12-28-2017, 04:22 PM
Amidst the mists and coldest frosts
he thrusts his fists against the posts
and still insists he sees the ghosts
he thrusts his fists against the posts
and still insists he sees the ghosts
Since the bad time,
the hours (years?) spent int he cave,
since the demons had nibbled long jagged marks across her legs,
since it all faded to black...
Nikoline had been along in the forest.
She collapses every night with dreams of fire. The brilliant colors lick along her skin, singing and stinking of burnt hair. She screams and screams and screams. The red and orange tongues close her paper-thin throat till the screams are just a gargle...then she wakes in a cold sweat.
But every morning under the thick streams of pastel pink and soft yellow, tiny flowers bloom in her mane and tail. They weave themselves tightly into her wounds and heal her with their gentle felt petals. Niko can only dream of pain despite the way she her thick cuts seem to heal nearly overnight. It only takes a few mornings before she feels whole, the zig-zag of scars of only a delicate shade of pink along each leg like that of her primitive ancestors.
The mare does not understand the gift of her torture until she manages to wake stiffly one morning and her body feeling foreign to her. The hazel eyed mare rises from her place of sleep, the moss ringing her body and cushioning it in a soft nest that she has become accustomed to. She had been alarmed the first few nights but now? No, it was simply a trick of the forest...till the day she notices how the very soil beneath her hooves begins to grow lush and green. Had it all been a mocking joke by the bastard demons?
Was it her angel?
The days pass, her body is pained by the cold, yet the green glow of healthy seems to stay with her always. The scent of gardenias and lavender seem to waft around her despite the perpetual cold of an oncoming winter. Time passes, nights filled with horrific fire torment her endlessly. It seems so painful, so bleak, despite the way the flowers bloom and the trees bend...it is all too much to live with. The ring of moss, the whispers that flood her ears, her beautiful angel lost and gone from her? His memory fades more and more everyday till she can barely remember his face...oh the cruelty of it all!
Niko aims to finish her story with an exclamation. She would not live without his memory!
Then that night, the dreams of raging fire are suddenly gone as she contemplates her own death but then...then the pale glow of her angel cools her brow, his lips meet her cheek as he whispers his love for her, placing a small lily in her hair and he tells her to live with him, not without him in her own suicide, that he could be with her in the forest...he kisses one last time as she wakes.
The dryad has replaced the painted mare. She knows all, sees and understands now. Her angel is the forest. His is every small seedling, every sacred bloom in her hair. A soft content smile lips the edges of her pale lips as an aura of calm surrounds her. Her angel would be with her now and always.
Thin bark-like legs move her steadily over the ground when the trees whisper of a stallion. The dryad is nearly silent as she moves to seek the unfamiliar face. The concern for such a broken thing is across her immortally beautiful face. "Hello." The dryad speaks gently like the sound of cool spring waters over smooth stones. She tilts her cherry blossom antlered head, curious of the other and his ailments, shying away on thin legs till she is comfortable close to an old oak that leans to touch her skin. "Are you real?" The soft river-song of her voice dancing like a warm summer breeze as the grass grows lush and bright against her feet. The mare tilts her head curiously, inclining it towards him as she listens for his answer. Was she awake? Was he truly here?
the hours (years?) spent int he cave,
since the demons had nibbled long jagged marks across her legs,
since it all faded to black...
Nikoline had been along in the forest.
She collapses every night with dreams of fire. The brilliant colors lick along her skin, singing and stinking of burnt hair. She screams and screams and screams. The red and orange tongues close her paper-thin throat till the screams are just a gargle...then she wakes in a cold sweat.
But every morning under the thick streams of pastel pink and soft yellow, tiny flowers bloom in her mane and tail. They weave themselves tightly into her wounds and heal her with their gentle felt petals. Niko can only dream of pain despite the way she her thick cuts seem to heal nearly overnight. It only takes a few mornings before she feels whole, the zig-zag of scars of only a delicate shade of pink along each leg like that of her primitive ancestors.
The mare does not understand the gift of her torture until she manages to wake stiffly one morning and her body feeling foreign to her. The hazel eyed mare rises from her place of sleep, the moss ringing her body and cushioning it in a soft nest that she has become accustomed to. She had been alarmed the first few nights but now? No, it was simply a trick of the forest...till the day she notices how the very soil beneath her hooves begins to grow lush and green. Had it all been a mocking joke by the bastard demons?
Was it her angel?
The days pass, her body is pained by the cold, yet the green glow of healthy seems to stay with her always. The scent of gardenias and lavender seem to waft around her despite the perpetual cold of an oncoming winter. Time passes, nights filled with horrific fire torment her endlessly. It seems so painful, so bleak, despite the way the flowers bloom and the trees bend...it is all too much to live with. The ring of moss, the whispers that flood her ears, her beautiful angel lost and gone from her? His memory fades more and more everyday till she can barely remember his face...oh the cruelty of it all!
Niko aims to finish her story with an exclamation. She would not live without his memory!
Then that night, the dreams of raging fire are suddenly gone as she contemplates her own death but then...then the pale glow of her angel cools her brow, his lips meet her cheek as he whispers his love for her, placing a small lily in her hair and he tells her to live with him, not without him in her own suicide, that he could be with her in the forest...he kisses one last time as she wakes.
The dryad has replaced the painted mare. She knows all, sees and understands now. Her angel is the forest. His is every small seedling, every sacred bloom in her hair. A soft content smile lips the edges of her pale lips as an aura of calm surrounds her. Her angel would be with her now and always.
Thin bark-like legs move her steadily over the ground when the trees whisper of a stallion. The dryad is nearly silent as she moves to seek the unfamiliar face. The concern for such a broken thing is across her immortally beautiful face. "Hello." The dryad speaks gently like the sound of cool spring waters over smooth stones. She tilts her cherry blossom antlered head, curious of the other and his ailments, shying away on thin legs till she is comfortable close to an old oak that leans to touch her skin. "Are you real?" The soft river-song of her voice dancing like a warm summer breeze as the grass grows lush and bright against her feet. The mare tilts her head curiously, inclining it towards him as she listens for his answer. Was she awake? Was he truly here?
nikoline
barret x syntyche