03-21-2017, 12:26 PM
once upon a time;
They kick and agitate inside, today more than usual.
They are ready. She can just tell.
She places her nose on her swollen side, closing her bright, brown eyes and exhales. “I love you,” she breathes into them, dust billowing off her coat where the sugary words touch. “We are almost there, honey.” We are almost together—
She had done so much for them. She had stepped close to a storm, faced lightning as it crackled and aroused the air around her, teasing and dangerous. She had burned, cooking from the inside out and had begged for mercy, tasting smoke on her tongue as she did. She had faced the moon in the vacuous, squeezing weightlessness of space, seeing in the pocked and deadened body what needed to be done.
She had toiled and fought and the fruits of those labors were growing, substantial and animated, in her womb.
They were all for him. If she could have done it in her body—come to him as-is, fire-flanked and golden-skinned—she would have. If she could have done it purely—their bodies as they once were, intertwined—she would have. But he had strayed, avoiding, like a lost comet, the light of her sun. He had resisted and become, temporarily, beguiled by another body—a wild-skinned, breeze-scented usurper.
For love, one does what one has to.
She wanders the ragged, outer territory of this ugly, dirty hell. She is far too encumbered now to run, thinking it better to nestle in some cave and bring her babies here than to get caught in some wild and unknown hinterland. At least here she feels safe, though it is in a strange kind of way—safe from harm by fear, for her father holds her here with nothing but the way his mind clicks its claws against the skull, seeking.
And he wants her alive.
She steers clear of monsters and the high tower where her father stands and overwatches, today, moving steady and slow until the stagnant scent of sand and rock is perforated by something much more earthy and vibrant. These are things that she is made for, and his missed so. She cannot help but inspect, creeping close, crackling, blazing wings held tight to her sides until the quiet, domestic sight stills her and brings a soft smile to her lips.
“She is beautiful,” the indigo-haired princess sings, taking a tentative step closer, “I feel like I have a girl, too, but. We’ll see.”
They are ready. She can just tell.
She places her nose on her swollen side, closing her bright, brown eyes and exhales. “I love you,” she breathes into them, dust billowing off her coat where the sugary words touch. “We are almost there, honey.” We are almost together—
She had done so much for them. She had stepped close to a storm, faced lightning as it crackled and aroused the air around her, teasing and dangerous. She had burned, cooking from the inside out and had begged for mercy, tasting smoke on her tongue as she did. She had faced the moon in the vacuous, squeezing weightlessness of space, seeing in the pocked and deadened body what needed to be done.
She had toiled and fought and the fruits of those labors were growing, substantial and animated, in her womb.
They were all for him. If she could have done it in her body—come to him as-is, fire-flanked and golden-skinned—she would have. If she could have done it purely—their bodies as they once were, intertwined—she would have. But he had strayed, avoiding, like a lost comet, the light of her sun. He had resisted and become, temporarily, beguiled by another body—a wild-skinned, breeze-scented usurper.
For love, one does what one has to.
She wanders the ragged, outer territory of this ugly, dirty hell. She is far too encumbered now to run, thinking it better to nestle in some cave and bring her babies here than to get caught in some wild and unknown hinterland. At least here she feels safe, though it is in a strange kind of way—safe from harm by fear, for her father holds her here with nothing but the way his mind clicks its claws against the skull, seeking.
And he wants her alive.
She steers clear of monsters and the high tower where her father stands and overwatches, today, moving steady and slow until the stagnant scent of sand and rock is perforated by something much more earthy and vibrant. These are things that she is made for, and his missed so. She cannot help but inspect, creeping close, crackling, blazing wings held tight to her sides until the quiet, domestic sight stills her and brings a soft smile to her lips.
“She is beautiful,” the indigo-haired princess sings, taking a tentative step closer, “I feel like I have a girl, too, but. We’ll see.”
PHOTOGRAPHY © TASHA MARIE
![[Image: RS84HN4.png]](http://i.imgur.com/RS84HN4.png)
Pollock x Malis
pixel base by bronzehalo