(i wrote this a good twelve years ago, improvement documented.) Dialen awaited the silence falling like a whispering avalanche of unexpected intoxicating bliss, still haunted by the unlikely wonder this small world brought upon his once unpermeated lips of sienna. He emerged slowly, from his poisoned river of thoughts, confused, yet as a last console, allowed one more daunting formula, to daringly seep through: Was it the voice of promised doom forsaken, begging for mercifull adoption, screaming as loudly as the sunset, on the day the leaves start to drop like blood from their emptied veins, distorting his matter, veiling this crimson redemption, he breathed in his deep sleep now passed? He raised himself to peer over the enveloping darkened woods of unmatched bladed clandescance of self - inflicted nightmares, but was thrown back down onto gravitating obsidian insanity, met by his answer racing towards him like a pale white wolf through bellowing choking clouds. And he knew then, he was wrong. She was real. Anisa was real. And waiting. For him. But how, how would he softly tread inaudibly, through these broken ehoes of his own distorted melancholy, to meet the sweet salvation he has only ever prayfully wished for, since the first moment he opened his soft gaze upon this crooked earth? For he would not even so much as slightly risk to stir the memory of sinewed lids, pulling on the swallowing voids of the raw dragon, who has been curdling her for a thousand forgotten years, feeding, draining her, unaware of her withering waisting flesh, and will continue caging her for a thousand helpless more, unless awoken. When certainly would be unleashed, a fiery curse of wrath incinerating all in it's way. That would become true if he, Dialen, did not persue his destiny and somehow found a quiet path through the tattle tale glass hampering his greatest want, brought on by the cry of innocent jasmin, the night before, carried to him in a visioned mild breeze of whymsical splendour, the want of her. He was at a loss. She would surely turn to bones before the year has passed, turn to dust before his lifetime is spent, and turn to nothing before he could ever have the chance to touch her face. Out of sheer hopeless beckoning vain, two stars from spitefull heavens, shot straight into his hollowed pools of sorrow, causing them to ripple over the edge of reason onto the floors of his broken dreams. The more Dialen realised the stinging reality of his desperation, reflecting all around him in the suffering moonlight, the more he cried. He fell to his knees, lay his head upon nights shoulder and flooded the space among the wicked trees, not knowing that his tears of undying truth rushed their meandering way through the roots of the entire forest, unearthing, lifting, setting afloat, every piece of scattered sadness he ever had to look upon. They twisted and turned, organised themselves like a kaleidoscope of war, sharply without a sound moved forward out of the woods, into the domain of the sleeping dragon. He was surrounded and as Dialen's Dreams of Daylight effortlessly pierced the skin of this wretched beast, without warning, Dialen felt it, the most trancendant warmth imaginable upon his brow, down to his bowed neck, shifting softly, up his chin to a hovering standstill, lingering in want, opposite his mouth. He opened his eyes and Anisa met his awed gaze with a kiss that has to this day not ended.
