❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞
do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ
𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
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When she finishes, her tongue feels heavy. The breath she exhales touches her dried lips like an uncrowned victory — bitter with the metallic taste of blood.
Softly, it presses against her copper skins. She could feel the sleek, melanoid graze of a metal dagger; a blade that, she knows, had extinguished the fervent flames of myriads of velvet-clad brides before her. Slowly, she turns.
Slowly, she allows a lazy line of sanguine fluid to escape from it's veins.
The young girl raises her head. Now, it was her turn. Her cards to deal, to play. She grins.
"The dawn has awoken," she speaks, her throat stabbed and torn by a midnight's fight. "Whatever shall you do, my king?"
Fleetingly, she could see his eyes narrow. Defiant, like the eyes of a child; yet apathetic, like the grin of a killer.
He lifts her chin.
"Why don't you spin another foolish tragedy, my queen?"
♛♕♛
tale | two
WEAVE ME THE STORY OF THE SELFISH BIRTH AND THE BITTER SILKS.
