They do not know this, but they are the ashes left over from great fires, Giver and her. Ruin and reckoning, a mighty conflagration that brought trees down to their knees; soft, burning, red embers held tight in sweaty palms, squeezed and tested and felt until it had been all too much to handle.
They are things made differently, of procreant gunpowder and gasoline. Stitched of gold-cloth and prettier things – cool, jewel skin had brought him in like a magpie; indigo and teal – they do not look like they were forged in the iron and fire of monsters, but from beautiful things and by meticulous hands.
From star-bodies and brokenness made royal.
She passes quietly, lipping familiar knots in family pines and places where greenness had patched the burns she never had to see. Dove-footed and doe-eyed, she has always been gentle. A breath of air expressed. She was raised up by careful, trembling hands, and like a princess in a tower, she was protected. Kept secret from the wolf in the woods. The golden monster. She is so unlike her mother in many ways, but is the smooth, warm weave of Malis’ making nonetheless. There is grace even in the way she was loved, when so many others would have cast her away like an unwanted, overbearing memory.
Indigo-haired and golden-skinned. She is the perfect amalgam of them. From all that chaos and agony – a miraculous thing, quickened in a place where death could not come no matter how hard it tried.
She leaves Giver behind, though he clings to her hip and insists. She feels no fear here, though these halls have played court to wolves and lambs, alike. (She steps in and out of his long-covered paths. All the damp and sun-flooded places where once he tested the limits of his body. This was before he was a monster, before he hunted and prayed.) “Find mother, or Victra, maybe. I’ll be fine.” Brother watches with wary eyes and... it is strange – ironic, even – that is it he who was born with the taste of caution on his tongue.
But then, maybe it is the way her body knows its own resiliency that makes her ignorance marry so perfectly with reckless abandon.
(Somewhere in shadows, in a land faraway, there lives a wolf – a golden monster – and day and night he searches high and low for indigo.)
They are things made differently, of procreant gunpowder and gasoline. Stitched of gold-cloth and prettier things – cool, jewel skin had brought him in like a magpie; indigo and teal – they do not look like they were forged in the iron and fire of monsters, but from beautiful things and by meticulous hands.
From star-bodies and brokenness made royal.
She passes quietly, lipping familiar knots in family pines and places where greenness had patched the burns she never had to see. Dove-footed and doe-eyed, she has always been gentle. A breath of air expressed. She was raised up by careful, trembling hands, and like a princess in a tower, she was protected. Kept secret from the wolf in the woods. The golden monster. She is so unlike her mother in many ways, but is the smooth, warm weave of Malis’ making nonetheless. There is grace even in the way she was loved, when so many others would have cast her away like an unwanted, overbearing memory.
Indigo-haired and golden-skinned. She is the perfect amalgam of them. From all that chaos and agony – a miraculous thing, quickened in a place where death could not come no matter how hard it tried.
She leaves Giver behind, though he clings to her hip and insists. She feels no fear here, though these halls have played court to wolves and lambs, alike. (She steps in and out of his long-covered paths. All the damp and sun-flooded places where once he tested the limits of his body. This was before he was a monster, before he hunted and prayed.) “Find mother, or Victra, maybe. I’ll be fine.” Brother watches with wary eyes and... it is strange – ironic, even – that is it he who was born with the taste of caution on his tongue.
But then, maybe it is the way her body knows its own resiliency that makes her ignorance marry so perfectly with reckless abandon.
(Somewhere in shadows, in a land faraway, there lives a wolf – a golden monster – and day and night he searches high and low for indigo.)
alight, of monsters and queens.
![[Image: RS84HN4.png]](http://i.imgur.com/RS84HN4.png)
Pollock x Malis
pixel base by bronzehalo