A hush upon entrance. A chill creeps at a prickly crawl.
Stares and murmurs, chuckles and slurs, bated breaths swiping the surface of my caramel skin, seeping from scowling maws like predatory vipers, hissing, hissing, hissing, thirsting to draw blood, hoping for a taste of copper fear.
I face forward. I smirk knowingly at ghosts of Others past. I breathe, with the audacity to believe your air is also mine. I cut through, hot blade in a quiet duel with your cold...
My spirit falters at my lips, for my voice is weakened by hesitance. Yet I thrive in fountains of ink, painting the abstract behind my teeth, clenched to suppress, to hide the shame of the quiver, the stutter, the swallow, the break, that might muddy intention and conviction.
Hidden pools lay dormant within sinister thickets of reeds and thorns, awaiting a plume of discovery to flume them of their rich resources, as fluid, formless ideas dream of legs, aching to run and dance with abandon upon a limitless canvas, ...
I awoke on a dewy morning, still enclosed, shuddering and fearful of nature's breath. Yet rain and breezes cooled my stems and brought upon a refreshing caress to open the blooms I deemed unsightly. And no longer desiring a life of enclosure, I turned at last to face the sun, to wash my face with light and air, and stand amongst the breathing flora as a creature of boundless radiance, refusing to be muted by the shade of trees, nor to be trampled by careless feet, alive at last in my perpetual Spring.
White knight on a horse with a mission to ravage, spouting saccharines with force like some valiant candy savage But how fortunate for you, this naive flower with no luck; Sir knight wolf-eyed for the bloom, eager for a valiant pluck.