you spend so many nights dreaming of spilling your blood to the moonlight. slipping out of your bones, and slithering into the soul of someone else
The world drifts into a wounded stillness. All around me, the wind is singing – a faint breeze of restless apathy. I watch dusk fall like a crown tilting down upon the brow of a midnight heaven. Everywhere is silence, and I enjoy this silence, this unnerving calm, as much as I enjoy the soft moonlight. It is still, like the whisper of death's kiss upon a pale, white hand; and its hunger roams like a lone wolf roams, bristling through aching moonlight and forest-shadow. Everywhere, the darkness drips like a drug. Everywhere, fragments of moonlight pool through the cracks of me, like rainwater escaping between a bone-white ribcage. I feel the night's cold, and lean into its embrace like a lover. I feel the soft breeze singing, and I feel alive; alive with the chill of nightime, coaxing my soul to wake from its eternal slumber.
Her world is a place full of darkness, of fairy-tales – of religion and celestial appetite. Her hunger, is one of dreams and ethereal beauty. When she dances beneath a thick, stream of moonlight, the gauzy moon-silver wraps for her curves like a flowing nightgown. The silver veil flutters by her side, riveting and rippling as a midnight spell. Smoothing, all around her with all that vibrant, light-filled hunger. Andromeda feels more angel than mortal. She feels more like sunlight, that doesn't belong in the shadows of a dead, decaying world. She does not feel like she belongs of this universe made of diamonds and stardust. Like a crescent moon, she feels incomplete – her heart, the secret notes of a mysterious song. She feels too new; an orphaned child, abandoned by the gods. She feels so helpless yet, so unafraid.
When she walks through her dreaming, desolation becomes her companion. When she walks through the valley of stars, her heart feels more empty than it does full. Her voice becomes silent, like swan-songs lost to the wind. Still, she moves on into the deep throes of night. Into the darkness, that caresses her delicate figure. She is but a young girl; soft and holy. A light-bearing torch, full of almost-laughter and echoes of laughter, begging like tears upon night's shadowy visage. Andromeda only laughs, quietly, as soft as the hush of wind; as whisper-thin as a wolf's howl. A silent whisper, a cold song. She is tethered to no place, no being. And yet with her she carries oceans of emotion. With her are the swell of seas.
When she moves, she moves slowly, dances sensually. Waking and wishing upon a night full of dreams. Her legs are slender, as her muscles purr and ripple beneath taut flesh. Behind her bodice, trails her eternal flames. An endless train of amber fire, as they glide like soft silk against her skin. Her tail is lupine, as it flutters behind her; beneath the soft notes of spring, Andromeda looks like a dragon for all the fire she brings. She moves like a swan over a grey lake. All fine-edges, and fragile poetry, feathered into soft, girlish brilliance. Andromeda is a girl of fire, of desire, of dreams. Beneath the shadowy ambience of night, she glows – impossibly celestial. A soft figure of porcelain slenderness made so gentle you'd fear to break her. But her eyes, o, how they scream of another universe, entirely. One full of violence and fire. One full of dark music and the gentle, long-awaited suffering of a half-moon.
When she finally stops dancing, Andromeda stands before the cavern's maw, and gazes deep within their black abyss. A breeze sweeps forward, sirenic and haunting. When the moonlight touches her physique through the fortress of trees, her complexion gives off a mysterious afterglow. Dressed in moonlight, the silver ink feels like silk upon her skin. It feels soft and pale and made by gentle hands, as such tender moonlight smoothes down her curves in a waterfall of pale illumination and wicked cadence. She wonders if she should enter the cave. She wonders if monsters lay among their darkest corners, like gargoyle statues waiting for her with sharp talons. She wonders, she wonders and yet she does not enter the cave. She only steps half-way and then, pauses. She only looks within, as the winds begin to sigh with harsh laughter, and her voice begs quicksilver from her lips; "Hello?"
