07-12-2015, 03:21 AM
drink the poision lightly
there are deeper and darker things than you
The midnight hour had come again, the slither of moon suspended in the inky black heavens like a knife edge, glinting through the thick pines with razor sharp plumes. The darkness, pitch and oh so welcoming, swathed me in a blackness, the shadows blanketing me in their gentle caress. the woods were dark, yet my coat was a glossy penny (it had finally returned to normal, the black bodice fading back to the gilded colour, my mane now back to gossamer cream. however in places the ebony and crimson tint still remained.) a glossy penny shimmering in the dark, like watery depths, rippling and distorting as I weaved in and out of the trunks, bending my head and neck low as I navigated the trickier paths around the Chamber's outskirts.
Things were different here now, the fingers of magic had knitted and sewn and had created a new creation. Our Queen, Straia, she had sleek raven's at her disposal. A crown so fitting for the coloured queen. The pulse of Atrox's heart, it still thudded, if not having calmed a little. I still listened in the night, listening with attuned ears for the pulse. It was becoming quite a security blanket for me. I know then, though lost in the darkest parts of the woodland, the heart would guide me home. Cliche and beautifully marred in my thinking, my wanderings take me deeper, darker into the forest. Part of me wanting to lose myself, something different to the duties of Chamber Life. I wanted to discard my mask for a few hours and lay beneath the starless black sky, and remember the things I had pushed away.
Oh, but such memories are not meant to be remembered.
The trunks gave way a little and I found the perfect spot for reflecting; a flattened patch of dried leaves and wildflowers, fungi and shoots of wild grass. Above, I craned my head and watched the guardian pines as they gave way a little at the top, allowing the slither of the crescent moon to shine down and radiate the place. Calling me, telling me it was fine to rest.
My sinews taut beneath my willowy frame, bone deep chills succumb finally, and I drop to my knees, the dust and ash of the chamber, wreck and ruin, taint me with their glorious dirty fingers, and I feel home in the dirt. I drop to my side and extend my neck, resting my chin on the damp earth. Sapphire yes wide open, ears still very much attentive, listening to the sounds of the night. The wolves sing songs of sorrow, lamentations that decorate the night with an eerie feel. The ravens, they caw and perch atop the sentinels, as added guardians to the chamber. their wings rustling, extending. I blow a long, exasperated breath. Exhaustion lines my eyes, fine wrinkles marring my golden face. My eyes are tired, there is a gloss of something other than fire brimming, tears. hot, wet tears well at the corners of my eye.
I had not cried before. The emotion, it was saved for my mother and her heart wearing sleeves. To cry, it was a weakness and a terrible one at that. I squinted shut my eyes and remembered her then. Her golden body, sleek with crimson, damp with the ocean's fine spray. She lay a broken doll, her pieces scattered, her heart the only one to remain whole, even when it had been broken too many times to count. I never cried, even then. After the blood of the men tainted my hooves, I had went in search of her, after ending my father's life, I had known my mother would not take it too well, but I wanted to help her, to take her out of that life. when I found her, it had been too late.
The nightmarish visions keep coming, as do the hot, wet tears that start to trickle down my cheeks, darkening my face with marks of sorrow. I threw myself into working here, into attempting steals, rummaging the field for the ripe pickings to help the Chamber grow. I was active as active could be, and yet, yet I am faltering now. The torrents of the past, they wave over me, sending shivers through my skin. The pain, I had remembered the pain of the first time I was nearly taken. Oh, it was the beauty that caused it. the gloss in my coat, the way my long, gossamer threads swept over my lithe neck. It was my fault the bachelors tried to accost me, but it was their fault, that their heart decorated the ground. the taste was bittersweet, a tang I never really wanted to coat my mouth again. A rage had bubbled in the pits of my stomach, throes of anger, red hot and blistering, it turned into a terrible inferno and I burnt down the remainders. I was younger than I am now, yet the world had turned from my mother's fairytale bliss to the harsh truth. The world was a dark place, filled with monsters with daggers behind their backs. And it was my job to see them for what they are.
There is a gratitude in me, pulsing just as ripe as Atrox's heart. Perhaps it is my own, deadened organ, actually thudding against the ribbed cage. drumming like xylophone. but it is there, the thankfulness. Beqanna was proving a far greater place than I imagined, The Chamber, proving a solid home. Those I have met, they are shaping up in my head, little tales weaving about them in the back of my mind.
Yet, the tears still come and it angers me so. My own heart races against Atrox's, my mind a myriad of memories, painful, gluttonous memories. Sleep fails me, every night. These visions, these nightmares, they hit me like fallen rocks, making me dizzy with fear. But what am I meant to fear, if it is not my own past? I ran, I ran from it all and yet it follows me as dark, as imposing as my own shadow. And it breaks my mask right in front of me, shatters it into two, and I am helpless to watch the the fine threads of my deception falling in a jumble at my feet.
Perhaps, this is all a nightmare and I will wake up soon. The hot tears figments of my imagination. The thundering of my heart, a concoction of nightmarish monsters. Ah, yes, that is exactly what it is.
Things were different here now, the fingers of magic had knitted and sewn and had created a new creation. Our Queen, Straia, she had sleek raven's at her disposal. A crown so fitting for the coloured queen. The pulse of Atrox's heart, it still thudded, if not having calmed a little. I still listened in the night, listening with attuned ears for the pulse. It was becoming quite a security blanket for me. I know then, though lost in the darkest parts of the woodland, the heart would guide me home. Cliche and beautifully marred in my thinking, my wanderings take me deeper, darker into the forest. Part of me wanting to lose myself, something different to the duties of Chamber Life. I wanted to discard my mask for a few hours and lay beneath the starless black sky, and remember the things I had pushed away.
Oh, but such memories are not meant to be remembered.
The trunks gave way a little and I found the perfect spot for reflecting; a flattened patch of dried leaves and wildflowers, fungi and shoots of wild grass. Above, I craned my head and watched the guardian pines as they gave way a little at the top, allowing the slither of the crescent moon to shine down and radiate the place. Calling me, telling me it was fine to rest.
My sinews taut beneath my willowy frame, bone deep chills succumb finally, and I drop to my knees, the dust and ash of the chamber, wreck and ruin, taint me with their glorious dirty fingers, and I feel home in the dirt. I drop to my side and extend my neck, resting my chin on the damp earth. Sapphire yes wide open, ears still very much attentive, listening to the sounds of the night. The wolves sing songs of sorrow, lamentations that decorate the night with an eerie feel. The ravens, they caw and perch atop the sentinels, as added guardians to the chamber. their wings rustling, extending. I blow a long, exasperated breath. Exhaustion lines my eyes, fine wrinkles marring my golden face. My eyes are tired, there is a gloss of something other than fire brimming, tears. hot, wet tears well at the corners of my eye.
I had not cried before. The emotion, it was saved for my mother and her heart wearing sleeves. To cry, it was a weakness and a terrible one at that. I squinted shut my eyes and remembered her then. Her golden body, sleek with crimson, damp with the ocean's fine spray. She lay a broken doll, her pieces scattered, her heart the only one to remain whole, even when it had been broken too many times to count. I never cried, even then. After the blood of the men tainted my hooves, I had went in search of her, after ending my father's life, I had known my mother would not take it too well, but I wanted to help her, to take her out of that life. when I found her, it had been too late.
The nightmarish visions keep coming, as do the hot, wet tears that start to trickle down my cheeks, darkening my face with marks of sorrow. I threw myself into working here, into attempting steals, rummaging the field for the ripe pickings to help the Chamber grow. I was active as active could be, and yet, yet I am faltering now. The torrents of the past, they wave over me, sending shivers through my skin. The pain, I had remembered the pain of the first time I was nearly taken. Oh, it was the beauty that caused it. the gloss in my coat, the way my long, gossamer threads swept over my lithe neck. It was my fault the bachelors tried to accost me, but it was their fault, that their heart decorated the ground. the taste was bittersweet, a tang I never really wanted to coat my mouth again. A rage had bubbled in the pits of my stomach, throes of anger, red hot and blistering, it turned into a terrible inferno and I burnt down the remainders. I was younger than I am now, yet the world had turned from my mother's fairytale bliss to the harsh truth. The world was a dark place, filled with monsters with daggers behind their backs. And it was my job to see them for what they are.
There is a gratitude in me, pulsing just as ripe as Atrox's heart. Perhaps it is my own, deadened organ, actually thudding against the ribbed cage. drumming like xylophone. but it is there, the thankfulness. Beqanna was proving a far greater place than I imagined, The Chamber, proving a solid home. Those I have met, they are shaping up in my head, little tales weaving about them in the back of my mind.
Yet, the tears still come and it angers me so. My own heart races against Atrox's, my mind a myriad of memories, painful, gluttonous memories. Sleep fails me, every night. These visions, these nightmares, they hit me like fallen rocks, making me dizzy with fear. But what am I meant to fear, if it is not my own past? I ran, I ran from it all and yet it follows me as dark, as imposing as my own shadow. And it breaks my mask right in front of me, shatters it into two, and I am helpless to watch the the fine threads of my deception falling in a jumble at my feet.
Perhaps, this is all a nightmare and I will wake up soon. The hot tears figments of my imagination. The thundering of my heart, a concoction of nightmarish monsters. Ah, yes, that is exactly what it is.
engelsfors
professor of the chamber