all of me is damned. From earliest beginnings, my fate has been solitude- elegant solitude, elegant loneliness. I let it walk into me like a cathedral, down its isle- wedding bells sound in the secret place of my heart.
Phizarae had long ago grown used to the flavor of the universe's frigid gloaming submerged profoundly within her flesh. She had once felt so intensely and cared so exceedingly, but things turned when she became what the world perceived her as; her quietness turned to soundless arrogance, her reserve turned to glacial detachment. Phizarae didn't grasp that the frost endangered the raven's heart as it had long ago hers and even if she had understood, she solely would've driven him to accept the feeling for it had become such an elegant component of her identity and it would've done the same for him.
The winter may have chilled her soul but it had also anesthetized all her wretched despondency and for that, she could only be thankful.
After another division of silence, she laid the handkerchief back in its obscure pocket and peered at the grim-looking bird. "Why do you stay here?" she hummed. Though it seemed as if the realm had beaten him, he was still a Stygian creature with the equipment to be lovely and the capacity of flight and therefore a variety of physical freedom unachievable to most.
As they inclined once more into the silence, coldness had begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the serpent shadows of nighttime. She flapped her gloved hand at him, a gesture only meant to garner some sort of reaction. Maybe he would approach only to peck at the frilly tulle that ornamented her waving slender hand; anything would be better than nothing. Phizarae's reasons for this had become unknowingly selfish; what had been 'oh, pretty birds' quickly morphed into 'do something so that I don't have to be uncomfortable any longer'.
Oh! how the damaged interact with one another; a tale often riddled with deeply cut misunderstanding.
The winter may have chilled her soul but it had also anesthetized all her wretched despondency and for that, she could only be thankful.
After another division of silence, she laid the handkerchief back in its obscure pocket and peered at the grim-looking bird. "Why do you stay here?" she hummed. Though it seemed as if the realm had beaten him, he was still a Stygian creature with the equipment to be lovely and the capacity of flight and therefore a variety of physical freedom unachievable to most.
As they inclined once more into the silence, coldness had begun to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the serpent shadows of nighttime. She flapped her gloved hand at him, a gesture only meant to garner some sort of reaction. Maybe he would approach only to peck at the frilly tulle that ornamented her waving slender hand; anything would be better than nothing. Phizarae's reasons for this had become unknowingly selfish; what had been 'oh, pretty birds' quickly morphed into 'do something so that I don't have to be uncomfortable any longer'.
Oh! how the damaged interact with one another; a tale often riddled with deeply cut misunderstanding.
"."
Phizarae
the winteress
