keeper-of-keys-and-feathers

[keeper-of-keys-and-feathers]

Hollow

She still feels the burn of his kiss

on the tender flesh of her inner thigh-

and feels the sting of fear

where playful nips became bruising grips-

red marks on her neck, fingerprints.

Breathless screams meet deaf ears,

his hollow eyes echoing her worst of fears.

She hides terror with a smile and a chaste kiss when each night arrives,

praying to a distant god that he'll keep away this time,

maybe this time,

she'll escape unscathed from the subjugation

of that aberration masquerading as a man.

When morning comes, the ache is the same,

clothes and concealer hide her fading pain.

The body heals, the memories remain.

[keeper-of-keys-and-feathers]

aoris - teaser

The nightmare always starts the same. 

The verdant foliage of the palace greenhouse surrounds her in this beautiful greenhouse where the brilliant sun streams down over vibrant, blooming flowers, and the painted terracotta tiles are cool against her bare feet. Humid air sticks to her skin and feathers, the thick atmosphere making each breath a choking one. The iron-wrought table, once littered with tea cups that she and Mama had been sipping chai from, like they had every morning, is now toppled over, the tea cups shattered and their contents seeping slowly into the flowerbeds. 

The alarm bell is still ringing. She can hear it where she's hiding, the distant droning chime from its tower, a world away from the dense leaves in the north corner of the greenhouse, and the hooves of one of those creatures standing before her. Mama had said to hide, that she would be right back, and that she loved Aveline deeply, but that had been an eternity ago. The hot and heavy breath of the bull-headed beast ruffles the leaves that conceal her, but fiery magic rolls off of her in waves, charging the heady air with the scent of wood smoke and spices.

"Little princess, I can smell you...", booms a growling voice, and she watches as the heavy cloven feet take a few steps away, out of her vision. She can hear the beast moving, tiles cracking under his weight.

Aveline pulls her dark wings in even tighter than before, the tension in her slight frame almost painful as she tries to make herself as small as possible, praying to the gods that somehow, someway, the beast will step away and leave her alone.

There is a moment of total silence between the gongs of the bell tower and her bated breath. A moment where she thinks she may have gotten away. 

Then one of the beast's great big hands reaches down from some unseen place and Aveline lets out a bloodcurdling scream as he yanks on her braid, dragging her to her feet, but instead of coming face to face with the snot-dripping half-man, half-bull she remembers, she finds herself emerging from the leaves to see the main doors of the palace. Aveline’s hands are now shackled in dark metal, incapacitating her magic, and someone has their hands on her wings, wrenching them back so that she cannot extend them. There is a crowd at the bottom of the steps leading to the palace doors, filled with faces of people she knows - palace servants, townsfolk, even people she had called friends.

Like Finnegan. Sweet Finn. He's always younger in her memories, hair shorter, baby fat still giving him rosy apple cheeks, which are currently flushed by the tears streaking down his face. He’s across the steps from her, separate from the throng below, some other hulking beast with the head of a grizzly bear and the wings of an osprey has him confined like herself. His eyes don't meet hers - instead, they are fixated on their mothers, who stand front and center before the palace doors, thick chains of dark metal binding them.

Aunt Elodie is shackled like the rest of them, her white-blond hair bloodied and matted, and her Royal Guard armor battered and burnt. She spits red, glaring at a woman looming before Mama with a wickedly curved blade in her hands, but another beast with the head of a snake forces her to her knees. Mama stands tall, as queenly and regal as always, refusing to bow to those who dare besmirch, but her face falls when her eyes land on Aveline. The tall beast in front of the queen has the head of a lizard, scaly and sharp with unfeeling eyes, the cracks between her scales glowing with deep orange light like cooling lava. This beast’s eyes rake over Aveline with recognition. From deep in her subconscious, the creature's name comes to Aveline, echoing through the dream with the force of an earthquake: Pyla. 

Pyla now turns, holding her blade against the deep tan skin of Queen Serafina's throat and she looks back at the little princess, who feels her body shake with rage and terror in equal measure. A sob wracks her body, and despite the chains, she calls to her magic, desperate for any way to make it stop. Her magic answers, rising within her - but it falters at the shackles before it can do anything useful.

Blood spills down her mother's throat, staining her dress with crimson. A scream is torn from Aveline and more blood than should be possible pours down the palace steps to the crowd below. The eyes of the common folk have begun to drip the same vibrant red before they, too, slump to the ground, washed away in a tide of blood. Finnegan calls out to her but is washed away with the rest as Aveline screams and screams and screams until her small body gives out and no noise comes from her raw vocal cords. Pyla grins toothily and laughs.

↫✧↬

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[keeper-of-keys-and-feathers]

Life is a whisper, a subtle beat,

it’s not just what we see; it’s a wild retreat.

We feel it when we breathe, when we touch the sky,

in every present moment, in every spark that flies.

It’s a dance of shadows, a play of light,

an echo in the soul that never takes flight.

In the gentle breeze or the sea's sweet song,

life unfolds before us, inviting us along.

So take a deep breath, feel the connection,

each inhale is a gift, a celebration of reflection.

In the intangible, we find the purest truth,

life is a mystery that Always renews

[keeper-of-keys-and-feathers]

through the eyes of the valley

Spring; when the newly budding branches

breathe spirit to the racing riverside,

the world begins to flush green,

painting the world in the soft blush

of flower buds, pink-nosed cubs, kits, and pups,

as floral and faunal life return from long slumbers,

beasts stumbling from their hidden dens,

and snow-melt streams waken the crocus and catkin.

those who stayed awake among the evergreens shed their heavy coats

and frolic once more in abundance,

muddy paths and verdant pools bring

a symphony of amphibians from deep below the softening earth,

and flowers crown the forest in celebration.

-

Summer; when the cicadas drone their ancient chant

in golden grass meadows shimmering through early evening light,

fireflies drifting lazily by as night comes down.

huckleberry bushes laden with their sweet fruit

waiting to be plucked by clever fingers, beaks, and claws,

the pikas zip about their high-peaked home,

and bird-song lights the dewy dawn,

firehawks scouring where the blazes wreak their deadly path,

but like phoenix from ash,

the forest learns to begin again.

late august brings monsoons

and thunder rakes the valley,

frothing white rivers,

roaring and raging down the slopes of the mountains,

carving the land in their own image.

-

Autumn; when rot comes to the valley,

sickly sweet on brisk air,

mushrooms bursting from leaf litter and fallen antlers,

crow calls in the fleeting dawn,

aspens quaking in the wandering wind, their groves alight like golden fire

here the elk bugles echo on valley walls,

a primal song, haunting the dusky nights

with memories of prehistoric bones.

the mountains keep their secrets close to heart, buried here

under first frosts and flurries,

others are given to the birds

southbound on deft wings,

taking with them their sweet melodies,

as northern quiet settles in.

-

Winter; when soft snow blankets the world

and mutes the sounds of the forest

to the barest creaking of ice,

the crunch of scarlet fox crushing down

on the faintest scuttlings of mice lurking deep beneath the banks,

creaking ice where a brave wolf pup tests the frozen ponds,

cracks blooming forth beneath him like frozen flowers.

The nights are long and deathly silent,

broken only by the wing beats of an owl,

the footfalls of a bobcat, and the bitter howling of whiteouts to come,

and even the waterfalls cease their roar

until the steady dripping of water

signals spring once more.