This keening soul;
She walks across the dimpled beach, marked by the footprints of strangers, come down upon the shore to relish the summer heat. Firelight dances in the droplets of seawater that drip from her obsidian skin. Leto turns a dark head to watch the revellers. The clack of bones within her salt-matted hair is an elegy against the jaunty tunes that peel from elegant instruments.
Leto is a black smudge upon the moonsoaked beach. There is no part of her tempted to join in this night. Their music is too light, it lacks for her the heartbeat thump of deeper music, that sings into her tribal limbs.
The stars glitter in the sky, swallowed by her galaxy eyes. They are a whirlpool of twisting worlds, swirls of pinks and silvers and blues. The thousand stars twisting into the eternity of her gaze, run liquid and flammable in her veins. Her blood is the white gasoline of stars and from their perches high above, they glimmer like silver flames, each one a spark threatening to turn her into wicked star-fire.
The sounds of the beach party are swallowed by the hissing of the tide as it breaks upon the sand. The further the kelpie wanders in land, the quieter the world becomes. Hush, hush, it whispers as she passes. hush, hush it trembles as moonlight limns her lips in silver and drowns her mouth in starlight.
He stands, a heathen shape amidst the quiet sanctity of the star-struck lake. The water is a liquid canvas, a perfect medium, stars flung across its face, the pregnant moon peering down, down to gaze vainly upon its perfect image. Leto’s eyes trail up the unbeliever’s horns that point up to that star-strung sky and seem to yearn to prick the night as if it were skin, and watch how Caligo’s night bleeds, her magic unspooling at the command of his wretched horns.
The kelpie turns from him, prowls away from where his moonshadow reaches for her toes, to turn her black skin darker yet. But Leto’s blood is already warming. It runs faster, hotter in her veins. It builds like white lava beneath her ink-black skin. The stars begin their song, their trembling wicked magic as they shudder themselves loose from the webbing black that holds them still as flies. Can he hear the way the night-stars begin their droning, their consuming light, Leto’s magic rattling them loose as a fly’s wings strive against sticky silk.
Leto turns into the lake, the breaks its bank, its perfect stillness like a ship tipping into the sea. The magic has ignited in her veins, they set her veins glowing white, white, white. They cut the black of her skin into webbed cracks from white star-bright light pours out. The kelpie burns, burns as she steps into the water that hisses with the celestial heat of her body. A soft hiss fills the lake, rippling out upon its banks. Denocte’s lake bubbles about her glowing hips, her glowing abdomen and steam rises as water turns to gas.
She stops as the water rises to lick along the swell of her ribs. Only then does she turn her shed-star eyes upon the unholy man cut through with golden rivulets, a gilded answer to her starbright blood.
@Erasmus
Anyone! | "speaks" | notes:
