Storm and Fall
Your eyes were the sun. The stars are the pupils, hinting at the mystery hidden within. Clouds could never block the sight of you forever, not when the cascade of your hair make up the galaxies above.
Love and storm carry the same lightning, I've come to find. Litchenberg scars streak across the surface of blush red. Agony is the way my fingers trace the pale skin, whispering soft promises and murmured curses alike.
It was only when I looked beyond the telescope that I truly saw you in your entirety.
And then, the sky fell.
Flying Bugs are a Myth
Tables are truly humanity's greatest achievement.
I admire the rich oak of my dining table, marveling over its polish. The kitchen table's painted mahogany shines with great luster, shimmering under the spotlight it deserves.
The ground is blessed to host the legs of so many of such divine creations. For every wooden, plastic, metal leg that graces the floor, the earth is blessed with three lifetimes of blessings. Luck and karma are but trivial blessings for the tables to grant.
Tables are the sole recipient of my eternal worship. There exist many a reason, from their stunning structure to the masterpiece that is their utility.
But more important than any other reason, however, is their capability to lift.
Bugs and spiders crawl their way across the floors, dirtying them with their abhorrent appearance. Each movement they make curses the gift from the divine, daring to spit on the grace the gods have given us.
But tables keep their influence from spreading, and allow human hands to touch uncontaminated possessions.
Oh tables, how absolutely stunning you are...
Whispers of Water
Daire let himself go.
The water around him embraced his mortal constrains in an unfamiliar fashion, covering every inch of his skin and more as it found home inside his lungs. The cold was no longer perceptible to him. All heat had left him by this point, abandoning him to the clutches of suffocating silence.
It was almost peaceful, he mused, his vision growing dark. The sunlight barely reached to caress his face. Daire felt no reaction from his body, his soul having long since forfeited its right to the warmth.
There was nothing but him and the deathly tranquil waters, plugging his ears with its hands and filling his eyes with the vision of peace.
Daire tiredly exhaled with no air, the rippling the action caused tearing through his gentle quiet. He frowned at the feeling. It was a disturbing thing, to know that even his final moments would not be free of his mistakes.
He quickly soothed himself with the promise of release, however. There was little point to his agitation when the end was so, so near.
He let his eyes fall shut for the final time.
Bubbling force desperately crawling for the water's surface was all he heard before Daire completely faded, becoming one with the tugging abyss.
To the Skies
Len let his head rest on the guillotine, letting the calls of the crowd roll off of him like water. The heat of the blazing sun hitting his back created a burn that he steadily ignored. He closed his eyes to the noise as he drowned in his own mind, the seas of regret and waves of determination lapping at his heart.
There was nothing left for him to see, anyway.
He would be lying if he said that he had nothing left to live for, but the things wanted were largely impossible. His sister was safe. He had finished his work.
Perhaps his greatest regret was letting the queen fall to the path of thorns, the lovely petals once shining with the morning dew now stained with metallic red. Len had noticed too late that the path they were bound to was one of no return.
He let his eyes open, blue ripping across the crowd. The icy nature behind the glare was not lost to the people, whose shouts only grew louder.
It was almost too late when he saw blonde hair in the crowd.
His throat dried, becoming scratchy and aching for words that would never arrive. He choked down the cries that threatened to erupt.
It was only when the feeling got too strong to ignore that he finally spoke. The bells rang as if on cue, and the memories that it brought forced a pressuring sting into his eyes.
"It's teatime." Len forced out, tearing his gaze away to face the empty sky.
The metal of the blade sang as it came down, and Len ignored the fear that spiked in his chest as the impact hit him too late.
Blood decorated the twins' final stage.
“What worries you, masters you.” - John Locke
From worries and from pain,
Pours down eternal rain.
Fertile soil turned sour,
Mourning for stifled sun,
Light defying existence,
As it flickers out, unseen.
With ocean tears come drowning cries,
Wails of whales in agony,
Sharks with stark wounds,
Fish with fresh panic,
Red is the colored sea.
Waves of worry,
Storms of thought,
The ship of dreams comes down.
Morgan poked the floating leg in her cauldron with a wand, pushing it back into her concoction.
She wrinkled her nose. Mystical fog filled the room, weighing down the air with an unnatural thickness. The smell was absolutely atrocious. Morgan created a simple layer of magic on her nose, making sure she wouldn't breathe in anything inconvenient.
She couldn't die, of course, but it would be incredibly annoying to deal with.
Human limbs could be such a hassle to add to her potions. It was unfortunate that most of them required the ingredient, however.
Morgan reached for her stash of cut human tongues to her side, then blinked when her hand hit the woven grass bottom of the basket. She turned to look at an emptied supply.
"Titania, did you take the tongues?" She called, letting her voice be amplified by a burst of magic. "If you did, you better give them back."
A head popped out from the doorway, peeking into the misty room.
"I did, sorry." Titania chirped quickly, then fluttered off and back into their shared home. Morgan stared at the spot where she used to be, dumbfounded at her audacity.
"Oh my Merlin." Morgan buried her face in her hands. The potion bubbled beside her, but she didn't pay the useless thing any mind. "I'm going to have to make another batch."
Grabbing another human would take so much time, she despaired. The current contents of her cauldron would not last until then. So much time and effort into her project, only for her to have to scrap it and start anew.
Spitting a curse that ripped through the mist to go hunt down a certain fairy queen, Morgan stood and collected her temper. A long walk was what she needed to calm down. Perhaps a visit to the outside world would do her a favor.
Morgan sighed as she grabbed her broom, still a bit put out.
Hopefully her dress wouldn't be ruined by the blood this time. Cleaning the red stains was always such a chore.
Beyond the End
Sour was the taste on his tongue, devouring the deep as he swallowed flesh.
His mind had degraded long ago. Between the infection that had haunted his arm to the baseball bat that had hit him hard enough to be damaged but not dead, he would never return to the man he once was.
Not that he wanted to return, of course.
The tug of sinew under his fingernails and the most delectable scent of fresh meat were pleasures his addled brain would never surrender. It made his dead tongue itch for a taste he hadn't felt in a long while.
Something in his rotting heart clenched when his remaining eye moved to examine the face of the body he was devouring.
She was a pretty thing, and there was something vaguely familiar about her features. He would have frowned if he still had the muscles to do so. A groan ripped itself out of his throat, and he was hit with the metallic smell of the delectable meal before him once more.
His hunger took over and he began to dig in, feeling eyeballs pop in his mouth and skin tear under his hands.
She was unrecognizable by the time he was done.
The world seemed just a little bit lonelier when he looked up to see an empty street, abandoned and filled with nothing but ghosts. He looked down to see a pair of hideous hands and let himself fall.
For Your Trust
Rosaline's loyalty was hers.
It was a precious thing, reserved for the closest of her companions. That particular fire sparked with a passion that would never be extinguished. Emilia knew that, and would return her devotion in kind.
The line that separated them from the meaningless smiles and fleeting pleasantries of the others were written in their blood, sworn to honor for their forever.
Emilia hummed, reaffirming their vow in her head. Everything was for the unconditional faith that joined the duo. For the loyalty that linked them like glue. For the devotion that fanned their flames.
Sacrifice and loyalty went hand-in-hand, Emilia mused as she traced the wound on Rosaline's stomach.
She had sacrificed much to prove her loyalty.
Emilia's eyes darkened as the closest of her friends hissed in pain, disturbed by the agony even in her dreams.
Their friendship was one built on trust and sacrifice, and it was time that Emilia repaid her debts.
The grin that stretched across her face was a tad too sharp to be innocent, white teeth flashing with a vicious sort of threat that clashed with her gleeful expression.
Rosaline's foes would fall without grace, of that much Emilia would ensure.
To Light the Fire
Words of the living,
Lifeless, dead, limp, unaware.
Cold is the black ink.
Sparks lit by virtue,
Flame fanned by the abstract eye,
Embers burn with light.
Are we not the wind?
Soft as spring breeze, bringing life,
Pen, keyboard, alive, awake.
It begins with love.
Soft touch, warm words, close embrace,
A cry splits the night.
Wobbly feet, shaking,
Stutter speech, cry of angels,
Laughter of children joyful,
Playground dust trampled.
Music, lights, shining on skin,
Paradise of sin.
It ends with love, true.
Strong is the scent of family home,
Still of heart beckons.