sylviawraith

[sylviawraith]

i’m still on my back, hair sprawled around me in beautiful knots

you’re on your knees in front of me,

and

i have never seen such beauty.

the headlights that pass by my window illuminate your collarbones and soft brown eyes

my chest is exposed but i don’t care to feel embarrassed

this is heaven, this is blasphemy, i am drowning in your gaze

i have never seen such beauty.

your fingertips trace careless circles against my skin, and i know that this is what home is

your chest is heaving, but you’re grinning

a smile reserved only for me, for us, for this

i must be a god

i have never seen such beauty.

[sylviawraith]

eve, who did you cry to when adam blamed you for humanity’s doom

what mother held you

what mother?

i would have cried to the pomegranates, crushing it’s seeds between my teeth

staining my lips a vengeful red

blood red

eve, who held you when your heart was so very heavy

eve my heart is so very heavy

what mother must i cry to

what fruit will bear the weight of my sin

i have my own adam

i too doom my own humanity

eve what mother

what mother must i cry to

[sylviawraith]

Quick fantasy scene I wrote while listening to Fable by Gigi Perez.

The world fell around them in beautiful pieces of tragedy, streaking fire across the sky. Bodies lay at their feet, faces twisted in agonized grins, eyes full of something not quite dead.

“This is over,” Nyra spoke tightly, “The last ship is leaving. We must go.”

Lys nodded and let her sword lower. She felt it then, not slow nor gentle. Her breath escaped her lungs in one single blow, her mouth filled with red clay as she flew towards the earth. She caught the mix of anguish and surprise in Nyra’s eyes and maybe even a hint of guilt.

Nyra was not even supposed to be here.

She was a medic, promised to stay away from the front lines.

He towered over Lys, coated in armor, the color covered by the blood of her friends, her people, death. His hair fell into his eyes but she still caught the gleam of destruction tinged with desperation. He wore a smile, soft, almost comforting. Lys rose quickly, swinging her sword in one fast motion as the sound of steel on steel rang across the barren graveyard. It reminded her of funeral bells, the sound of her entire life leading to this moment.

She knew her blood would spill here. She knew before she came.

Nyra stood away from the fight, clinging to an injured soldier, looking back and forth wildly between Lys and the King. Lys was her future. The small glances and secret love shared between the two. Hidden from the eyes of the guard, the king, the court.

Her father

“Go!” Lys screamed, locking eyes with Nyra. “Take her and go!”

Nyra closed her eyes against tears. She hauled the half-alive solider into her arms and ran towards the leaving ship.

She did not look back.

Her face curled into something inhuman, something grotesque and horrific as her chest heaved with anguish. She kept running. She ran away from the sound of Lys’s laugh, taunting the King, buying her time to get to the ship. It was full of defiance and hatred. She ran from the sound of funeral bells, steel against steel. She ran from Lys’s soft smile and calloused hands, her beautiful armor and gleaming eyes.

Lys staggered, heaving with exhaustion. The King circled her slowly, his sword dragging through the clay. She flashed him an exhilarating grin, teeth painted red like a wild animal.

“I know I am to die. But I will die with your blood on my hands.”

He shakes his head at her, his expression softening.

“You fight for a nation that no longer breathes,”

He throws out his arm, motioning to the endless sea of the dead.

“There is no one left! You fight for nothing!”

Rage bleeds into every word,

“You fight for ghosts!”

His voice is raw as he screams at her.

“There is nothing left!”

He takes a wild lunge with his sword, shaking with anger. Lys smiles to herself.

She fought for Nyra.

A bell rang out across the graveyard, signaling the ships departure. She turned her back to the King, squinting her eyes ahead, looking to the sky. Nyra stands on the deck, hands covering her mouth as something escapes. Lys thinks she is screaming. Maybe her name? She listens intently, catching a small hint of the first syllable in the wind.

A whoosh and she stumbles, mouth agape, a scream stuck in her throat. She glances down to see the end of the Kings beautiful sword. It is painted such a vibrant red. Her red. Lys falls to her knees, watching the ship sail farther away. The wind still whispers her name and she thinks it kind of sounds like Nyra.