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.
Among the dunes of slush and glacier, where many benevolent things have withered and vanished, was an omen. It beckoned her in muteness, articulating remarkably distinctly with no susurration. It did not bleat to her as its brethren have in days that have long ago arrived and passed, the vastly eternal presence of infinite time conducting nature as it always had. "Rangifer," she cried cautiously, the word threatening to spiral elsewhere in the snowflake flurries.
Phizarae reached her scantily gloved hand towards the caribou as the weather slithered beneath her garments, bitterly sharp and cruel - an enchanting combination. She had no intention to touch the animal, for so much can be expressed with no words and so much can be felt with no contact. Breath blanch against the numbing air, she blinked as the frost fondled her wind-whipped cheeks once more.
Hell had always been envisaged as a path so congested with blood, appalling destruction, savagery, and tragedy that you could bite down on it like penuche. It was a declaration to terrorize innocents who transgressed; to invoke a fantasy of blazing incubi whose barbed extremities thrashed as wings threatened to consume any man that risked standing before them. Though perhaps it truly wasn't so, for surely sitting in the snow and waiting for the coldness to slow your heart to the point it cannot pump blood adequately enough through sandpaper veins was Hell in its own right.
The choice became easy; she followed the caribou, the faintest of smiles blessing her lapis lips.
Phizarae reached her scantily gloved hand towards the caribou as the weather slithered beneath her garments, bitterly sharp and cruel - an enchanting combination. She had no intention to touch the animal, for so much can be expressed with no words and so much can be felt with no contact. Breath blanch against the numbing air, she blinked as the frost fondled her wind-whipped cheeks once more.
Hell had always been envisaged as a path so congested with blood, appalling destruction, savagery, and tragedy that you could bite down on it like penuche. It was a declaration to terrorize innocents who transgressed; to invoke a fantasy of blazing incubi whose barbed extremities thrashed as wings threatened to consume any man that risked standing before them. Though perhaps it truly wasn't so, for surely sitting in the snow and waiting for the coldness to slow your heart to the point it cannot pump blood adequately enough through sandpaper veins was Hell in its own right.
The choice became easy; she followed the caribou, the faintest of smiles blessing her lapis lips.
"."
Phizarae
the winteress
