Eight minutes and twenty seconds while the earth beckons for light. Though it feels like an instant. The heat radiates like peace, a sudden calm. The light removes the plight of the night. Blinding me from hate and strife. As I see it climbing towards me, approach from afar I welcome that brilliant star. And with each sunset I am left with a picture that has become a fixture in my mind, the warmth of your smile.
Sorry guys for my absence. I have what feels like worms. I can eat nothing without it hurting. Also, in my struggle with illness I have been writing a little bit of an experiment. I don’t know if I even want anybody reading it right now. Anyway, continue enjoying the adventures of Elayne and the Cord. This is A.B. and I am dying inside.
Elayne sat in the ready room waiting for the inevitable. She’d already changed into a simple blue dress and brown boots. She had combed out her silver hair by herself, she was too nervous to allow enchanted brushes to do it.
The Cord of Fate was stretched out to its full length before her; all three feet extracted from her skull and laying untethered on a table beside her. It glowed and pulsed softly with her heartbeat. The diadem rested alone on one of the counters that lined the walls.
Elayne, usually the picture of composure, the master of any situation, was riddled with anxiety. She had worn the diadem for eighteen years. It had been reshaped and resized but never removed from the Cord until now. She couldn’t even remember when she last had the Cord moved; all she knew was what they had told her about it. Continue reading “Red Cord of Fate Part Four”
Roy broke from his spot at the end of the line. Without looking at any of the ones he passed he made his way to the center of the line. He stopped at the tall woman with horns.
“ May I call you Elayne?”
“ You can call me whatever you like, Roy.” Elayne smiled and shifted her eyebrows.
“ Okay then.” His stoic face twitched slightly.
She heard a stifled snicker come from another girl. Someone had a sense of humor.
“Then Elayne,” Roy recovered. “I would like you to meet Specialist Bass. She is skilled at… she’s… I am sorry Aurora, I don’t want to base all your qualifications on your race.”
“ It’s fine, I don’t mind,” said the woman with a tiny smile. Her voice was full yet soft.
“Alright then, Aurora, since it seems you prefer first names, she is a Bovinae. They are feared for their strength and near invulnerability. I have witnessed her break through brick walls with her bare hands. And I have watched bullet, arrow, spear and sword graze or bounce off of her. If I was without my magic, then I am unsure if I could best her.
I trace my fingers across wings as fragile as a butterfly’s. These are mine. They shoot forth from a back that twists too much. A fingertip is all use for I might crush. There is much beauty to touch. They let her fly into my dreams. They carry her through life, these fragile wings. They flutter when she sings along to the radio as graceful as a bell rings. She knows all the words and even though I have heard every line a million times like a hour chimes I still find the wonder in it all. This rush of wings drives my hand to write. I fight for each flutter, each flap, til I have nothing left. I own only the love that she has given to me. But I own these wings that others can’t see.
Image source: Dreamweaver69
The golden pencil sat shaking on pale lips, this was where it was meant to sit. There is peace in the curve of her face. Every freckle, every dip, every bit. She looks up at me. My eyes affixed.
“What?” she asks softer than silk.
I wear my best smirk, trying to work love into several muscles actions. “Nothing,” I assure in my voice too high.
I creep my fingers like thick spider legs to her hand. Those eyes so sweet when they light up bright, the edges of her mouth drawn tight. “I love you.”
I give my needed response. There is no joke, no amount of silence, no fake kindness, that could match that statement made from pale lips so soft other than, “I love you too.” For I do.
How could I ever think to die before my time? When I pass, much older, more in love with her, I want to have her soft hand gripped in mine.
Let’s get back to posting why don’t we. Here is the second part of my story, enjoy.
The main hall had pillars of stone as thick as oak trees running down its length. At one end, the grand doors stood twenty feet tall and were engraved with a map of the world on both sides. At the other end, the thrones were currently vacant. Connecting each end was a carpet that stretched a couple thousand feet. It was enchanted to not wear down and for the figures on it to move. As Elayne stepped on it now, a herd of embroidered horses were galloping through a two dimensional field of flowers.
I will tell you where I have been in a little bit. Until then, here’s a short poem.
Step one: Obtain the right paper from a store or someone you love
Step two: Fold paper diagonally both ways, don’t stress it. Hold it above, make sure the ends line up.
Step three: horizontally and vertically fold it. Put your focus into it.
Step four: This is not a set piece, this is a gift. A token for spirits to lift.
Step five: there is no wrong way to fold a paper crane. All you have to do, is believe you can and follow simple instructions. But you don’t always have to make a paper crane. You can do anything