Deep Scars brings out a butterfly

[Engelsfors]

angels fall on broken wings; 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. But something has changed, like threads, so fine and slender, it has snapped and with it I have fallen into the weak boughs of the chamber; it's heart beating in unison with my own. Now, I am different. A touch of magic, somehow, somewhere, it has inked my skin like tarnished blood. Deep burgundy, blood red limbs, still elegant, still swift. Ebony locks cascading down my willowy neck. But now, I dance to a whole different tune. And this dance, of moss and earth and rich wintry scents upon the wind, takes me towards the field. To aid the chamber, to aid my home, I must be active. It has captured my heart, the dead beating organ, and I see no inch of the lady chamber giving it back to me. Thus, I earn my place to stay within her confines. And home indeed it is. The winter air is crisp, the chill going bone deep, numbing the marrow of my core, as I step out from the spindly pathway from the chamber, and into the field. Azure eyes drink in the view. The field is ripe with what would be seen as fresh fruit, lives ready for picking, ready to pluck from the tree of indecision and fall into the hands of those that knew what they wanted and where to go. My long limbs take my body, a mismatch of what I'm used to, through the shadowy path until I break out from the shadows and into the field itself. Moss and dirt cake me, a whole new skin. I inhale the sweet smells of winter, the new scents of strangers. and one in particular catches my eye. There is nowhere accompanying her, thus gives me a chance. I swan over, elegant and grace, even with needles of pine and remnants of pinecones braided into my mane, looks more like a disheveled feral mess, but a beauty all the same. it is just different. 'Greetings. I am Engelsfors, of the Chamber. Who might you be?' I pause, my azure gaze finding all the nooks and crannies on the strange blue mare. She is worn, muscles aching, I can feel it, I can see it. I was always one for reading others well. Call it a glorious little trait. 'You look as though you have travelled a fair way. The Chamber can offer you shelter from the coming winter spell, if you so desire.' can't give up, can't give in;