they say you are a virtue
are you mostly wasted or more precious?
are you mostly wasted or more precious?
O
il dances against a tree, silver star-scales shimmer seductively atop it, and the girl with galaxy eyes stands before Vespera's Priestess as something beautiful and something strange. Breathtaking. It is the only way that Juniper knows to describe Leto in her waves or darkness and light. Something about her is sacred.
Something about her is holy.
Something about her is strange and the goddess-girl wishes to know more.
Green, green, envious green eyes sweep over her from head to toe, flicking like fire upon each flame, each nuance of her body, and oh! how Juniper is starving for skin against skin that is not a part of the bustling streets. People jostle about Terrastella without really realizing whom they press into, whom they walk away from, whom they touch without any affection. It is a terrible feeling, a terrible thing, to so easily overcrowd and brush away the heart of a person without ever having tried to touch it (to taste it).
Golden antlers tip sideways, following the curious tilt to her crown, and what a piquant picture the girl paints among the swamp trees and grasses, with pale flowers and brush blooming at her feet, staring into the heart of a girl. Hunger echoes hunger, and they are for such wickedly different delights, but they call and answer in an endless song.
Like a siren, like the sky, Juniper cannot turn away, not yet. This body of water that shimmers behind Leto does not draw up a bucket from some well of fear that is still so young, so untapped. Only the sea and its endless surface, its endless depth, its endless unknowns can make her heart plummet. Now, Juniper is a bird, she is free.
"I can think of other things, or," a pause, "you could tell me of something, too," she murmurs as a falling star, as a the whisper of a cloud brushing against dark skin, and slowly steps from behind the tree. It is not the slowness of someone fearful and drowning, but the calculated grace of a girl who knows the beauty of the body, the way moonlight slips on pale skin, lights on dark eyes, dances on golden horns. Of a girl who practices seduction in the very way she breathes, knows pleasure just from the flutter of dark lashes. It is a dance centuries old, it is a welcoming, it is the start of a new adventure - and she breathes it in as the world breathes in the cosmos. Slowly, softly, anticipation a beast gnawing at her belly.
@Leto | "speaks" | notes: years later, we're back !
