She wades through the shallow waters that run silver beneath the moon and cold beneath the breath of night.
She steps through the liquid that gnaws deep into her ankles. Her black eyes are heavy lidded as snow begins to snag upon her lashes.
This bone girl’s eyes close as she meanders along the winding stream. Her body is a phantom ship, white, white, white as it drifts eerily, near silently, towards its fabled destination.
Where was this ghost girl headed?
Faida does not know and she does not care.
She is dancer light, her ears crumpling like towers as they catch the sounds of babbling water at her feet. She shivers and steps, trembles and floats along this lovers stream. Amare Creek turns its eyes upon the girl who broke beneath love’s eternal hand. It twisted her heart until it was ugly and bled her soul until it ran black as pitch.
She bleeds here, her alabaster skin riddled (to her) with blood that trickles hither and thither. Oh she listens as they drip, drip, drop into the crystal waters at her feet. She knows now that no one else can see them, but it does not stop her fevered lips asking again and again: Can you see my blood dripping?
This broken girl had wept once, soul and heart rending for the way she saw herself bleed, the way she waited for all her blood to be let and death to open its arms. But Death was her unrequited love. It had eyes for all but her, it would stalk its prey and she would stalk Death.
Once, Death had played her game as it plucked each of her loved ones from her life until her her heart was left scarred and wounded.
You’re a ways from home.
The bone girl stops, still dripping her invisible blood. Those black eyes lift up and settle upon the boy upon his bank. She blinks, slow once, slow twice and gazes up, up, up across sunburned orange and black, black speckles.
“Am I?” She asks with a whisper through dusk pink lips. Her voice is a song, a poem, a lilting chime of insanity. “What do you know of my home?” She questions with a smile that adorns her words with innocent intrigue.
This boy is a leopard, the bone girl thinks, with his black, rotting spots and the stench of death so ripe upon him. No wonder Death has led her here, to him, to this boy with his rot-black spots upon his skin.
Faida shivers and shakes and rustles like the leaves about his feet. She feels her own decaying soul, encased within her beautiful pearl-white shell. It bleeds and it bleeds and she thinks she feels it crying black, black tears down the inside of her hollow chest.
The eternal girl curves toward the bank; a leaf upon a wind that pushed her closer. She is a metal fleck to the magnet of his deathly habit. Keenly her lips reach up, pink to meet black as she breathes and drinks the scent of him, pressing her lips against the blackest spot upon his knee.
“What have you been killing?” She hums and peers at the boy from beneath her thick, thick lashes. “You are a leopard for all that death has marked you with his black, black spots.”
It is delight that has her smiling and laughing and rattling bones.
@Acton - holy crap she's rusty!!
