(anyone who has crossed paths with Annike is welcome to join in, Figured I'd give a lil twist for her life amongst a Valentine's day background ::chuckle:: enjoy)
The world was a masterpiece of red and pink, roses in bloom that blushed and smoldered in phoenix shades and heart's desire. Paper hearts and flowers. Chocolate dipped strawberries.
A change in the world that Annike did not quite understand. She was not without emotion. That would well be known but the idea of Valentine's Day eluded her. The open displays of affection, the enforced rituals of gift giving and presentation of love for the world to know of pairings, matings, bondings.
Raziya had told her that there had been a patron saint for young lovers. Valentine. Who really knew the background story any more"
Won't you follow me down the rabbit hole"
A murmur in her thoughts that she knew was not her own. Not knowing if it was a memory being replayed or a subtle suggestion to her thoughts.
Darker paths were dangerous. She could not be swayed from her direction. Soon the knights would return and tell her and Alain of what had been found. If not soon....Annike would have to take measures of her own to find Lucian. She feared he already was lost to her.
Amongst the crimson and rose quartz hues would she stand out....Goldilocks curls, pale flesh with its dark shade tattoos...and cemetery gray the dress worn. The hooded cloak black. Thick and warm for the colder morning. An afterthought had the tattooed hands lifting the hood of cloak to rest over hair, disguise her features. An afterthought....a porcelain half mask brushed with silver accents. She had worn so many masks....what was one more?
The basket was lifted then. Sterling silver roses with black and gold ribbons. A kiss of sunlight lingered blue veins of flora cast purple shadows like old bruises on petal surface. They were exquisite. Beautiful. Antiquity's grace perfected.
A silent exit. The Ghost again....but this time....a new apparition that wandered in daylight cloaked.
No family. No home. All had been lost....and perhaps her soul was following that path. Far past Wonderland. No love. No affection.
Passion. Heat. Lust. Desire. Hatred. Anguish. These were the emotions ever tasted on her tongue. To be wanted....to be loved. Elusive to her. Unobtained.
The roses fell gently at doorsteps and on desks. Shadow paths and Forest beds. Silver roses for Raziya, Desiree, Grem and Kazzy (for to her the two were a matched pair), Gem, Sin, Fia, Silas, Lang, Darkmere, Drake, and Neikla.
A final stop to Alain's quarters. Two roses to rest on desk, laying in glorious glisten against those favored tabloids. Two roses had a meaning. An understanding. Forging of a bond. A sense of something that tied their lives together far past this one of existence. It was there painted in tattooed markings and dark wings. She knew but would not speak of it....a private gesture that one day she may understand better then she did now.
Many had loved and lost. Many mourned like she privately did in those dark hours of night when she was alone. Alone.
Like the lost souls.
Head bowed, sheathing her figure deeper into darkness. Those final roses clutched in hand, thorns piercing tattooed hands and drawing drops of blood.
It made sense. Beauty could not exist without Pain.
In the cemetery her path ended and came to rest. Only to stop when the final rose was left against the grave.
Silver roses in snow. A splatter of blood. Motionless.
The cemetery angel then. Paying respects for those lost....those forgotten....while the living still danced. Remained merry.
The world was a masterpiece of red and pink, roses in bloom that blushed and smoldered in phoenix shades and heart's desire. Paper hearts and flowers. Chocolate dipped strawberries.
A change in the world that Annike did not quite understand. She was not without emotion. That would well be known but the idea of Valentine's Day eluded her. The open displays of affection, the enforced rituals of gift giving and presentation of love for the world to know of pairings, matings, bondings.
Raziya had told her that there had been a patron saint for young lovers. Valentine. Who really knew the background story any more"
Won't you follow me down the rabbit hole"
A murmur in her thoughts that she knew was not her own. Not knowing if it was a memory being replayed or a subtle suggestion to her thoughts.
Darker paths were dangerous. She could not be swayed from her direction. Soon the knights would return and tell her and Alain of what had been found. If not soon....Annike would have to take measures of her own to find Lucian. She feared he already was lost to her.
Amongst the crimson and rose quartz hues would she stand out....Goldilocks curls, pale flesh with its dark shade tattoos...and cemetery gray the dress worn. The hooded cloak black. Thick and warm for the colder morning. An afterthought had the tattooed hands lifting the hood of cloak to rest over hair, disguise her features. An afterthought....a porcelain half mask brushed with silver accents. She had worn so many masks....what was one more?
The basket was lifted then. Sterling silver roses with black and gold ribbons. A kiss of sunlight lingered blue veins of flora cast purple shadows like old bruises on petal surface. They were exquisite. Beautiful. Antiquity's grace perfected.
A silent exit. The Ghost again....but this time....a new apparition that wandered in daylight cloaked.
No family. No home. All had been lost....and perhaps her soul was following that path. Far past Wonderland. No love. No affection.
Passion. Heat. Lust. Desire. Hatred. Anguish. These were the emotions ever tasted on her tongue. To be wanted....to be loved. Elusive to her. Unobtained.
The roses fell gently at doorsteps and on desks. Shadow paths and Forest beds. Silver roses for Raziya, Desiree, Grem and Kazzy (for to her the two were a matched pair), Gem, Sin, Fia, Silas, Lang, Darkmere, Drake, and Neikla.
A final stop to Alain's quarters. Two roses to rest on desk, laying in glorious glisten against those favored tabloids. Two roses had a meaning. An understanding. Forging of a bond. A sense of something that tied their lives together far past this one of existence. It was there painted in tattooed markings and dark wings. She knew but would not speak of it....a private gesture that one day she may understand better then she did now.
Many had loved and lost. Many mourned like she privately did in those dark hours of night when she was alone. Alone.
Like the lost souls.
Head bowed, sheathing her figure deeper into darkness. Those final roses clutched in hand, thorns piercing tattooed hands and drawing drops of blood.
It made sense. Beauty could not exist without Pain.
In the cemetery her path ended and came to rest. Only to stop when the final rose was left against the grave.
Silver roses in snow. A splatter of blood. Motionless.
The cemetery angel then. Paying respects for those lost....those forgotten....while the living still danced. Remained merry.