04-26-2014, 01:10 PM
Condolences?
The flash of misinterpretation painted itself across Spectra's flawless face as though perhaps she did not understand his use of the word. Condolences?
Her suspicion transformed into concerned study when the air suddenly changed temperature around her. Wisps of steam curled soundlessly around the capsule of sudden warmth. The air tickled her lungs with humidity, but despite the comforting reminder of home, her gaze narrowed upon Damien. All the more did the offense of being referenced her frailty. There was never a woman to live upon this earth who was stronger than Spectra. Her life was hell, but rather than wilt in the flames, she encapsulated them, and bent their scorching to her will.
The reason she had no heart? Because she was done with the graceless thing and cut it out with her own two hands.
A butterfly in a cocoon. A delicate woman. She broke from the prison of the Colombian jungles, and would not settle for the ordinary life in Bogotá. She wanted to devour the stars themselves, and become something that the mortals of this planet marveled for a thousand years. The dry lightning crackling his skin cast a white glow upon her neck, uplighting that drank the line of her cheeks and the holes of her eyes in ominous shadow.
The light dissolved like the storm collapsed upon itself. He walked away, and Spectra's throat tightened, strengthening itself as though to withhold the snap of the noose by rigidity alone. Her heart beat bitter in the cage of ribs. He turned his back on her and judged her for it? Nobody dismissed her.
Spectra's shock gave way to animosity. Virulence turned the red in her veins black. She was worth his groveling that her majesty would entertain his company for a night, but all he could offer was a pretty face and shallow reputation. He was unworthy of her, not the other way around. He would learn. Everyone will learn.
The sound of his footsteps faded, and the park was silent.
Lust was a powerful motivator, but what Spectra turned to for retaliation was a far greater sin. At one moment, starlight in the distance, but the next standing on the surface of the sun itself. It illuminated her world, and the night suddenly became day in her eyes. Damien was distant, but not yet out of earshot.
First, sound funneled to his ear. "Damien,"
the whisper carried as though her mouth were pressed against him. The pause to follow gave her time to approach. Dead grass crackled like crunched insects beneath her every step. There was a smile on her face that suggested a change of heart, but as Spectra frequently alluded, she had none.
She came to stand before him. She wanted to look into his eyes when their light died, when he clutched his chest and fell to his knees and knew in the silent pleas to follow that she was his fatality. "A convict does not dismiss a Queen."
Spectra's derision was a fearful declaration, but unlike most contemptuous women, Spectra's cause for condescension was validated by genuine threat.
It was simple as breathing for her; as simple as being beautiful. The Light became an ice-like grip, stabbed between ribs and molded around the heart as though she would rip it from its cage as she had her own so long ago.
She smiled, cold, but pleased, "A man should kneel before his queen."
The merriment in her words was palpable.
The flash of misinterpretation painted itself across Spectra's flawless face as though perhaps she did not understand his use of the word. Condolences?
Her suspicion transformed into concerned study when the air suddenly changed temperature around her. Wisps of steam curled soundlessly around the capsule of sudden warmth. The air tickled her lungs with humidity, but despite the comforting reminder of home, her gaze narrowed upon Damien. All the more did the offense of being referenced her frailty. There was never a woman to live upon this earth who was stronger than Spectra. Her life was hell, but rather than wilt in the flames, she encapsulated them, and bent their scorching to her will.
The reason she had no heart? Because she was done with the graceless thing and cut it out with her own two hands.
A butterfly in a cocoon. A delicate woman. She broke from the prison of the Colombian jungles, and would not settle for the ordinary life in Bogotá. She wanted to devour the stars themselves, and become something that the mortals of this planet marveled for a thousand years. The dry lightning crackling his skin cast a white glow upon her neck, uplighting that drank the line of her cheeks and the holes of her eyes in ominous shadow.
The light dissolved like the storm collapsed upon itself. He walked away, and Spectra's throat tightened, strengthening itself as though to withhold the snap of the noose by rigidity alone. Her heart beat bitter in the cage of ribs. He turned his back on her and judged her for it? Nobody dismissed her.
Spectra's shock gave way to animosity. Virulence turned the red in her veins black. She was worth his groveling that her majesty would entertain his company for a night, but all he could offer was a pretty face and shallow reputation. He was unworthy of her, not the other way around. He would learn. Everyone will learn.
The sound of his footsteps faded, and the park was silent.
Lust was a powerful motivator, but what Spectra turned to for retaliation was a far greater sin. At one moment, starlight in the distance, but the next standing on the surface of the sun itself. It illuminated her world, and the night suddenly became day in her eyes. Damien was distant, but not yet out of earshot.
First, sound funneled to his ear. "Damien,"
the whisper carried as though her mouth were pressed against him. The pause to follow gave her time to approach. Dead grass crackled like crunched insects beneath her every step. There was a smile on her face that suggested a change of heart, but as Spectra frequently alluded, she had none.
She came to stand before him. She wanted to look into his eyes when their light died, when he clutched his chest and fell to his knees and knew in the silent pleas to follow that she was his fatality. "A convict does not dismiss a Queen."
Spectra's derision was a fearful declaration, but unlike most contemptuous women, Spectra's cause for condescension was validated by genuine threat.
It was simple as breathing for her; as simple as being beautiful. The Light became an ice-like grip, stabbed between ribs and molded around the heart as though she would rip it from its cage as she had her own so long ago.
She smiled, cold, but pleased, "A man should kneel before his queen."
The merriment in her words was palpable.