath alone. she hides that urge to collapse into his arms. to tangle her fingers into his boyish hair and hold him close as a mother might. fore deep down, she is wounded and lost and so very afraid, too. she is hungry, and for all her broken innocence, she feels as though she is trapped, suspended in time; forever churning in the storm, that was her malevolent little heart. her innocence is dark and tainted in the blackness of death. even her lips, for all their child-like tenderness and beauty, is smudged in the grey shadows of hunger and despair. did he find her beautiful like the moon? did he find her soft and miserable? did he want to save her? even now she aches the way a child aches for an embrace. yet her heart is too frozen to reach out and call for help. her soul, as cold as the ice that burns in her veins. we could be free. her heart whispers out to him. we could be free if only you'd let me in. her lips want to say.
in that moment between the silence and the tenderness, a tenderness that folds around them like the wings of an angel, she desperately searches his eyes. she wonders what it's like to see through those cold, silver eyes made of death. her lips tremble to form words, but none shall fall from her lips. her lips curls upward into a delicate sneer that is half-miserable and half-childlike and yet so full of beauty and wonder. her gaze cries out to him like the silent screams of a butterfly. her eyes were too-piercing; an ice-hot shade of the most violent, most pale and perfect blue. her eyes seems to tear at his flesh for the piercing way she looks at him. but it's his voice that cuts into her skin like a blade. it's the sharpness of his tone that wraps for heart like the violent thorns of a rose. was he here to control her? was he here to save her? did he truly not understand how important it was for her to dream? in her dead reality, dreaming was all she had. she did not want this. no, no, no.
"I've seen nightmares, too." she breathes the painful confession upon his skin. her gaze drops to the apple-red bruises that ravages her delicate body. even the closeness of him, makes her ice pulsate, violently. her whispers were soft, laced in elven tenderness; yet there burned a hunger in her ethereal gaze - malicious, stormy, like the ice that crawls hot and frigid through her bones. she whispers into the darkness seething between them, and some part of her heart dies with him, too. it's the pain of an animal that grips her chest and tears, clawing with raw nails into her soul. she wants nothing more than to stay out here among the shadows, with nothing but the silk moon and the stars and the galaxies draped across her curves. in the night, it's all the silent things and obscure animals that pine for her. in the night she is alive and free and whole. she is a child of the moon, and he cannot take her away from its darkness. he cannot take her away from her dreams. her underworld.
"I have no home to go to," another whisper breathes past her lips. she presses against him then, a push of defiance, of threat, of dare. "you can't make me." her kiss of ice swathes like unholy prayers along his skin. her kiss of ice wants to consume. even her eyes seem to want to eat through his skull for the hot, burning look she gives. there is a subtle violence to her tender touch, as if she is made of more than just girlish bones and a delicate, frail skeleton. she wants to be more than just a broken doll that others pity and sigh and weep for. she does not smile for him once. she only stares, allowing the ice beneath her skin to pulse and smoulder like sinister butterflies. the ice throbs with wicked hunger, churning both promise and threat. her black curls tangles violently along her nape, swirling with the soft, icy malice of December's kiss. her gaze was a barren wilderness. her gaze was a eulogy for all the violence and sadness and grief that sang within its frigid-blue. how dare he. "i refuse." how dare you.
it's the darkness that embraces her now. the darkness whispers into her ear. the darkness bleeds around her like the arms of a doting mother. the darkness cradles her soul and holds her. she is Persephone and these walls were her hell. she is a child that is meant for happiness and springtime, and yet all she has ever done was taste the coagulating embrace of shadows. they took my life. they imprisoned my heart. they killed my soul. she inwardly cries out, yet her lips cannot form the painful words. she wants to weep upon his shoulder and yield beneath the chill of his unfathomably, cold eyes. she wants to grab his wrist and drag him into the darkest corners of the underworld, where she may whisper of her heartache and share with him her fears. she wants to tell him of the unrelenting loneliness that devours her from within. would he follow her into that black abyss of grief? would he yield to her girlish whim? would he cry for the murder of her innocence? would he open as a rose might open, surrendering to the first stirrings of dawn across her flesh - or would his breath, his touch, his arms, his embrace; would they all feel as empty as the caress of his dead, dead eyes? she wants to bathe in the stars of their surrender. she wants to breathe into that temple of need. she wants to fill his bones with blackness and ice.
o how she wants to wrap herself against his arms, press her lips to his cheek and whisper into his ear, that she is made for darkness, too.
she hides her pain behind walls of childish indifference. she hides her fear behind barriers of stoicism and icy despair. she hides the ache that burns in her chest, hoping her wounds would go away by mere breath alone. she hides that urge to collapse into his arms. to tangle her fingers into his boyish hair and hold him close as a mother might. fore deep down, she is wounded and lost and so very afraid, too. she is hungry, and for all her broken innocence, she feels as though she is trapped, suspended in time; forever churning in the storm, that was her malevolent little heart. her innocence is dark and tainted in the blackness of death. even her lips, for all their child-like tenderness and beauty, is smudged in the grey shadows of hunger and despair. did he find her beautiful like the moon? did he find her soft and miserable? did he want to save her? even now she aches the way a child aches for an embrace. yet her heart is too frozen to reach out and call for help. her soul, as cold as the ice that burns in her veins. we could be free. her heart whispers out to him. we could be free if only you'd let me in. her lips want to say.
in that moment between the silence and the tenderness, a tenderness that folds around them like the wings of an angel, she desperately searches his eyes. she wonders what it's like to see through those cold, silver eyes made of death. her lips tremble to form words, but none shall fall from her lips. her lips curls upward into a delicate sneer that is half-miserable and half-childlike and yet so full of beauty and wonder. her gaze cries out to him like the silent screams of a butterfly. her eyes were too-piercing; an ice-hot shade of the most violent, most pale and perfect blue. her eyes seems to tear at his flesh for the piercing way she looks at him. but it's his voice that cuts into her skin like a blade. it's the sharpness of his tone that wraps for heart like the violent thorns of a rose. was he here to control her? was he here to save her? did he truly not understand how important it was for her to dream? in her dead reality, dreaming was all she had. she did not want this. no, no, no.
"I've seen nightmares, too." she breathes the painful confession upon his skin. her gaze drops to the apple-red bruises that ravages her delicate body. even the closeness of him, makes her ice pulsate, violently. her whispers were soft, laced in elven tenderness; yet there burned a hunger in her ethereal gaze - malicious, stormy, like the ice that crawls hot and frigid through her bones. she whispers into the darkness seething between them, and some part of her heart dies with him, too. it's the pain of an animal that grips her chest and tears, clawing with raw nails into her soul. she wants nothing more than to stay out here among the shadows, with nothing but the silk moon and the stars and the galaxies draped across her curves. in the night, it's all the silent things and obscure animals that pine for her. in the night she is alive and free and whole. she is a child of the moon, and he cannot take her away from its darkness. he cannot take her away from her dreams. her underworld.
"I have no home to go to," another whisper breathes past her lips. she presses against him then, a push of defiance, of threat, of dare. "you can't make me." her kiss of ice swathes like unholy prayers along his skin. her kiss of ice wants to consume. even her eyes seem to want to eat through his skull for the hot, burning look she gives. there is a subtle violence to her tender touch, as if she is made of more than just girlish bones and a delicate, frail skeleton. she wants to be more than just a broken doll that others pity and sigh and weep for. she does not smile for him once. she only stares, allowing the ice beneath her skin to pulse and smoulder like sinister butterflies. the ice throbs with wicked hunger, churning both promise and threat. her black curls tangles violently along her nape, swirling with the soft, icy malice of December's kiss. her gaze was a barren wilderness. her gaze was a eulogy for all the violence and sadness and grief that sang within its frigid-blue. how dare he. "i refuse." how dare you.
@Abel
