— PARADISE LOST .

amaranthine girl   :   enduring like heliotrope.   something like   amusement   flashes past serene countenance,   shades her simper in iridescent hues.    ❝    an alien?    ❞    the word is sweet vitriol upon her tongue,   embellished with undertones of disbelief.     ❝    i’m almost   certain   those don’t exist,   dearest.   not in this world.    ❞     wryly,   she contemplates on what makes for   existence   in the eyes of a mortal   ———   wonders if the gods are still within the realms of belief.    (    what is   salvation,   to numbered vagabond souls floating about in the vastness of the universe?   )    ❝    and no   ———   i was   not   present at the end of the world.    ❞    no lies spill acrid from saccharine mouth;   astraea has been nestled in the stars too long to have witnessed the   apocalypse   of all they held dear.   in the interlude between breaths,   she soundlessly admits that she wasn’t at the end of the world for the simple fact that the world hasn’t   quite   ended yet,   and theirs is a cycle of death and rebirth that she will be privy too for all eternity.

post - sky retreat astraea is a little more   enigmatic   than she was in the golden ages;   she’s older now,   a little more jaded and a little less naïve   ———   i daresay she’s found a liking to   playing around   with words and sentences and just dancing around   meanings   in general,   if that makes sense.   astraea is intelligence and enlightenment,   and while she’s spent a good portion of her life utilizing that to aid mortals,   only now has she found some semblance of   enjoyment   in using that for herself.

he is  . . .   exactly as she  remembers   :   though in hindsight,   she hasn’t much to remember him   by.     ❝    perhaps  ———   perhaps just a listening ear?    ❞

❝    when i was a girl,    ❞   she begins,   and nearly   laughs   ———   not a girl,   never a   girl,   not really;   just fledgling and divine.   the second’s pause bears the weight of eons,   and in the fleeting interlude between   here   and   there,   she struggles to elucidate the amalgam of honey and vitriol that hollows out her bones.   ❝    i used to make these little flower crowns,   all the time.   and my best friend would get  so  annoyed   ———   said i was making the garden   bald.    ❞   //   @hisyield  . 

❝    you seem troubled.    ❞   and it is with a   childlike   grace and guileless hum that she sidles into the seat directly across him,   propping chin onto awaiting palm.   somber gaze of twin irises,   aptly hued from moonlight,    belie the   honeyed   tone with which she coats her lilt   ———   many have thought her a neophyte deity,   yet often forget that she has only   wizened   with age.   ❝    a penny for your thoughts?    ❞   /   @hypnosruled  . 

❝    i believe that heaven is too beautiful a place   not   to search for,   or journey towards.    ❞    emphasized by the brief quirk of rosen lips,   she sends a prayer to sister   hebe   ———   keep this ingenue in the loving throes of youth,   protect from the   sacrosanct   /   sacrilegious.   lilt follows the somber sheen of her eyes,   something altogether disillusioned and perhaps a little bitter.    ❝    of course,   wanting to find heaven and actually   finding   it are two vastly different enterprises.    more often than not,   there are pitchforks in the road  that lead to a diverging path entirely.    ❞

pallid fingers glide smoothly along   her own flesh,   as though a feeble attempt at reassuring her own   substance.   if she tilted her head just so,   she would find herself treated to a tapestry of   stars,   each nook and cranny and nuance too   familiar   to ever fully disentangle from.   arresting though it may be,   it summons forth a dull   throb   within the cages of mortal bones,   a reminder of what running has   made   her.   ❝   you’d be surprised at how   easy   it is,   to find   devils   whilst in search of heaven.   some,   even   ———   not quite as far away as you’d expect.   ❞    /    @seraphids   .

❝   i had always wondered ...   ❞   and it is here that the masterful   cadence   of saccharine voice fades out into something altogether more   haunted.   she isn’t quite a   vagabond,   after all   ———   she’s built palaces in the sky and in the stars and in gold - summited mountains,   yet her soul has always been   restless   and her feet,   unbound.   she flashes a grin,   transient like the   eons   that had slipped through her fingers,   not unlike sand.   ❝   ...   if all this running would run me off the world,   someday.   ❞    /   @aencience   .

            we   are   all   just    stars    with   people   names   .     —————      penned by   effie   .

     tongue clucks amusedly,    thus begins a graceful symphony of lissome   limbs   on a feather - soft stage,   spotlighted by sun rays as splendent as she   ———   watch   then,   icarus,   the toss of midnight hair and smooth glide of elegant spine as lady starlight reclines onto the mattress,   and the   finale:   duvet cloth procured by nimble fingers,   slid onto adjacent forms so   contrastive   in temperature and temperament.   (   if she leaves but a few finger’s breadths  between them,   she says nothing.   )   instead,   mouth quirks of its own accord, eyes bright and glimmering and fully   awake,   unaffected by the seductive temptress who calls herself   slumber.     ❝   first of all,   i   breathe   ———   and i do so   quietly,   thank you very much.   i think you just dreamed that up.   secondly,   you   drool,   just so it’s out in the open.   ❞     mischief is matched blow for blow,   lips split into a simper that widens with every word uttered.