The full moon bore her ill will.
Full and pregnant, the glittering cold silver circle bore its brunt down upon white head and she hated it, loved it. There was always something about the moon and those of the female gender which shared some secret bond no man, world or child could break.
But tonight there was no bond, no calling, no secrets whispered from between scarred mouth to the night sky. No childish-wishes and deepest hidden dreams were born in autumn's air.
Suliss?urn considered the moon with eyes cat-wild and wide in the darkness and blamed it for everything. She blamed the moon now for the oddest ache-pulse that had settled within her ribs. Black hands marred with scar-lines of hate lifted without her willing them to flatten a palm over the pulse-beat of an organ rushing blood to veins.
Like a child did not understand the concept of loss, she did not understand the why. Why did it hurt? She did not give it permission to hurt. She did not tell her emotions it was alright to feel anything. She had not granted the go-ahead to her body and mind to betray her. She held no control over her emotions and this was not allowed, this disorderly emotion-business. Strictly for the weak.
There were no words in drow for the lump which nestled deep within her throat and made it difficult to swallow. Damaged years ago when they were fried with adoring-sisterly love out of her skull, she had no tear ducts to relieve the strange pin-prick of wavering vision.
Like a child, there was anger, fear, hatred, loathing and sullen resentment toward the object which had made her feel this way, too.
Yes. It was not her fault at all. It could not be. Despite the fact she had done everything in her power to seduce a man out for whim and find herself trapped in delightful game?it was not her fault at all, it was his, of course, for letting her do so. For letting her want him and for letting her go where she willed and wanted only to come back to find?
Nothing. Remnants of blood, nightmares, rumors, torn clothing.
The moon remained round and jaunty above as almond eyes slit to dangerous folds.
I will break it. I have. I did. I broke it. Some how. It is shattered, or am I?
When she threw back her head to howl a murder of crows nesting nearby were sent screaming and cawing into the air, black dots across the unfeeling, unmoved moon she watched. As if awaiting some reaction, some sort of answer to the pain that lurked within the animal-like keen that sliced through the air.
The silence which crawled back to her pointed ear seemed to gloat upon the answer-less, deafening nothing.
The moon did not care that her child mourned.
The child did not even know she mourned until it was too late.
Some lessons were harsh. This one, despite it all, ran the deepest and bled the darkest.
Full and pregnant, the glittering cold silver circle bore its brunt down upon white head and she hated it, loved it. There was always something about the moon and those of the female gender which shared some secret bond no man, world or child could break.
But tonight there was no bond, no calling, no secrets whispered from between scarred mouth to the night sky. No childish-wishes and deepest hidden dreams were born in autumn's air.
Suliss?urn considered the moon with eyes cat-wild and wide in the darkness and blamed it for everything. She blamed the moon now for the oddest ache-pulse that had settled within her ribs. Black hands marred with scar-lines of hate lifted without her willing them to flatten a palm over the pulse-beat of an organ rushing blood to veins.
Like a child did not understand the concept of loss, she did not understand the why. Why did it hurt? She did not give it permission to hurt. She did not tell her emotions it was alright to feel anything. She had not granted the go-ahead to her body and mind to betray her. She held no control over her emotions and this was not allowed, this disorderly emotion-business. Strictly for the weak.
There were no words in drow for the lump which nestled deep within her throat and made it difficult to swallow. Damaged years ago when they were fried with adoring-sisterly love out of her skull, she had no tear ducts to relieve the strange pin-prick of wavering vision.
Like a child, there was anger, fear, hatred, loathing and sullen resentment toward the object which had made her feel this way, too.
Yes. It was not her fault at all. It could not be. Despite the fact she had done everything in her power to seduce a man out for whim and find herself trapped in delightful game?it was not her fault at all, it was his, of course, for letting her do so. For letting her want him and for letting her go where she willed and wanted only to come back to find?
Nothing. Remnants of blood, nightmares, rumors, torn clothing.
The moon remained round and jaunty above as almond eyes slit to dangerous folds.
I will break it. I have. I did. I broke it. Some how. It is shattered, or am I?
When she threw back her head to howl a murder of crows nesting nearby were sent screaming and cawing into the air, black dots across the unfeeling, unmoved moon she watched. As if awaiting some reaction, some sort of answer to the pain that lurked within the animal-like keen that sliced through the air.
The silence which crawled back to her pointed ear seemed to gloat upon the answer-less, deafening nothing.
The moon did not care that her child mourned.
The child did not even know she mourned until it was too late.
Some lessons were harsh. This one, despite it all, ran the deepest and bled the darkest.