the moon held her lofty dominion in a blanket of stars strewn across an immeasurable abyss. only in the softened hues of twilight and dusk, was she fared away from her gilded throne allowing her charges but pockets of moments where full breaths could nourish in the absence of her unwavering gaze. days have long since been forgotten, as the haze of permanent darkness now forever paints the sky.
freya stood beneath the heavens unable to deny the enormity of all that lay above. the beauty of the night seeping like frozen fire into her bones, harkening to the cold inevitability of all that would never come.
most revealed in the misty shadows, able now to hide under masks with hidden keys. the penchant for thriving in all that once held the bitter taint of contempt and shame, running as a vile plague deviantly waiting for its next host.
freya used to find solace in the blackened edges of her existence; much like a broken doll left on a forgotten shelf. the memories of a time before are but a phantom ache reminding her that once all was not as it is. yet, she can neither recall the sun nor the feel of its radiance upon her brow. but she yearns for them.
reality forever spins, as her life becomes a struggle from one inhalation to another on the back of fragile prayers with malformed wings. freya’s hope is hopeless, but she fights to succumb to the menace ever encroaching on her path. it stalks her – a savage beast with an unquenched hunger.
the weighted anticipation of her demise is relentless and cracks the ill-structured wall built to keep all the world at bay. leaving the rubble of the crumbling facade of protection, she flees blindly, searching in vain for any means of escape. but just as there was no beginning there is no ending as her flight leads her to but a futile end.
here in the pervasive shadows framed in opulent drapes, she realizes she is but a pawn in a sick and twisted game. the echo of laughter rebounds in the attentive audience as she turns to face what was always to be her fate. the tears begin to fall and all that is left is the plush red curtains closing upon her screams.
© 2015 b.l. ronan
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