This keening soul;
Something is perishing by the water’s edge. She hears the way it frantically cuts the surface. The water ripples, alive, thrumming with frantic energy. The river turns choppy, it ripples out and out turning from a wave into a mere whisper as it laps upon Leto’s lips and throws itself ashore with a splash.
Droplets of fresh water drip from her eyelashes. They fall before eyes that watch the man, unwavering. He runs, hunted. He falls like a gazelle already pulled down by the lion of his troubles. He thrashes and the river is more than water, it is unrelenting canines that hold him fast, pulling his life from within.
Paint bleeds from her skin, wet by the river she stands submerged within. The colours float out across the water, curling like a masterpiece, polluting the water with religion. The victim is gasping, a silent cry that never finds voice. Leto studies the shape of his open mouth and wonders what words those lips, that tongue shaped.
Slowly, she floats nearer. Ever watching. The river shallows and she rises from it, black as his thoughts, black as the mare that mocks him and makes him want to scream. Still his maw is open. Water splashes about his knees, her knees. He is the monster ailing. She is the monster thriving.
“The water is shallow.” Leto says, galaxies spinning endlessly in the silver of her gaze. She holds him in stars and above them the stars laugh, their breath dust. “You shall have to move closer if you wish to drown yourself.” The words are soft as a lullaby. “Do you wish for help?” To live? To die? The girl purrs, leonine.
@'El Rey' | "speaks" | notes:
