Underneath the midnight blue sky, her eyes are flickering, glistening, dripping salty pearls. She’s frail, like wings of a butterfly; parched for colours, for rainbows, for stars undead. Standing in the middle of the rainstorm she is calling to the moon, the sky, the water nymphs.
She wants to be a fairytale. White like snow, red locks of hair like flames, and ruby lips like a blood rose, like the poisonous apple. A butterfly-like girl with a swan neck and a silky purple dress, long enough to fit the moon.
Introduction
Twitter
- If there were silence, would you know how to hear my words?
