Isra and the dark tale
“no land left but the desert, and still the fuming ocean ate and ate”
“no land left but the desert, and still the fuming ocean ate and ate”
W
ithin her garden of blooming, metal death she watches him like a hawk watches a small rabbit who thinks itself larger than the mice living in the tall grass with it. When he reaches for her field of clever weapons she wants to turn each flower into an arrow rising straight and true from the ground. She wonders if he can taste the rusted pollen on his lips or if he can feel the tetanus ache running through his nose (searching, searching, searching for blood). Her magic begs her to find out but she swallows it down like water swallowing wildfire. There is ash and soot running through her now.
“I'm glad you like them.” The primordial ocean is speaking through her now, leaking brine from every pore of her. The sun is pulling the salt from her and she wonders if she could water her small garden of death with it (what could her sweat become if not deadly?). Part of her wants to tell him that she could sow a field of metal and rust in his court.
Would he think them perfect then?
Isra does not think to be afraid of all the things in running through her like wolves running through a blizzard. She does not think to wonder that she is more dangerous than this monument of a stallion with gold-tipped horns. There are no thoughts running through her but freedom and vengeance. He is a black shadow sanding between her and all those thoughts.
The wind and sand cut themselves on her petals and she moves closer through that field of weapons. Each place she steps turns back to sand cut through with pearls. Beauty blooms at her feet and death further than that. “Magic.” She answers him and her voice carries with it the promise of a story.
Before she was a unicorn, before she was a body in the sea, before she was a queen, Isra was a wielder of words. And now she waves the sound her voice between them like a white flag hiding the sharp point of a blade. There is a promise in her eyes, deep as the ocean, that there is more magic, more wonder, more everything waiting to escape this cage of flesh.
“Would you like to see more?” This she says like a story-teller brushing death across a child's brow and calling it an adventure.
@El Rey | "speaks" | notes: <3
