06-10-2015, 02:31 PM
keys for doors that don't exist
I crack my teeth on pearls
I tear into the history
Show me what it means to me in this world
Yeah, in this world
Lirel breathes, like wanton gasps, air reaching in and filling every fibre of her lungs, but never reaching her enough. She's cold, she feels the sun does not reach her coloured frame, it does not extend it's warm, loving fingers and wraps themselves around her. She cries silent tears, she wants so much to have the sun touch her back, grace her blinding green eyes. She wants so much, but receives so little. Her black and white head shifts, ever so slightly, and that is when she opens her eye, spots someone standing just above her.
The piebald mare meets his eye then, moving down his face, his neck until she spotted his wings. Beautiful white wings. A pain hits her then, right in the heart, like a throbbing throw embedding deeper and deeper. Memories flash, cold, black and white. Blood taints the monochrome picture. Lirel was born to a winged angel, with the greenest eyes of emeralds, the softest grey flesh and adorned with large feathery wings. Lirel cries then, not for her lost childhood, but for the mother she never had, for the loving touch she will never receive.
But then he touches her, and she heaves a large breath inward, holding her tongue with teeth. His touch is warm, a tad bit watery, she feels his pulse and she arches her back ever so slightly, she sinks deeper into the sand, if only a little. It's soft, pliable beneath her form, it's a welcoming warmth to cold, numbing bones. Lirel inhales another sharp breath, it's like breathing in needles. but his touch, it's like a fire and it burns her, she recoils then, lifting her head and meeting his eyes. his wings, his face, he is silver dressed in tinges of gold. She idolises him right there, right then. A slight reminder from the grey stallion Viento, her grandfather. a regal looking head set atop a proud neck. Lirel whickers low, a small sound, child-like and innocent. Her emerald eyes never leaving him, clinging to the strange stallion's body, his face, his eyes. He's everything in her eyes there, he is the soft warmth of flesh, the beautiful wings of an angel.
"Have I died? Have I finally died and gone to the angels?"
the broken little girl of leopold & amnesia
