Post by Aurora on Jan 10, 2021 1:17:08 GMT
sleep now in the fire
the cost of my desire
the cost of my desire
When Arawn wakes from his slumber within the woods, it is not to rise before the indigo whispers of nocturne -- he wakes to the lush warmth of dawn. To the sublime rivulets of gold, that descend like blood upon an abandoned, Athenian altar. He wakes to the saccharine echoes of her voice, pressed like a spectral whisper against the shell of his ear. He wakes to the goddess glory of her promised light, as he feels himself being consumed by the ethereal ghosts of her haunting memory. Her image. Her glory. She fills his vision with passion, with fire. It is this same chaste image that he chases, that he follows into the warmth of daylight.
He has not slept for days, fore he knows the moon haunts his dreams, with promises of condemnation. He knows the moon as intimately as he knows the forests. And when daylight breaks like a furious god crowned in a eulogy of song, and thorns, it is not the trail of black roses nor poppies that he follows -- he is following her whisper. Her memory. Her scent. She is his forest. Laced in euphoric ecstasy. Like a wolf on the trail of another dream, another beautiful predator -- jaws embellished in wine, blood and silk. He follows her like darkness follows moonsong. It is his hunger that pulls the forest apart, like threads come undone.
He remembers the taste of her lips against his own. The fragrance of her silk hair. The memory of her skin, sweet and delicate. He remembers the bone-white glow of her complexion, caught like an ivory rose in the jaws of an immortal thunderbird. Moreover, he remembers the feel of her teeth against his neck. The way she left the shadow of a kiss upon his skin, etching scripture unto his soul with the promise of his damnation. It is in those moments, he lives, breathes, howls, and when he finally closes the distance between them, Arawn drops a gentle kiss upon her shoulder as a reminder of their two fates, entwined.
"Danae," His voice is low. The day is christened in dawn-light, as it pours like blood through the woodlands, staining her lithe, porcelain body in a filigree dress of red and gold. He wants to hold her, to pull her into his embrace and take her above the earth, but Arawn is still and he is silent.
He has not slept for days, fore he knows the moon haunts his dreams, with promises of condemnation. He knows the moon as intimately as he knows the forests. And when daylight breaks like a furious god crowned in a eulogy of song, and thorns, it is not the trail of black roses nor poppies that he follows -- he is following her whisper. Her memory. Her scent. She is his forest. Laced in euphoric ecstasy. Like a wolf on the trail of another dream, another beautiful predator -- jaws embellished in wine, blood and silk. He follows her like darkness follows moonsong. It is his hunger that pulls the forest apart, like threads come undone.
He remembers the taste of her lips against his own. The fragrance of her silk hair. The memory of her skin, sweet and delicate. He remembers the bone-white glow of her complexion, caught like an ivory rose in the jaws of an immortal thunderbird. Moreover, he remembers the feel of her teeth against his neck. The way she left the shadow of a kiss upon his skin, etching scripture unto his soul with the promise of his damnation. It is in those moments, he lives, breathes, howls, and when he finally closes the distance between them, Arawn drops a gentle kiss upon her shoulder as a reminder of their two fates, entwined.
"Danae," His voice is low. The day is christened in dawn-light, as it pours like blood through the woodlands, staining her lithe, porcelain body in a filigree dress of red and gold. He wants to hold her, to pull her into his embrace and take her above the earth, but Arawn is still and he is silent.
do i still taste of war. can you feel the battles on my skin stitched across my back. am i still rebuilding bone by fragile bone
