IT HAS BEEN CALLED MANY THINGS BUT HE KNOWS IT AS SYNTHESIS : THIS SPACE BETWEEN THE LIGHT AND DARK where things appear not as they seem but as they are. this is no longer a masquerade with secrets but where the vipers and nichevo’ya wriggle like snakes in pits, free of their restraint. faces swim past them both, as if wading and dancing without care through light and dusty fog, the sort that would muffle breath and step alone in the dawn hours of tsibeya. there is a throne here but no one sits upon it. wasn’t that a dream that he wove for her in spider silk and snow, so many months ago ————— here is a kingdom in a platter and it shall be ours, as long as what you have is mine, is mine. the heroine of our story bares her teeth against the beast in the wood, which looks a little like a deer but she knows hides ferocious claws beneath his hooves.
he walks, and it is soundless. it is the stalking of a wolf where it leaves footprints covered by winter winds, keen and sharp - eyed. but the doe does not show mercy, nor does she run. the white hair suits her well, a taint of merzost granting her beauty where it had carved his own out of his own heart ( and baghra would have said ————— antithesis indeed, the pair of them ) . but the shadows seethe at each step where he leaves none, even when the chandeliers blare so bright a light to rival the sun she brings to life in her own hands. when shall they finally devour each other, when will this ouroboros of us come to its conclusion ?
they have no answers for such a thing, and yet @lorelast ( as alina ) gives her own in a kind of defiance : remember that to use a thing is not to own it.
the head tilts of curiosity, before one of his gaunt hands reaches up slowly to brush aside the neckline of her dress ; she must have been sleeping, dreaming peacefully in the arms of her otkazat'sya boy until the owl of him spread its wings and swallowed that too. they shall be each other’s ruination, and that itself could be a love story. the tracery of antlers interlocked into a braid still clasps itself like claws around her neck and collarbone, leaving no marks in their kind wake. a thrum of power moves through them both, the sea against a dark shore. his hands are blackened, and cold. ( could anything alive be so cold ? )
❛ remember that to use a thing is not to own it. and do you not use the collar, the fetters, for you say you own it ? the stag chose you. the sea whip was destined for you. ❜ it is the smile of a winter wood, one that could kill ; his words are a blasphemy of her own. ❛ should the firebird fall under your possession too, just because your greed taints its existence ? we own each other, alina. we are greedy things. I will never deny your nature, and you should not deny mine. ❜ he is her dark echo, her void of a mirror ————— alina starkova, her name in reverse.
