08-06-2015, 01:33 AM
I wanted to leave something besides a blood trail,
besides prayers growing stale on my tongue.
The master was gone.
The father was gone.
She awoke that morning to find these things, or rather the lack of these things. Her chin was damp with the cold dew of the dawn and there was a depression in the grass where her master had been only hours before. Time had flown by without her notice since she left her motherland to follow him and now he had abandoned her. Had her servitude been less than satisfactory? Had her tarnished offerings finally been too little, too late for him? She would have thrown herself to the fires just to curb his hunger to see her commit violence upon others, upon herself. But now even her ashes are not enough of an apology for him.
The gray girl rises onto her tired legs and continues to stare, unblinking, at those folded blades slowly arching back up for the day. So, too, must she return. A slow sigh escapes her lips as she begins the journey. They had never wandered far from those familiar places and nostalgic scents but he had never dared to let her step foot into those territories. He had believed it would ignite a fire from those embers still burning in the kiln of her heart. That master, that fool had no idea that every weary spark burned only for him, for his glory.
The day drew on without her as she stood on that border and thought of what she would do. The sun closed in on the horizon and traded its golds and reds for the purples and inky blacks of night. She remained still as the moon cast its light over the scales on her hips and shoulders, creating shadows over her face as she watched the nomads settling in the field. Her eyes drift slow to the stars as they burned above her. Cellar wondered if they chose to stay there or if they were chained as well. Did love, in some twisted sense, keep them paralyzed in place?
She blinked and shrugged her shoulders to dismiss the thoughts before creeping further into her old home. Its face had changed and it wore the scars of decades just as she would some day. At least, in that sense, she was not alone.
Cbesides prayers growing stale on my tongue.
The master was gone.
The father was gone.
She awoke that morning to find these things, or rather the lack of these things. Her chin was damp with the cold dew of the dawn and there was a depression in the grass where her master had been only hours before. Time had flown by without her notice since she left her motherland to follow him and now he had abandoned her. Had her servitude been less than satisfactory? Had her tarnished offerings finally been too little, too late for him? She would have thrown herself to the fires just to curb his hunger to see her commit violence upon others, upon herself. But now even her ashes are not enough of an apology for him.
The gray girl rises onto her tired legs and continues to stare, unblinking, at those folded blades slowly arching back up for the day. So, too, must she return. A slow sigh escapes her lips as she begins the journey. They had never wandered far from those familiar places and nostalgic scents but he had never dared to let her step foot into those territories. He had believed it would ignite a fire from those embers still burning in the kiln of her heart. That master, that fool had no idea that every weary spark burned only for him, for his glory.
The day drew on without her as she stood on that border and thought of what she would do. The sun closed in on the horizon and traded its golds and reds for the purples and inky blacks of night. She remained still as the moon cast its light over the scales on her hips and shoulders, creating shadows over her face as she watched the nomads settling in the field. Her eyes drift slow to the stars as they burned above her. Cellar wondered if they chose to stay there or if they were chained as well. Did love, in some twisted sense, keep them paralyzed in place?
She blinked and shrugged her shoulders to dismiss the thoughts before creeping further into her old home. Its face had changed and it wore the scars of decades just as she would some day. At least, in that sense, she was not alone.
I could give you my body, my flesh,
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.
offer it up like a sacrifice, like a banquet.
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