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 was youthful and elegant, but faded, like the ashen wanness of decay. How suitable was it she lived here, among disturbed piles of stone held together by fractured plankings of ice and dust? She sought asylum in any tottering, run-down construction which was how she came to cross the palace's coastline of splintered glass, unknowing of the desolation that had been performed on this formerly distinguished structure.
At first, there was nothing but taciturnity in those arcane corridors, the bleat of a home remembering. It was the sound of ascending, climbing like the sonance of worn keys on a piano; it was a throbbing, tactful aching. It crescendoed morosely into a craving call for Apollo.
Phizarae's gloved hand cautiously felt the fissured architecture, her thoughts secreted behind her ceramic composition, when she saw the aviary. Within it were beings that took nothing for granted, conceivably because they knew no better. These rocks would eventually capitulate to the soil below them- would the creatures stay beyond even that? Generous fortune always had a way of slipping through fingers like sand. Still, they perched together as if their slight bones could withstand the crushing weight of their palace on top of them. Fitted with grievous eyes and ink-stained wings, they were powerful ebony, intensely eloquent in the way all absolute things are.
"Hello, little birds." She cooed this address, commanding nothing in return, unknowing of the attuned that endured among them and emphatically naive to the internal operations of Halo in general.
At first, there was nothing but taciturnity in those arcane corridors, the bleat of a home remembering. It was the sound of ascending, climbing like the sonance of worn keys on a piano; it was a throbbing, tactful aching. It crescendoed morosely into a craving call for Apollo.
Phizarae's gloved hand cautiously felt the fissured architecture, her thoughts secreted behind her ceramic composition, when she saw the aviary. Within it were beings that took nothing for granted, conceivably because they knew no better. These rocks would eventually capitulate to the soil below them- would the creatures stay beyond even that? Generous fortune always had a way of slipping through fingers like sand. Still, they perched together as if their slight bones could withstand the crushing weight of their palace on top of them. Fitted with grievous eyes and ink-stained wings, they were powerful ebony, intensely eloquent in the way all absolute things are.
"Hello, little birds." She cooed this address, commanding nothing in return, unknowing of the attuned that endured among them and emphatically naive to the internal operations of Halo in general.
"."
Phizarae
the winteress
