Never dull though, not like a turn at Circus Maximus, but still far enough from dull to engage in immodest confidence. Time washing back on itself, seeing things past from inside witches glass… Modest girls covered in honey, nature’s victims, becks and pinchers and venomous stings. Still beautiful though, washing her lovely pale skin in vats of blood, fingers wandering bloody over soft cruel lips. Childish beauty even within the despairing stone walls of Castle Cachtice, even under a cold winter moon. Maybe a little bored now. More disturbed by the changes of the curves of face. Time rushing in reddish rivers knowing something about depravity. Under the floor were fifty more, weak things, sad things, play things of a devil With her thin colorless feet and deep black hole eyes. Not boring, only marrow chilling cold. Time drawing you to look or rather to see…something… Sometimes the frail bodies were not hidden but thrown into the wildness to be eaten by animals, by wolves. Snow White would have understood this strange violation with her skin cut and bloody from thorns and twigs. Time running through the fairytale forest, chased by mythical bears and genuine witches. Too sad the dwarf in this story did not slog in a gem mine but rather wore a diamond in his tongue, to increase pleasure he thinks. Boring though? Never. Time biting into a poison apple before realizing the hour.
Posted on: Sun, 29 Sep 2013 18:57:25 +0000
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