08-11-2015, 10:51 AM
 i wanted darkness— i wanted him. She knows His handiwork anywhere. After all, she is the epitome of it – how many times was the flesh stripped from her bones, how many times was she burnt, frozen, maimed? There are symbols writ on her bones, His poetry to her. There is a brand on her neck. Yet she remains pure. He never let His handiwork exist on her for too long, he would remake her, leave her scarless and untouched, save for the brand. He liked her new, fresh. She liked it too, sometimes – she liked to be beautiful for Him – but sometimes she wishes He would leave a scar, something to remember Him by. A keepsake. She wishes more, now, alone in this world, a species apart. She wishes it more, now, in the sunshine where she is all silver and no substance. So what sparks inside her when she sees the mare is jealousy. Jealousy that He broke her and left her broken so she can relive the memory each day. (That such a thing might be a nightmare to some never occurs to her.) The cracked mare approaches and Perse stiffens. You really are quite beautiful, she says. “Yes,” she says, idly. She doesn’t care to have her beauty praised – besides, she is much more beautiful when she is burnt or bleeding, doesn’t this mare know that? “You were His,” she says. She is a fool, she assumes they all belonged to Him, that they all begged to be broken the way she does. “But He cast you out. He didn’t fix you,” she muses, more to herself than the girl, “why? What did you do wrong?” ------------------------------cordis x spyndle |