she's the giggle at a funeral
when she ascends the mountains, she feels like an angel ascending heaven. she feels both broken and alive, for heaven is for the faithful, and in the same breath; a trick of the light. every breath she takes is exaltation. every feeling is euphoria. euryale laughs into the night and her song carries on the wilderness like unholy sacrilege. every song that leaves her becomes a snarl that ghosts her lips in ritualistic hymm. each heartbeat becomes a wolf, that thrashes in her veins. gathering in a sea of teeth and ardent, violent hunger that keeps on sinning. below her, the forest fades beneath the abyss. above, she can hear God's voice, and they are calling to her like a moon calls to her wolves, with siren-silver promise and so much ache.
when the evening whispers to her with those same promises, she feels her soul gasping in its mortal coil. is this what it feels like to be immortal? is the ache in the hollow of your chest, but a mere reminder of your beautiful awe and fragility? when the moon shines down with retribution, the horizon suddenly becomes too-sharp. too much like dark religion in a universe of indifference. the rays pour down upon her crown, shining like a halo against her elegant skull. beneath feral beams of light, they invite sin. they twist against flesh like ghosts twisting between parallel realities. when euryale steps into the gardens, she looks more like a haunting apparition. just as sin came to embrace adam and eve in the form of an alluring serpent, sin is here. alive, and in the body of a beautiful woman.
she is made of such sin and pleasure. she is made of tragedies and wicked desire. she is made of hunger and loss. the temptress that leans against the statue of oriens. the pale-haired succubus that lies by his altar in ardent worship and whispers to his stone-flesh like a lover might whisper for, more. by the bed of a god, she sprawls like the devil. by his temple steps, she undresses her soul. until the fabric of her flesh is filled with the faith and virtue of him. she, with eyes of blood-red and a heart made of more iron, than love. the flourish of curls and impossibly slender limbs. her too-long, disheveled hair that spills across her skin like an endless ruin of lavender. when their curls descend her shoulderblades, they flutter like waterfalls, like new beginnings. her visage were adorned in apathetic worship. her every facial curve, laced in the memory of gluttonous want. even the curl of her lips, so cold and perfect, betrays the beauty of her face.
they all scream with a strange kind of emptiness. they all cry out with an ancient, otherworldly pain she shares to no one, neither man nor woman nor god. euryale feels so dead and vacant, but her eyes burn crimson, and her soul whispers to thana, let me suffer. undo me. make me. become my new religion.
the witch's face is stark against the moon's silver blight. the lunar kiss highlights her profile, a wretched, blazing thing, and it is hard to say who is brighter, who is holier, who is hotter. the moon, or the siren-promise that is euryale. "have you come to pray," the syllables drip from her lips like poisoned affliction. her voice is too soft, too sensual. it barely leaves her lips, when it sounds more like her soul, that reaches for thana's in the darkness. her song could have been mistaken for the night's breeze, or the coo of a goddess who straddles a throne of bones. euryale steps gracefully from behind a marbled pilllar. with her, burns a black candle. with her, drags a veil of shimmery, translucent blue. they curl around her like serpents of eden. they spill across the earth like spoiled milk, gathering by the unicorn's feet in teeming, unruly ribbons. this unicorn who prowls like a lioness. who feels neither too violent, nor too gentle.
and like a wolf knows the secrets of the forest, euryale knows she is gazing into the deep-welcoming embrace of death. but she is unafraid, not of the feral unicorn, nor her mighty beast that stalks the shadows. she welcomes the darkness that is thana, with a silk-whisper and sultry breath. "or be prayed to?"
@Thana
is when i'm alone with you
