wane.

@ohdove The  moon  is  more  beautiful  than  I  could  have  imagined

          indulging  in  the  moon's  shared  space,  it  brought  about  a  sense  of  familiarity.  a  kind,  warm  embrace  from  something  else  long  ago  -  it  doesn't  exist  here,  what  lies  on  a  mortal  plain,  in  fact,  is  far  more  real     *&      intricate     *&      pleasant  than  what  could've  been  on  another.  the  tenderness,  the  gentleness...  knave  only  know  harsh  punishments,  harsher  rules.  burning  everyday  under  the  hand  of    THE  MOTHER  OF  GOD,    so  she  proclaimed,  to  break  someone  with  ugly,  black     *&      broken  wings.  her  flesh  infringed  upon,  twisted,  bruised,  laid  bare  in  humiliation...    starved  of  basic  needs.    food,  water,  a  bed.  but,  she    -    columbina  hyposelena.  she  does  not  wish  such  harm  to  be  brought  to  this    DEVIL.    nor  does  she,  or  ever  did,  she  ever  see  their  person  as  such.

          is  not  only  natural  that  monstrous  hands  wish  the  caress,  care,  protect     *&      please  what  gave  her  a  bone?

          given  mutual  respect?

          love?

          their  peel  apart  from  lips  to  neck  brought  a  slight  frown.  however,  the  suspension  does  indeed  work.  muscles  twitching  throughout  knave's  body    -    its  burning,  but  not  melting.  it  doesn't  hurt.  it  awakes  carnage  in  all  the  most  adoring  ways.  just  like  an  abandoned  dog    -    on  edge,  yet  devoted  once  the  hand  feeds.  ear  twitches  at  every  word  spoke,  paying  close  attentiveness  to  ever  syllable,  every  change  of  tone.    FIXATED     *&      CARING  NOT  FOR  THAT  AROUND  THEM.    if  someone  were  to  intrude  on  their  intimacy,  head  would  snap,  crazed  in  eyes     *&      tear  to  shreds  the  perpetrator.

          arlecchino  is  complete  submerged  into  the  waters  under  moonlight.  she  doesn't  want  to  be  saved.  drowning  in  calm  waves  is  the  most  peace  she'd  have  in  all  her  years  of  existence.  there's  immense  trust  in  her  god,  she'll  lie  there  until  demanded  it's  enough,  until  there  is  satisfaction  in  her  unconsciousness.

                                ❝       wenn  das  lhr  wunsch  ist,    mein  gott.    ,    softly     *&      firmly  spoken  in  one  of  her  first  languages    -    crimson  nails  pressed  into  pure     *&      divine  flesh.  pricking  the  thumb  first,  watching  as  similar  color  seep  through  a  small  wound...  another  hand  come  to  snake  itself  'round  waist,  gliding  over  lace     *&      silk  clothing.  there's  eagerness  behind  it,  a  prayer  to  feel  all  that  is  beneath  that  restricts     *&      hides  absolute  beauty.  akin  to  gripping  sheets,  she'd  done  so  to  columbina's  top    -    it  began  sliding  off;  there's  that  lump  in  her  throat  again.  dry,  unable  to  swallow.  sweat  droplets  forming  beneath  bangs     *&      sliding  down  jawline.  the  smell,  it  awakens  a  carnivorous  nature  always  lurking  in  shallow  waters.    a  shark  instant  in  catching  the  aroma  of  sweet  ichor.

          teeth  bite,  without  permission,  she  expects  reprimand.  but,  doesn't  stop.  she  can't  stop.  another  bite.  harder.  sharper.  deeper.  another  bite,  the  same  pressured,  slightly  to  the  right.     *&      another.     *&      another.  more  marks.  punctured  wounds,  bruises  already  began  forming.  the  snake  having  a  dove  in  its  maw  after  so  long    -    yearning  for  this  delicious  meal  to  the  brink  of  collapse,    there  is  an  insatiable  hunger.

          *&      another  bite  to  collar  bone     *&      another  to  breast...  fabric  has  become  shreds  of  what  they  once  were.

          arlecchino,  the  knave,  the  fourth  harbinger    -    a  fallen  angel,  a  devil,  a  heathen.  she  yearns  for  raw  meat,  that  of  a  particular  goddess's.  there  is  fullness  growing  in  her  rib  cage.  corruption  dares  to  cross  over  thin  ice    -    emotions  must  remain  in  control;  positive  or  negative.  she's  in  a  fit  of  obsession,  unable  to  fully  control  it  this  time.  reality  blurs,  there  is  only  she     *&      her  beloved  bird  under  touches  now.

And how sickening it is , to want another so . Every inch of her skin ignites beneath her Knave , sweet Knave's tender embrace , & satisfying as it may be , she cannot help the hunger swirling within . An insatiable thing , her love . Her body wants desperately to act on its own , but she refrains .

Curiosity . How will Arlecchino move forward ? Will she , ravenous , tear the thin fabric covering dove's form , sink teeth into supple flesh to stain the remnants with crimson ? Pray for her angel to sing sweet pleas , should she desire to be ravaged so ?

The thought leaves her trembling .

She knows Arlecchino's passion well , and is rather confident the thought of resisting has never crossed mind . Earlier tenderness was entirely precautionary , testing moon's waters to see what boundaries may be set between them this night . Throughout their affair , touches have been innocent , fleeting , for Arlecchino seemed to always carry that fear , that insecurity that she may not meet divine's expectations . And Columbina knows well she hates it , how the heavenly's principles still ensnare fallen's wings with their commandments . But , they are not welcomed here . Arlecchino may hear praise from her goddess , a hedonistic hymn sung in defiance of the heavens .

Her goddess , bare beneath her , will sing only of love .

Each bite evokes a moan , the teeth sinking into untouched holy skin moving as fingertips along a keyboard ; precise , masterful in creating beautiful melody . There will be no damnation from goddess , for they sin together . Is this not worship in its own right ? Is this not unwavering devotion ?

Columbina , enveloped in pleasure , entangles fingers within Knave's hair , a gentle pull commanding Arlecchino part from breast to gaze upon her ; meet the moons within her eyes .

      IN    HER   FIELD    OF    WORK,    SANDRONE    ALWAYS   FOUND    HERSELF     trying to decipher the intentions of everyone.     people are calculative.     even in their kindest moments,   some people seek to fulfill some sort of      ULTERIOR    motive.    so,  the doll responds accordingly.     through cheap tricks,  thinly veiled sweet talk to gather more information,  she has become near     IMPENETRABLE.     the marionette's genius work is unmistakable,  intellect defining her every move.   (  seventh of the fatui harbingers is ill-tempered    &   guarded.    working with her is close to impossible.  )      easier to define her as    SAVAGE    for viewing people beneath her as disposable.

️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️but columbina never needed to be picked apart for her to understand that this fondness is natural.

columbina never held herself as a puzzle that     NEEDED     to be solved.  their interactions,  comedic    &    explosive never felt fictitious.    in those moments,   the puppet felt a surge of emotions well within her chest.    something indecipherable,  something terrifying.     the goddess     STIRRED    something within her that she never knew she was capable of experiencing.   

️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️frighteningly,  columbina is the definition of solace.     /    the error in the stagnant binary.

️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️"  perhaps i should have told you to be quiet too.  "    something that should have been spat in venom but only remaining tender.    peering up all the same,  her face remains     WARM,     but she finds no reason to hide.     " you seem to always find yourself tucked into my quarters,  and if i'll find you    HERE    all the time, then you might as well be my de facto mattress.  "      

️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️️ ️️(  harder to admit that you don't want her anywhere else but by your side.  )

Columbina cannot help wonder why — time has certainly allowed them the visits , but Marionette seemed want to avoid her whenever possible ; dismiss her with a huff & stomp away to retreat within her room again . With her calculations and gadgets serving as the obvious answer for her isolation , goddess found herself wondering — could her bed really be so comfy she does not wish to leave it ?

Curiosity had compelled her to investigate , thus , prompted her first nap when Seventh would not be returning quickly from dispatch . She must be on her thirteenth by now , with five ending in her getting caught , a pillow tossed at head as gentle punishment .

She likes hearing Sandrone scold her : initially confused , pouting like rabbit in a tantrum , it became a part of her routine . Their little moments , the few where they may truly be alone . She had never considered Sandrone may think to join her .

It's ... different than she had expected , being this close . Less cold than imagined , and a smell almost intoxicating . With so many thoughts racing throughout mind , senses so alert to every spot their bodies meet , her own cheeks threaten to flush .

' Hmm ... I guess I can stop talking , if you really want me to ... ' Instructed not to move , but her hands are tempted all the same ; to feel her face , run fingertips along the intricacies of her key , the curves ... she must obey , if she wants Sandrone to stay .