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
I dance beneath the moon until the night takes away my breath and my heart is carved by the flowers of the woods. I have no care in this world except for the music in my blood and the songs that echo like wishes on my lips. Everywhere I look, I see a kingdom made of forests and moonlight and fairytales. Everywhere I look, I see a holy stillness made of hunger and starlight and darkness so sweet, it is a darkness that wears the scent of roses and romance and not sin and suffering. I want to live in this beautiful trance and beg my soul to pour in endless waves of ethereal light. I want to run through this fairytale universe and laugh with the melody of the moon and the braids of starlight in my wildly, flowing hair. I feel so alive, I could laugh with joy, or sadness. It's when I see him approaching me beneath thick streams of silverlight, that my lips almost gasp and I sigh like a nymph too shy to swim upstream before the swollen belly of a full, aching moon. It's when I see the bright, golden light of his antlers, the regal curve of his wings and the way he holds his head high, as though he wears a king's crown. How handsome he is, a boy made of elven magic and darkness so feral – dusted in starlight so wild and golden, he could have been the sun to the soft, moonlight-slenderness of me. I want to touch his lips with the gentle prayer of my kiss. I want to press my lips into the dark spaces between his heart and soul. I want to ask him if he's as wild as me – but I fear a single whisper, a single kiss, or a touch, might break this spell and shatter this dream. Instead, I smile at him, a tender smile not of this world, but something far sweeter, far pure.
In the secret moments caught between moonsong and religion – where the pages of a dark, fairytale lift, and you see a true glimpse of her – Andromeda is more woman than girl. It's in the whisper of her hips. The fullness of her mouth. The darkness of her smoldering, otherworldly gaze brimming with holyfire and untamed wrath. Andromeda is an infernal angel, too hot, too wild, for this universe. Holy light pours from her body. Sacred Fire licks at her valkyrie-curves. When she dances, she dances to the rhythm of sweet Armageddon. From her sleek, porcelain body and slim thighs covered in war-flames, Andromeda screams heaven-born. From her angelic lips, breathes fabled ruin. From her too-long lashes, sings the black-grey of fallen ashes and seraphic flame. Even her halo glistens with silken luminosity; their ice-blue crystals dipped in the inky blood of demons; hungry and sharp and only remedied by visceral impulse. It thirsts for blood, the way a heavenly sword thirsts for retribution. And for all her deceptive slenderness, Andromeda is decadently carved into a soft weapon of heaven; a snarling inferno, full of blazing teeth and desirous curves made pure and supple with her tender youth.
In the moments she is dancing, she is too wild to touch. Too savage to tame. When she turns into her truest form, she becomes the embodiment of violence - she becomes brighter than suns. When she turns into light holier than prayer, every curve of her is laced in elegant ruination, as she descends like a dragoness upon the earth. Her blood feels hot like molten gold; her heart, a howling storm, ravaging like scripture beneath her ivory breast. The hunger she feels inside is endless, with their million mouths all salivating at once. Her hunger pours like religion in her veins, made of fire and thunder and ash. Her world is one of light and darkness, hunger and fullness. When she feels her world shattering before her; bits of her eternal hunger, climbs the desolation of space like a devouring void in heaven. Every piece of her becomes fractured light too hot, too deadly, to gaze upon. Every melody of her is laced in absolute chaos; like stardust drifting from space – she feels her own divine spirit, drifting against a timeless symphony. Every piece of her feels like a broken mirror shard, reflecting too much of her violent soul. As fire dances along her lithe physique, she becomes absolutely immortal – ageless. From her whispering kiss, she becomes divine destruction. Alive, passionate, constantly consuming. A girl made of desire, of moonlight, of fire, of dreams.
“If you should go with me – yes,” Andromeda sighs like rain and laughs like heaven. Her voice is sweet and wild, trailing over his skin like a rose in half-bloom (a rose who forgets her tenderness amid the promise of their thorns). She dances as free as the wind, as ethereal. Her lavender tresses descend like a free-flowing nightgown upon a flush, midnight breeze. Her body dances like flames beneath starlight, twirling and waltzing along a fertile, spring moon. Into the darkness of the caves, she spins atlast, overcoming her initial worry – a single, graceful motion full of girlish awe and gentle laughter. She smiles back at him, gazing into the dark-night of his swarthy face; beckoning him with a warm whisper of graceful words. "Come quick, my brave Prince – before the night steals you away, and I am left without company," She ushers, she begs. Her voice made playful, her body bathed in half-moonlight and half-shadow. "My heart yearns for wilderness, for adventure, and I won't have anyone else accompany me but you."
@
