Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
some say the moon is indifferent to your suffering. some say, the moon is too reclusive, too cold, to find comfort in. perhaps, it's only between those secret hours between deep sleep and not-waking. when streets are empty. when hearts are broken. when the oceans purr a steady hum of recognition, yet still, it's the loneliness that is promised back to you with every darkly, ushering wave. with every retreating dream, that leaves you by daybreak, wondering, who are you.
the moon knows you in ways like this. touching, but not touching. feeling, but not feeling. loving, but not loving. how can you kiss the moon, when she is so buried in darkness and in stars? she comforts you with her silence. in the deep of night, her white burn, is far hotter than any sun. yet still, she lets you gaze. still, she lets your eyes wander over her with intimacy, with hunger. so that you may find peace within her cold embrace. she gives you light, where god has abandoned you. she tells you that you are made of darkness, and the stars and the oceans and the mountains and forests, too; they all whisper in helpless affirmation, she does love me - the moon.
euryale is wildfire in a tempest sea of blue. her misty ribbons hold her close, as the night draws its arms around her like a lover. when she descends the palace stairs, she burns hot, cruel. and like a wicked hurricane, so gracefully does she take the whole night with her in a wicked storm of irresistible violence. her hair flutters in the wind. her curves shimmer with heat. the stars stir with passion for the way silver comets dust her blood-red bodice and dips it in celestial ink. tonight, her blood skin looks almost silver. tonight, she is not flesh and bone, nor sin and hunger and blood-stained sheets; but smooth porcelain, iron. arrow. sword. and when she feels this way, when she feels like winter. she is almost never in the cities of delumine. she does not care to be with them, who linger behind warm homes and hold their families, close. she does not want walls, nor mortals and kings and gods to offer her false revelations. somethings are too wild to love. some lovers, too beautiful to be kept in a cage. euryale is not made for love.
"sometimes, i dream of kingdoms. but instead of brick, i would have bones. instead of walls, i would have forests. instead of a fireplace, and school and church, i would have fur and blood and sacrifice keep me warm. i would sleep beneath the stars and become their religion," she sneers into the woods. her breath, spilling as pale as her curls. into the wild darkness, she knows he is watching. somewhere in this darkness, she knows the devil is there. she turns her face towards the shadows, to where he might linger, and without smiling, "do you like adventure?" she gestures to the forests, to the purring wickedness that stirs like slim hunger between the trees. she can hear death whispering, whispering. and she wants to run, to hunt. to enter places where mortals dare not enter.
@Erasmus @Official Dawn Account
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
