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a lonely, discarded dreamer. once upon a time, a sky-fallen nymph. sweetness imbued, swathed in the humble and wholly breakable facade of virtue. she was beautiful – catching, the very flame that entices moths to hover much too near. the sugar and spice, and everything nice we’d once dreamt we were. an angel, a fragile bloom, blossom and petals unfolded to the world. an earnest desire to please was the very swill found in her lovely wild eyes. lavender, you could say – her eyes are lavender. gentleness rested upon those lips, in the contours of her aquiline face. she was framed in antique linen, the soft cotton of angel’s wings, and the down of young swans – this much has remained true, at least this. it is uniform, crisp – aged in the appropriate places to mock the dim of scuffed gold. the coat is light – as though frost seeped down into the very pores, tainting and bleaching the fiber pale, devouring the hoarfrost that clings to the woman’s flanks. every shift, pulse of movement lifts gold from beneath an ivory ocean. generously, it comes in a tidal draw of smoke against the veins of charred wood.

a lady among philistines, a stately creature – it is to say, was as nature envisioned. though still encapsulated youth, her body affords evidence of what most desire. a swarthy predator, though etched regally. she is borne of virulent femininity, of naturally suggested artfulness in the sway of her movements. where, from the borrowed parts of those who touched her life must be: her musk, the gentleness of her voice, and the ropes of her embrace. all of it is necessary, down to her sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes of mute lavender, and that easy, but criminal smile. Bountiful in curve, and soft contours of femininity. The shoulders are, of course slender beneath the fleece of her stole – unsteady, and unwilling to hold the world, to carry the sins of the father. She is far from masculine. Built as titan women should, she is more a mortal cast down from the halls of Norse gods. The exuberance of youth is humbled, tainted by malaise life has thrust upon her.

Swaddled, brooding thickly – surmounted by a strangely palliative impression, as though naturally made to be welcoming. It is as though her lips were meant to be touched, and though she, were meant to be wholly embraced by others, and yet is quite unaware of such aberrant beauty. From her lips breathe absinthe vapors, mouthfuls of hemlock and nightshade. and then the voice: filled with the draw of cloves, and nightingales. imbued by the smoky taste of whiskey and aged cigars. it is the reed flute, intently to lure the fiercest of cobras into her fold; the trap door in which you, i and the whole world are to fall through. and silence, always condemning. her lips, they peel free of one another, reluctant like the tangled legs of lovers. the silence is found deafening, the words an obligation that she needs to fulfill. as though the world deserves to hear the husky cadence of her words, full of soft consonants and an exotic rumble stolen from her long-departed, dear mother.

there is little that she is willing to divulge, little truth that passes through those lips easily. everything cloaked beneath a placid exterior, everything held at arm's reach from those who wander into her company. but there are limits; there are things that aren't foretold. these she will not admit—never admit—and that is the fear of intimacy, the fear of vulnerability. the guarded walls are wide, long and tall and she intends on keeping it that way, and you out. a feigned smile, a gentle word: it is no easy task knowing the gossamer queen. a diplomatic amazon, she is aristocratic and disciplined. never one to abuse what is given to her, never one to truly be underhanded. she is a survivalist in every sense of the other; an opportunist who would sacrifice personal moral and value to save her own flesh, as brooding and cynical as she is. she sees the world for what it is, a place of cruelty and unfairness. it is a truth to be accepted and never challenged, despite being a quiet dreamer, a star fallen nymph and philosopher. fatted on the decay of innocence, romanticizes things of the hapless dark and the scathing ruin of night. for all that she is worth, and all that could possibly be accomplished she lacks ambition, lacks passion and desire--a trait that must be learned and has yet to be experienced. after all, what good is a heart and love when both are doomed to be broken and shattered? and she is far too acquainted with the ideologies of pain, of self-torture in these aspects of life.

for when she does let bloom a crack in these wall of hers… well, she is a creature borne of habit, solely comforted by those she fool-hardily immerses herself in. ethno-centric in this desire – a strangers affection, adoration and devotion never as good as those she yearns. never satisfying enough, but never an opinion outwardly stated. such longing is kept locked away in her heart – imprisoned in an ivory tower in a far off land. possessive, territorial – she is a thing of instinct, easily swayed into the misgivings of quiet jealousy and envy of others who dare encroach. and never, ever, one to take flight, as though nursed on tales of valor, of the glories of victory. for her mind to touch thought of a perchance to be defeated would be blasphemous. her heart is given to the fight, her soul a prisoner to passion. she is given to flighty, tumultuous emotion. beneath the exterior lays a hot-blooded mess, a tempered beast of burden. it is not that she believes herself best – vanity never being the best suit worn. born with a predilection to generosity, her heart is a generous one, her nature charitable and kindly. it is the calm before an oncoming summer storm – it’s the warm zephyr before the roll of dark clouds; it’s the sweetness on the air before the gyrating snare and growl of thunder and lightning, before the wildfire of her impassioned conduct catches and devours. may be innocent, may be sweet, but dominated by the festering and innate need to manipulate and captivate. she is wholly absorbed by passion, of thirst, by a need to love, and be loved in return. her heart shamelessly carried on the sleeves of her gown

He wasn’t just forgettable. He was replaceable. He was a face, one of many. He was of an age old lineage and was oft told not to brag of his heritage, of his birthright. His mother warned him of the family’s long-lasting predilection to aggression, for trouble. His father failed to keep a grip on his band of rogues. They were going to tear the world down and in their might, rebuild atop the ashes that remained. Stye had many a dark thought between his ears, his small mind consumed wholly by anarchism and chaos, of cynicism and the macabre. He wasn’t able to be satiated in the wilds of this realm. No, it wasn’t meant for his big dreams and so he left. He left and did exactly what he had dreamt, that he aspired to do. His plans, as you can imagine, did not bode well for those in his way. He left a wake of demise, tearing peace and virtue asunder. His lawless style of living of course would only tempt others. He’d found himself the shepherd to a flock, and he tended to them well. He taught them, influenced their thinking – he’d warped their minds and plucked from their souls any evidence of innocence. He was the black mark on this world. He did what many could only dream of achieving. His intent of course, was always well-veiled behind softer ideologies: free love, communism, polygamy, etc. But, when your flock becomes like misshapen clay in your hands, what else are you to do? Rafael made an army. Rafael made a god-damned empire. But this story isn’t about Rafael. This is the story of Delphine Sure enough, she was his daughter. She was just one of many, born to a slip of a girl who fell in love with the wrong fellow. She gave him her heart, and discovered the wrongness of his ways. It was much too late for some. And poor Delphine paid the price. She was subjected to the abuse, to the terrors of this clan, this cult. She was broken, and Aurore knew of only one way to find redemption. She’d abandon her daughter. And Delphine, with the strength of heart, managed to survive.