ᴅᴇᴠɪʟ's ʙʀɪᴅᴇ.

MOODBOARD.     MARYA MOREVNA.

she still holds the juice of a peach on her tongue,   the pit blossoming on moss next to her feet.  she reeks of meadows & horses.   known as the newest tsaritsa to her kingdom              she-wolf,   by her bird-husband.   

but she turns sour with her thoughts,   it will never be her kingdom.   not like how he wields it.   not like how she wants it.   so she turns to the foreign man,    his presence strange & dominating.

❛   this is what i   LIVE   for.   ❜

IRON & STONE.   she feels the slavic wind nip at her milked skin,   prickling deeply into her blood.  & with her girlhood stolen,  taken as bird-wife like her blood-sisters,   she had learned to hold herself into her sternum,  dark & grained,   swallowed by pride & greed by which she could not hold. 

lips as rich as dahlias remain firmly their shape.

❛  ваши кости кажутся голодали,   товарищ. ❜

her back,  REGAL,  yet stiff as a corpse’s.   she’s decorated with darkened feathers,  a black swan dipped in molten gold.   with clasped hands,  she smiles,   & speaks like warm honey,  her femininity never too far.

❛  YOUR HAIR.   it reminds me of one my mothers.   she was a kind woman,   but always cold to touch,   as if she never got truly warm.  ❜

a soft humming reverberates low in her throat as slavic winds touch her,  & it reddens her deeply around her cheekbones like fresh cherry jam.  she’s silent for a heartbeat,  holding the moon in her mouth with her blood pumping.  the gods don’t feel,  a tsaritsa knows.   & so marya morevna stretches her back almost like a cat,  equally as graceful.

❛  he’s a fool regardless of his memory,   devotchka,  men tend to be like that                       pretty but foolish.  ❜