𖤓┊𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐀𝐌 ⋆
━━━━━━ 𝒐𝒇 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒓.
❛ . . . and she wonders if it's serenity that she craves, or savagery ? ❜
As the Kurus lament and the world cries out in pain cursing the destiny, the charming trickster with a flute...
The sun was in the second golden hour of the day, fading far into the horizons where the abendrot and the azure met. The call of the hawk cuckoos were the last haunting music she wished to lurch her subconscious against, awaiting the shades of iridescent. “You are brooding again. Aren't you my lady?” Chandrika sighed as her demeanour spelt antsy, her hands working to tuck the pile of velvet habiliments in the almirah that shadowed the flames of Panchala. The handmaiden strived to press some warmth into them, refusing to let a lioness cave into her misery.
“I am just being my petty self, Sakhi don't bother yourself.” The raven-haired woman of fortune smiled ruefully. “Everything is buried right here, in my heart. It has coalesced into a cruel feeling. I fear but little and this angst nibbles at my soul. I am being destroyed but I revel in it.”
The roses were dessicated and the moon gleamed only a little. Her painted palms grazed the roots of her loose tenebrous locks, a pinch of scarlett visibly adorning her centre hairline as she laid in comforts of silks and thorns of misery. The woman who rose from the flames was that of unrivalled grit but oh it was slipping and so was she.
The Madra princess had taken it upon herself to deliver glucose and herbs to the princess of the flares and did sit by everyday from the past week. The mothers of Krishna had had Krisha bed-ridden for she was frail and had horrible convincing skills. Apparently, swaying everytime you get to your feet is not conventional and so isn't frequent agitation.
“You will have to take lessons from me, love.” Kanha had patted her head quasi patronizingly as she threw his way a glare.
Hah, as if she won't mix in heaps of salt in his dearest butter for that wretched audacity.
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The inebriating scent of petrichor was his. She was the serein that merged in the handsomeness of his silvery form on eventides they spent away. But certainly not this day, for the cupid had conspired their union and companionship and he, the personification of the moon that emerged from a frothing ocean came for the star he had vowed his love to from the beginning of time. Amidst sands and serenity, her querencia was a balm to the rapidly growing hiraeth in her.
Return to me, always. You have never truly gone too far for me to miss the clasp of your fingers.
Kanha traced the endless coasts of the beauteous seas with his wife, her hands entwined in his own. The hush encapsulating the space between them overwhelmed no one. The sands slipped against her auspiciously painted soles as the bracing sea water washed over her lotus feet, conjuring a ticklish illusion of gradually sinking into the shores. The gumusservi had the tranquil oceans glimmering akin to stars— when dusk disembarked for a tryst with the mischievous prince with a flute.
Dvaravati was the embodiment of life. But she was nubivagant. Almost numb and still as a sculpture carved of marble worshipping perfection. A beauty of the morbid. A lost Chanchala bumped into the figure of Madhava who stood with his hands on his hips, deadpanning at her. “Ow, Kanha!” She scowled, wrinkling her nose in silly resentment.
