The world is a stage and space the centerfold image in a magazine. The galaxy made the girl feel naughty and wicked, tempted and sinful. It was far too exposed to her in just one touch, one look and she felt nothing If not for abducted and seduced by a caress of stars and a temptation of moonlight.
Chevar had taught her long ago that as a ring master you learned how to manipulate and twist. Once it had been only Chevar that had run the show as the head pawn in a game meant for bishops, knights, and rooks but on this planet and playing field the pawns were in charge. Certainly the pawns would never allow the Queen and King to think such things but this was a different story.
Chevar was a vision in black and white. Onyx eyes would lack the balance of pupils only to carry the pinpoint of blind stars in his possession. His ashen grey flesh left him to seem the funeral risk, the under elf forgotten but he was none of these things and he would remind them all of such things. As a pawn he was whispered as the Star Seer, a manipulator of the fates" but as a ring master he was Smoke.
He stood in the midst of the Phantasmagoria ring, proud and arrogant. He was a bawdy prick but Miriam had hung on his coat tails for as long as she could recall. In the shadows she would play the game of deceit to add to his show. After all he would always remind her that she was nothing more then a hitchhiker against the stars and he might as well have been God to her in a world where devils and gods paraded about in the common life.
It was manipulation when he learned of her gift, just the one of many that unfurled. She had scratched at her skin the first time the black and white had scrawled the small print and the wicked story at her arms. Even now she couldn't break the habit of itching at her skin when another story emerged in the purity in black and the sin of the white.
The day when the white and black of the skin imprint began to earn color as rain pouring down watercolors upon her flesh was the day Chevar died. The night when Smoke left the world and his gravel stroked voice had growled out the last rites of his own existence. She would be his benefactor to take over the Phantasmagoria. He for the first time ever had called her more then girl.
She would be Mirror. That was the night that started her life and began her path that would lead a hitchhiker to become a Messenger and eventually one to end up on the run. That though was another story and Miriam, well" she was far too nostalgic, and was left to reflect on the past even as the shine of her destiny painted the future in a bold brilliant blaze to touch upon the galaxy like the stars were meant to explode.
Chevar had taught her long ago that as a ring master you learned how to manipulate and twist. Once it had been only Chevar that had run the show as the head pawn in a game meant for bishops, knights, and rooks but on this planet and playing field the pawns were in charge. Certainly the pawns would never allow the Queen and King to think such things but this was a different story.
Chevar was a vision in black and white. Onyx eyes would lack the balance of pupils only to carry the pinpoint of blind stars in his possession. His ashen grey flesh left him to seem the funeral risk, the under elf forgotten but he was none of these things and he would remind them all of such things. As a pawn he was whispered as the Star Seer, a manipulator of the fates" but as a ring master he was Smoke.
He stood in the midst of the Phantasmagoria ring, proud and arrogant. He was a bawdy prick but Miriam had hung on his coat tails for as long as she could recall. In the shadows she would play the game of deceit to add to his show. After all he would always remind her that she was nothing more then a hitchhiker against the stars and he might as well have been God to her in a world where devils and gods paraded about in the common life.
It was manipulation when he learned of her gift, just the one of many that unfurled. She had scratched at her skin the first time the black and white had scrawled the small print and the wicked story at her arms. Even now she couldn't break the habit of itching at her skin when another story emerged in the purity in black and the sin of the white.
The day when the white and black of the skin imprint began to earn color as rain pouring down watercolors upon her flesh was the day Chevar died. The night when Smoke left the world and his gravel stroked voice had growled out the last rites of his own existence. She would be his benefactor to take over the Phantasmagoria. He for the first time ever had called her more then girl.
She would be Mirror. That was the night that started her life and began her path that would lead a hitchhiker to become a Messenger and eventually one to end up on the run. That though was another story and Miriam, well" she was far too nostalgic, and was left to reflect on the past even as the shine of her destiny painted the future in a bold brilliant blaze to touch upon the galaxy like the stars were meant to explode.