There's a song in your lung and a dream in your eye. (Perse)

[perse]

i wanted pomegranates— i wanted darkness— i wanted him. Of course, Perse doesn’t know why she was chosen, why she was allowed to live, either. She doesn’t know the history that existed before she was born, she doesn’t know she was taken for spite. She only knows she was His toy, His plaything, and that she loved it – loved the breaking, loved being pieced back together. She knows why she is remade – because He always liked his things new. Her skin does not betray what has been done to it, the burns and tears and breaks, they’re all gone with her old flesh. She is new, fresh skin across old bones, and she is scarless, save for His brand upon her neck. She moves her muzzle cautiously, explores the fissures where Joscelin had once come apart at the seams. She feels the ridges, the marks of a woman shattered and remade haphazardly, and she wonders at it. She finds it beautiful even as she is jealous, jealous that Joscelin can wear His mark, that they all must know. (She never thinks it might be a scarlet letter, or that some might not even wonder on it at all.) “It’s lovely,” she says against the fissures of the mare, and she means it. p e r s e ------------------------------cordis x spyndle