Silent, on the edges of existence, eyes the color of ocean water gaze - out onto the empty plains of a still world. The quick tip of tongue moistening cherry red lips, parted against the chill of a sweet winter's wind is the only movement, besides the slight quiver of tensed muscles and the rise and fall of her chest. She waits, with eyes heavy lidded and lashes beating coyly against the seductive pull of the fresh faced moon. Her skin is bright and white, her hair the color of darkened copper. She is delightful and terrible to behold, half cloaked in the shadow of her own rage. She trembles. A deep breathe pulled through the nostrils brings oxygen to her pounding heart. Its rhythm excites her, churning that place between her thighs and enticing her blood to rush through long limbs. She moves. At last, under the cold glow of a winter moon she moves. A step. A stomp. A twirl.
Across the barren fields she moves. Feet barely brushing the earth, wild flowers bloom in her wake and the wolf sings for her glory. Up and down the scale of notes with her heartbeat as its base. The world erupts in noise. No longer does the moon hang over a silent, still world. No longer. Skyclad and beautiful she twists and turns, her voice ringing our in throaty gasps and screams, song that echoes as she moves. She dances. Under the cold moon.
Her breathe twists in wisps of steam away from her mouth, parted in joyful laughter. It echoes across the world until, skidding she comes to a halt before the gilded mirror of self-hate. Before it she stands, rigid, still. Her heart aches in her chest and she bites down upon the fullness of her lower lip. Her eyes narrowed at the images thrown before her. It wheedles away at her self-worth. Dragging their nails through her heart, those that would, laugh at her, calling out in cold angry voices. Spite. Envy. They whisper until tears form at the corners of her eyes and tumble like rain on a barren field. Still she stands, fighting a silent battle with her invisible and tangible enemies alike. Her voices rises and falls in a wild scream and she lunges against the mirror. It does not shatter. It does not shake.
At last, when her aching muscles can take no more of the relentless battering, the world goes still again. The bend of her knees gives way to air and she collapses onto the cold earth. The mirror is no more but its damage lingers as it moves on to another place and time, ready to haunt another soul. They congregate around her for a moment and then, drift away – pleased with the broken soul they've left behind. Again the world is barren and frost tickles the hardened peeks of her breast, melting against the curves of her figure. She lays panting, her breathe growing shallow and slow, faint, as the moonlight that lit her once bright world grows dim in her eyes. Ocean-water eyes, the color of storm clouds across a rough sea, close in acceptance of a slow end of life.
How quickly the strong can fall when the weak find a dent in their armor. How easily an army of 4 or 5 can take down one. Not fully do they all realize the pain they inflict. Those that do live with sick, twisted hearts in their chests. But, there is hope. Always hope. Where life is there is death, and death again is life.
From the somewhere beyond the darkness a hand reaches for her heart, taking the pulsing beating mess of scars and anger and strokes it. A single touch. Warm, painfully so, and she raises her head her eyes unfocused and hazy. Half blind in their pain. From somewhere there beyond her hazy line of vision he stands, smiling a soft smile that is all at once meek and brave, strong and gentle. Eyes the color of honey sweet from the hive, unpolluted wet earth, and the freshness of spring. The smell of musk and clean masculinity reaches her in a wave. Overtaking her senses she tilts her head back and breathes deep, filling her failing lungs with the smell of him. Raising to her feet she trembles, reaching out for him with uncertain hands. Sweetly, he catches her in his arms and she of silver white flesh presses herself into he of gold and bronze. And they stand. One dark as night yet white as the moon's heaviest glow, the other brighter then the midday sun and sweeter then then honey-kissed sunshine.
They stand and the world is no longer quiet. Wildflowers bloom at their feet, the grass sways in the gentlest breeze. The wolf sings out and is joined by a partner as the birds flutter here and their, playing tag and chasing each other. A smile, and they move. They dance. And the cycle is broken. The scars heal. Mother earth weeps with joy and farther sky sings with pride. They dance.
