Of Mantras on Veins
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05-06-2017, 05:41 PM
Perhaps, she was once human. Her sorcery, heavily bound to the gentle and tempestuous forces of nature, were shackled and weakened upon coming to this strange land whose earth held much bounty, but was also rich in savagery. The aural imminence of it touched upon her consciousness in ways of discomfort and dubiety, ergo, it ever fueled the soft fire within her to find at last that which she had been so diligently searching. She would groom herself in deliberate repose, watching, listening, waiting. Therein the struggle of the wild, there was surely a beast who eyed her delectable virtue. How this man reminded us so deeply, of the form we shed so long ago. His intrinsic insistence upon staying in our domain once again touches us in the strangest of ways. He, in many respects, was the first mortal to visit our realm in many eons, and while our omnipotence counts each passing second instinctively we choose to remain unconscious about the passage of time. Suppose we did fill our existence with watching the living and counting how many would die in our own lifetime; our growth would stifle, and become stagnant, and we ourselves would no longer evolve. The man must have known what a precious gift to a god that was compassion, the official gestures of friendship. No one looks to us for friendship. And we are wise as to why such a thing is. Thought, and action, in terms of god and mortal, were oft unrecognizable unto each others perception. Through veil of chiseled chrome bangs we look upon his offering, the simplistic structure of its elementary yet miraculous manifestation. We try to remember the sensation of taste; how base it was, and is, compared to the sensory organelle of a deity whose construction was energy directly from the astral plane. We cannot bear to merely consume this precious token of closeness. He belongs to us, and he willingly knows, and accepts this. Atop this reality, he wants to belong to us, to feel our proximity in ways most meaningful. We...cannot bear to eat it. We're afraid it's...far too cherished to simply be consumed. We confess with a sultry chuckle. We instead mold the blood orange to our form. Within us, it will never decay. Our tastes unfortunately cannot supply the reverence this little fruit deserves...but we will save it for another with those which can. ▲ And let our thoughts become one. ▲ @Jackal
Carmine pulp erupted across his thumbs and dribbled to sacred stone. Fragrances flourished with sprays of succulent scents. For a moment he was suspended in the scent alone, consumed by the sweet-tart citrus. His heart was thunder, his tongue swollen with desire. Two chunks lay in either palm, he panting between the current of energy they fed though his body. to eat it far too cherished to simply be consumed. The blindman huffed laughter, holding each gleaming chunk with desperate possession. He felt impressions of motion and heat, still cavern air unsettled and a small brush of orange flesh on porous mineral. A swell of empathy rose from the ocean within. A sadness frothed in waves upon inner shores, as he considered this admittance. Questioned the details left in receeding sands: how much was lost, when a transcendence such as Theirs was made? Yet a settled silence remained as he faced mires in the path before him. Rely on the consistancies: chances yet taken, fortune's wheel in rotation, time's inevitability, and fate's instability. He consumed the right half in two bursting bites. Brows furrowed and body rocked against the shockwave. His skin sang in cascading sopranos his surrendered thrill. Before this skin, I comprehended nothing of taste. The esctasy hurt. An endless gift.. Jackal mused in return, a mild reply of pleasure to the thought of his gift continuing to one unknown. A means of his inclusion. One that would thusly occur without his knowledge. What shall become of such an action? What would the ripples be? He consumed the other half in three thoughtful parts. The undercurrent finality of Their words, his gesture, Their command. Were They overwhelmed as well? He could recall no lore passed on lips of those who sought Their presence. Trapped to the easily controlled history and pup story, was this Being of altuistic affluence smothered. Their complexity undermined by generations of silence and closed rationality. To think upon it hurt, an ache to his pulsating soul and throbbing head. Yet this was why he sought to speak with Them, to know; he grew tired of the droll insecurities left in the silences between Canis stories, lores, and warnings. They were real in manners long since forgotten. He should leave. To linger any further would only cause stress upon the peace and infant understanding between them. I shall return to You, Essence. Jackal breathed his promise, gathering Lantern in his left hand as he swayed to a stand. He grinned, genuine and intoxicated, and whistled a clear, sweet note. Receeding to the tunnel that led him in, his notes trilled along the scale before spiralling into a melancholic melody. by Tasha! |
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