kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep; Cezary

[Lye]

kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep Like most of Locket's children, she too had been forgotten, discarded, unwanted. Like a doll upon a shelf, tossed aside when the fascination wore off. For Lye, there had never been a fascination. Her pumpkin coloured eyes had looked upon her mother and had seen her horror, her fear. Automatically she had been tossed aside, unwanted. Attacked. Attacked for being born? What sort of mother did such a thing? Lye was a troubled young girl, she wore her heart upon her sleeve. And spent a long time of her life roaming The Beach. the stench of death she had found becoming, almost comforting. But there comes a time in a girl's life when she needed to escape the salty air, the sand in her coat. So the Meadow, it was. Like a raven she flew through the squelchy grass shoots of spring, her canter as fast as the the slippery ground could let her go (in parts the snow still lay in melting clumps), and her unsteady right hind could allow. But she went, she went with a blinded fury, a cascade of ebony feather splaying around her limbs in a furious flurry. She had no brakes, no intention of stopping; it was the entire meadow or nothing, but she needed to run. She needed the escape. the flashbacks of her past, she ran from quicker. Her stride lengthening, nearing a full gallop, she closed her eyes. If she hit a tree, she would lay there, stunned. staring up at the darkening sky and would make a wish upon a falling star. But she didn't. instead, she came to a careening halt, mud and grass flying about her in wayward clumps. Her breathing ragged, her lungs gasping, wanting air with such a rush. Each breath felt like fire, burning, consuming. It had come to her, that the Beach was cold, cold and dead, and she was living, as much as she’d hate to admit it (after all, the dead tell no tales, they also do not converse that well…) she had flesh and muscle, bone and a heart. It may be cold, as dead as where she had lived for a long time in her life, but she was starting to think now that the longer she stay in the beach’s confines, the prison of death would just consume her even more, making her madder that the black mare already was. So the Field it was, whether she’d attract something, anything, would soon be a miracle. • busted x locket • orange eyes, immortality • no one •

html by charmx, image by sniegoski