06-10-2020, 04:37 PM
She let herself go, and she wandered again.
There was no gentleness in the fall this time, no pool of silken thoughts to land in. It's tumult and chaos when the darkness recedes and cognisant minds come-to. Beneath the weight of the first step, the brittle world shudders and splits, impossibly leaving behind a path undisturbed.
A strike of lightning illuminates the sky, and the crash of thunder that follows rings hollow in the unicorn's bones. Trails of fire, burning brightly, are left in the wake of each strike that tears across the sickly grey sky. Each swaying beam that's left behind makes her shadow - now long and narrow - dance eerily against the splintered trail.
Another step forward and the earth rumbles in pitiful protest as her wounds grow deeper. The path grows more and more torturous for both dreamer and world alike as the tempo of the storm quickens, and the dancing shadow follows it's pace.
As though a foreigner to her own mind, the weaver watches.
She needs to stop, she needs to go back. And she tries - she tries everything she knows. But betrayal divides body and mind, and though her silent voice cries to stop, her movement carries on, still tethered to a shadow that drags her along.
The world flips - follower becomes leader, apathy succeeds sympathy, hopelessness surpasses all.
And she is lost.
There was no gentleness in the fall this time, no pool of silken thoughts to land in. It's tumult and chaos when the darkness recedes and cognisant minds come-to. Beneath the weight of the first step, the brittle world shudders and splits, impossibly leaving behind a path undisturbed.
A strike of lightning illuminates the sky, and the crash of thunder that follows rings hollow in the unicorn's bones. Trails of fire, burning brightly, are left in the wake of each strike that tears across the sickly grey sky. Each swaying beam that's left behind makes her shadow - now long and narrow - dance eerily against the splintered trail.
Another step forward and the earth rumbles in pitiful protest as her wounds grow deeper. The path grows more and more torturous for both dreamer and world alike as the tempo of the storm quickens, and the dancing shadow follows it's pace.
As though a foreigner to her own mind, the weaver watches.
She needs to stop, she needs to go back. And she tries - she tries everything she knows. But betrayal divides body and mind, and though her silent voice cries to stop, her movement carries on, still tethered to a shadow that drags her along.
The world flips - follower becomes leader, apathy succeeds sympathy, hopelessness surpasses all.
And she is lost.
