click “play” and then pause it immediately after, allowing it to load.
when it has loaded, press “play” once more.
The willows sang a soft song in the middle of the night.
A heartbeat sounded rhythmically, over and over again, a pounding sensation that must have been heard for miles. The magpie stag walked carefully across the dark land, his antlers littered in warm blood, his eyes closed, simply breathing. Petals were crushed in his wake, and he stared down sadly at them—fallen red and violet flowers that had not had a chance. He had been cruel to them, as he had been cruel to others. Murderer. Such a bloodthirsty Ram, and he stopped abruptly, staring vaguely at nothing.
Born of blood and born of him, the little one born of a peacock’s whim.
And softly, so softly, the Black Hand cried—and on the boundaries her Peacock died.
A tidal wave of blood and lust, until The Raven’s love had turned to rust.
And softly, so softly, the Raven cried—and upon the grass his Black Hand died.
Roses, thunderclaps, all in one night—and the Ivory Stag succumbed to the light.
And softly, so softly, The Sentry cried—and in the night his Raven died.
The onslaught of a storm. Ropy rain fell against his skull.
What was he thinking?
A sudden shake startled him awake, and blood dropped from his horns.
He neared the Pond, ever-courteous, ever-quiet, yet his steps were deafening.
Vipin’s hoof beats alerted a brown, speckled doe, who raced towards him, embracing him, winding herself around him, the red plume of her helmet brushing his jaw. She was crying—and so was he—and he rested his head into the nape of her neck, shaking and trembling as he convulsed with sobs, his blue eyes scattered with tears. The doe looked up, whispering to him, staring at the stark marks of red upon his antlers, her soft eyelashes fluttering and weeping as he cried. The moon glittered overhead, and the stars shone like beacons upon them, bathing them in white light, in beauty.
“Vipin,” said the doe, laughing as normally as the situation allowed. Her cheeks were wet, covered in tears of her own and tears from her love’s eyes. A great, shuddering breath shook his body, and she kissed the bridge of his snout, burying her face in the white fur upon his chest once more, simply breathing.
“Vipin.” She spoke once more, his ears pressed tight back against his skull. Her voice was warm and comfortable, and the tears faded. A shadow approached from his left, a shadowed doe—beautiful as the night, blue eyes shining like bluebirds. She, too, caressed him, her skull running through his fur, single tears smashing to the ground and she, too, spoke his name in reassurance. A golden stag stood, ever-loyal, on the hills behind them, with a tall yellow doe and a sturdy white buck.
More arrived—a little gossamer blue doe, adorned in sparks—a proud brown stag, an antler ripped clean through—a navy Scapegoat, paired with a tall orca doe—a winged white female, feathers trembling upon her head—a Monarch, followed by a beautiful white female with green eyes like beams—a stag with the Seasons upon his shoulders, and tines of the trees—a peacock doe with a rounded belly and rings in her ear—a skeleton-ridden blue buck—another white doe, fashioned after a gentle whitetail, with a ribbon around her foreleg—a brown one with feathers tied behind her ears and soft eyes—a cobalt stag with great antlers, jugular red—a racing chocolate doe with a plume of moss-green feathers—an aurelian, rose-tined stag with burning blue eyes—a yellow striped gentleman with the beak of a magpie upon his face—a grey gargoyle and his smaller, fairer love who remained at a distance—a silver reindeer with a scarred leg and icy eyes—a navy and white doe with a plume of feathers and a long mask—and he felt the peaceful presence of a butterfly stag whom he had once loved.
Hello, Vipin.
Good evening, Skokey.
And they said nothing more.
They circled around him, in their varied voices, all quiet, all knowing.
A small, colorful doe was last to arrive. Beside her was a peacock stag, blue gems embedded in his shoulders, his eyes a violent lavender, and a small brown buck with twisting black eyes followed. The Lady raced up to him, laughing and smiling, tears flying from her eyes as she collided with his chest, her lilting laughter heard all around.
“It’s over, it’s over. He’s gone, Vipin.”
And he laughed, faint and vague, sheltering his trembling, helmeted love from the sudden heresy of rain.
A brilliantly red star appeared in the sky overhead, before it burned out and faded to white.
Murderer, something hissed, and yet he continued to smile, his blue eyes shut, coolly formal, soberly collected.
This was so, so beautiful. ♥ You never fail to amaze me - every time I think 'it can't possibly get better than this, no-one can be that good', you write another piece, and prove me wrong.
I'm grinning like an idiot omg you guys are all so nice I'M GOING TO DIE
I find it kind of funny how my writing is so much different from how I actually talk BUT ANYWAYS thank you guys so much, it's almost over ;_; I just want to make sure everyone's seen my mention of their deer and whatnot
yes. yes.
yes.
(No subject)
This was so, so beautiful.
♥
Wow.
I'm grinning like an idiot
I find it kind of funny how my writing is so much different from how I actually talk BUT ANYWAYS thank you guys so much, it's almost over ;_; I just want to make sure everyone's seen my mention of their deer and whatnot
I got chills.