even a n g e l s fall;; {Darks?}

[Engelsfors]

Engelsfors I am a walking deception, a lie on four legs. Every inch of my fibre is a misfortune of the truth. Young-minded and innocent I had started my life out with a generously harsh truth. the world did not take kindly to you, you were not wanted and by know means did you get handed silver spoons and golden forks. The moment I entered this world, golden thread and ivory tapestry, I was a walking contradiction. I could cast one look and have many stop in their tracks, like some enticing geisha, I could take down an army with but a single well-placed smile. My problem? Of course it was the beauty, the long willowy legs, the well sinewy stature beneath my almost glowing gloss of gold. I am all of this, but I am more, I have brought down those very men, a saccharine smile may have drawn them near but it was my poisonous bite, my alluring song that entrap them in the bittersweet kiss of death. Like some black widow, entice them in, upon a lure, so elegant, graceful and beauty personified, then you just take it all away with one single lullaby. I was feared back home, or was it really home? Home was anywhere where you rested your head, home was inside of you, after all. That was what my golden mother had said, years of torture beneath my father made her soft, like melting chocolate. I would not be soft. I will never be soft. I was still young, a tender rose still blossoming, perhaps my beauty would flourish a little more as I aged, as most poisonous flowers often do. Perhaps, perhaps I would only get worse with age, after all time was elusive and often misunderstood. The evening sun is still tepid, humid against my golden skin. Patches of sweat on my neck matt against my gossamer mane. I shake my head, an elegant toss, a shimmy and a slither and they lay back into place, my forelock curtaining my eye, that enticing stare, hypnotic, intense, it noted every little flaw in the world. There was a few hooked boughs in the trees, out of shape, not in perfect sync with the others. There was also a strange pattern on the grass, summer's reign was not kind to the green grass beneath my feet, patchy in places. I also noticed the groups parading around, they have desires in their eyes and demands on their tongue. A curve takes my lip, twists and pulls into a debonair smile, I am graceful, each leg like a ballerina's, arching, walking with a tenderness and a strangely hypnotic walk, deeper into the meadow, closer to the crystalline waters in my gaze. And I wait. After all, this was a new beginning and I had one brilliant tale to pen upon those empty pages. e v e n   a n g e l s   f a l l