the sun, the stars, the moon. | calypso; for hannah

Moonlight's silver tears — they burn my skin. Silver fire of the moon, they tumble down the slopes of my flesh and leave in their treacherous path blackness upon the surface of my skin and beneath it, pools of agony left to riot. They carve me hollow with their flames — my fire, a tangle of gold and scarlet, has been swallowed by her bones. Its ghost ascends into the arms of the stars — as her soul had — nothing more than a remnant of what once was.

Cold nostalgia pours into the night as sparks and flames alike stifle, leaving me a shell on its broken knees. Her face, her flesh (torn, torn, ripped ripped), her blood, drenched in the golden ichor of the sunfall — and later, the sunrise. In her departure, she cursed the sky, where her final words are carved into the valleys of the stars — "This is my perihelion; I have never been so close to the warmth of hope." — and the ground with the shadow of her memory.


Her fire flourished, her fire rose with her into the sky; my fire perishes, my fire is cast out into oblivion.




One last broken breath and she paints the world black. Inhale, the sun is falling falling falling, the gold is leaking leaking leaking down the soft slope of the hills. Exhale, the moon is crying crying crying, the silver is ebbing ebbing ebbing to the descending cloak of the blackness.

The stars, they are cast into the abyss of darkness's agape mouth, and the moon, it -
it cracks cracks cracks and crumbles, reduced to a downpour of iridescent dust, raining down upon the shadow infested ground with swan-like grace.

Our Her face is solemn in sleep. She is a beautifully broken corpse, a porcelain doll, marred by labyrinths of cracks. Swathed in white kissed silver and cradled by beds of lilies, she has never looked so free of chaos's wrathful paws.
She has never looked so cold.

I do not breathe — I will not, cannot. Not when she is a frozen corpse on a screen with hollow lungs and a still heart.



[Hannah -
Hannah O'Leary.

Come back.]




A void.

It stretches to infinity before my feet.

The world has fallen away, its foundation tossed carelessly into oblivion - and oblivion is infinite like the skies - utterly trapped within the arms of darkness. Chains hindering me trapped between the bars of darkness are laced over my body; my delicate wrists are cursed with red rings and my hollow chest, throbbing with the beat of her bones, struggles to rise beneath the crushing weight.

I wait for the descent of the coldness's claws, I wait to feel the sear of my blackened blood ooze over my flesh from the gashes they will leave in their wake. I wait for the riot of goosebumps, I wait for the shivers to bolt down my spine like spiders.
But it is embers and hot ash, carried in the breeze, that caress my skin in their embrace. Crackles of the escaping sparks begin as feline hisses and rise to the roar of a lion as they flourish into the flames.

An inferno plants its lips upon the darkness,

and the golden ichor of the sunrise bursts from the horizon and devours the darkness in one bite. Scarlet's gentle breath drenches the ground, chasing away the shadows who dare remain after darkness's exile.




And Hannah O'Leary soars into the havens of the stars, into the arms of the valleys of constellations, basking in her new found liberty from the prison of her body that now lies a shell on the bed of grass and delicate white lilies.

The sun is the beginning and the end and its fire is hope —
this is Hannah O'Leary's perihelion, and she is free, but I,
I am not touched by the kiss of the sunrise; I have been deemed undeserving.
One darkness still remains, and I, I have been abandoned in the cages of its claws.

She is immersed in the bliss of liberty but she is dead.


Three shattered words fall from my lips.



And my legs fold to the floor.

I do not resurface —

this dying light has ignited my ashen flesh;

the sun begins to fall.

[presto][/presto]