h [ o m ] e l l :: [Beretta + Aibell // Day One]
Oct 16, 2015 12:47:22 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Oct 16, 2015 12:47:22 GMT -5
The sky falls for you, cutting out the heart of God and raining her crystalline blood down upon you. Blessings of holy water kiss your face like a reminder of rooftops gone by, sleet skimming red from your skin and hair, but not from your mouth. Your confessional lips cannot be washed clean, cannot be redeemed — not while you wear this grin. Queen of the Damned, you have found your throne and are in love with your new kingdom. This hell is your home.
This is true happiness. You find yourself blushing, absently running fingertips across your collarbone, biting your lip as you fondly remember today’s bloodlust. Despite being an old hand at this game, you have always kept the horror of your soul concealed behind locked doors, but these thoughts of having the glory of your madness broadcast to the world as entertainment… as required viewing… as something to fear, to aspire to, to hide under the covers from, to check under the bed for, to study, to cheer to victory, to call by name until infamy becomes infinity… You are a giggling schoolgirl, infatuated.
As the skies breathe in daylight and exhale the first mist of evening, the second seduction begins. Curves slip across the last rays of sunset and into the fluttering eyes of stars awakening to a new night, a provocative whisper haunting the air with a face you recognize, but have never met. Still, your dark heart knows her. You are connected by a history that touched you, that touched her, with exactly the same hands. Identical sets of fingerprints brand you both. Eager to meet this fellow devil who once upon a time would have gladly wrapped herself around you, she throws her head back in a wild laugh and unfurls with the momentum into the mist beyond your reach. Only the air itself is allowed to entwine bodies with her now.
Blowing coyly in your ear, the breeze teases you, bragging shamelessly. She is mine. The boasting comes too soon because while you may not be what this ghost wants, a piece of her desire is still built into you, moonlight shining off your damp skin as if the pale reflections scattered across you are those fingerprints, permanently tattooed. You have grown with these memories, not out of them, and when she sees you, she sees them, wants them. For always. No mist can conceal this much desire.
When you reach out once more, she is so transfixed by the history of your skin that she can’t help leaning in. You count down the seconds of space between you, your twined curiosity, and this strange tangling of worlds. What’s yours is hers and what’s hers is yours and the collision of contact breaks a barrier that was never meant to be crossed over. Silver ricochets off the moonlight that dapples you and back into her greed, blowing her head apart all over again. What was red mist is now a pale doppelgänger of a death looping into itself on repeat — living and dying and being reborn simply to be killed all over again — as the mist tries to piece her back together.
The air swirls desperately. For a moment her face hangs in the haze like a half moon —
Dissolves. Lusts for the curve of her waist —
Dissolves. Tries to take her hand but is seized with confusion as thumb and forefinger are suddenly steel instead of skin and she is a gun, is a flare, is an explosive —
Dissolves. One weapon turns into another and another and the sky bursts with deadly fireworks. Swords and harpoons start a riot, the air aflutter with the wings of butterfly knives, of whirling axes, of split skulls. Bayonets spear the ground all around before dissipating into smoke, as if you are standing on a pyre, watching the world burn. The fog flickers into a monster so mighty that even you flinch as a mouth made of pure night opens to swallow you whole, to bellow for its beloved, to bare teeth made of bladed muskets that have not yet given up the mist’s search for GUNN—
Dissolves. The face of that monster shivers into tandem with the first and the greedy ghost that found you refuses to relinquish her hold, strong-arming the atmosphere into keeping them both, into keeping them together, into obeying her undying desires —
Dissolves. Meeting your eyes, the both of them flare and scatter like ash from the pyre. You blink at the sudden surrender, confused until you blink again and find yourself looking into a pair of eyes that match your own. One feline gaze stares into another and you are not afraid of this familiar predator they have summoned —
Dissolves. Your own longing for the girls being reborn in the air around you is undeniable, curves and claws solidifying as the moonlight reflects part of your soul into their existence. So long as you live, they cannot die. The body of a Lyon with the head of a one-eyed woman, the sphinx that takes shape does not shy from you. She has always belonged at your side.
You smirk at the air, at the jealous sky. You have only one thing to say to the mist, to this arena, to everyone you encounter: “Mine."
[dowsing rod]
H7d8IiyB1-3
[delivery word]
1-4
[dowsing rod success]
1-16
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[delivery word]
1-4
[dowsing rod success]
1-16
