- every moon-soaked and saltsprayed part of me screamed… and it was my catharsis.
i wanted to swallow down the saltwater that flutters in tiny cerulean ripples and watch myself wilt like a moonflower. but i do not. for my imminent doom is something wrought of feverish dreams and hellish desires.
the orla.
the moon was drunk and the stars were endlessly intoxicated, and their reflections rancid in the waters below, extrapolated from something far more diabolical and sinister— for its very luster rouses the monster from its nightmarish state. it was like i’ve become icarus personified, with a body sculpted by things spurred from fragility and faltering beeswax. and with that, i stumble and waver beneath the burden of utterly nothing and my own dread.
and yet the sea monster slumbers onward.
gods.. i am such a fool. but the plan was simple. steal the source of the orla’s magic and become the conduit.
i lurched further into the unnatural kiss of moonbeam walls— so close i could see the salt delicately coating scales of terracotta and inkdrop black. i heard the baritone beat of my heart in my ears… my throat… my lungs. and i heard the orla’s heart— a broken, monstrous thing shuddering to the swell of a little lotus flower and tendrils of something so divine it stifled the diaphanous edges of the universe itself.
it couldn’t be… but it was.
for its petals unfurled as it bloomed in iridescent shades, appearing almost kaledscopic in the moon-soaked candlelight of night. at the very glimpse of light, it was almost like it had become a prism carved of glass, separating sallow ribbons of moonlight into its elements of carmine, chartreuse and cerulean.
the source of the orla’s power.
i reached for the little lotus flower. and i reached. and i reached.
before my flesh disappeared between pallid teeth, and liquid roses smelling of iron ores bloomed at my scream. i reeled backwards. the cupids bow of my lips parted in a soundless cry as silvery irisies met my own.
the orla had woken.
its maimed frame was utterly gnarled and completely monstrous, and its spine crooked and grotesquely subluxated. its skin was stretched beneath the seductive kiss of imploding supernovas, turning it into something akin to crystalline leather, and warping its once existent curls until it became scales of terracotta and inkdrop black.
the orla bellowed… its words intangible and lost between reality and delusion.
i cannot think.
i cannot feel.
i cannot breathe.
but i will not die. not like this. i will not die for nothing.
because i am icarus personified, the one with wings born from fragility and honeyed beeswax. the one who was so enthralled by the sun and flew a little too close. the one so consumed by his own desires, he flew headfirst into his doom.
and with that, i drove my claws into the orla’s eyes and watched them bleed.
i. will. not. die.
and with that, i dove for the little lotus flower. i free-fell into the salt brine of the sea that smelled of oleander and foxglove. my hands splayed open as my skin became incandescent with tendrils of hibiscus, lavender and tangerine. the orla’s magic… and i would become it’s conduit.
and with that, i watched the world fall apart.
seabeds fabricated of stardust and sand collapsed upon itself and became a milky way where ursa major splintered upon its indigo embrace. coral and sargassum wilted at my touch, crumpling into bone meal and honeyed rot. lacunas and voids yawned open in the salt-brined seas, devouring the very foundation of existence. while salted scales of terracotta and inkdrop black were preserved in the ravishing kiss of time, along with tarnished alabaster jaws.
and in the focal point of it all… i saw you.
