Post by » r.andom on Nov 4, 2006 7:57:07 GMT -5
It was eloquence in falling; the indecision of each silent footfall embellished by the shiverring grasses that thinned and faded before her. It was getting darker. Her past was lived in dreams, though nightmares may have been the more appropriate term, and the shocking age that whispered between her dark eyes was a striking contrast to the youthful gleam of her body. Perhaps it is misfortune that leads her restless steps into the Pacolette Trail; the trees were weeping for her choice, for the freedom she relinquished as each step drew her breath from her, as each pause of her heart sighed in her loss. Aria stopped.
Her gait preceeds her; tendrils of silver kissing warmly against the ghostly haunches and neck, the color of dried and drying blood. As it dripped earthward it collected in finest ebony, hidden by the darkness of her shadow that whispered next to her in all its warnings. You should not have come here. The voice was too vague; all too often did she challenge what could not be questioned. They will break you. He will break you. But it was waning, this voice of her inner sense, the harbinger that should have been her savior. And as nightfall took her, Aria moved again.
There was something both enticingly gentle and darkly rigid about the way her eyes saw before her without emotion, the way they held no interest for the path she blindly followed. She could not feel the wind as it froze against her skin, or even see Them as they began to stir around her... faces in the darkness, as meaningless and empty as her own existence. But she must stop - here, where He watched with hungry eyes, where his soul leapt to silence her own. In her mind she saw herself running, her muscles fluid beneath silk and midnight, extending as she reached for some point of freedom... But her body was rooted, frozen to her Choice (if she had one), bloody against the dying sunset. She did not call for him. She would not need to.
Her gait preceeds her; tendrils of silver kissing warmly against the ghostly haunches and neck, the color of dried and drying blood. As it dripped earthward it collected in finest ebony, hidden by the darkness of her shadow that whispered next to her in all its warnings. You should not have come here. The voice was too vague; all too often did she challenge what could not be questioned. They will break you. He will break you. But it was waning, this voice of her inner sense, the harbinger that should have been her savior. And as nightfall took her, Aria moved again.
There was something both enticingly gentle and darkly rigid about the way her eyes saw before her without emotion, the way they held no interest for the path she blindly followed. She could not feel the wind as it froze against her skin, or even see Them as they began to stir around her... faces in the darkness, as meaningless and empty as her own existence. But she must stop - here, where He watched with hungry eyes, where his soul leapt to silence her own. In her mind she saw herself running, her muscles fluid beneath silk and midnight, extending as she reached for some point of freedom... But her body was rooted, frozen to her Choice (if she had one), bloody against the dying sunset. She did not call for him. She would not need to.