Selcouth wrote:I should be doing other things {like reading, or drawing, or replying to PMs and DA messages like a responsible user of the internet}, but I got distracted, so here, have a story. o3ob
Atlas [♂] .&&. The Lampade [♂]
There was once an angel named Atlas,
A protector of books and scrolls;
But the others said he was useless,
Since his chest was full of holes.
They ripped out his heart, his lungs and ribs,
So that he could never tell stories,
For stories were fibs,
Just with pretty words- that kind that spark worries.
But Atlas disagreed,
Protested and pleaded,
To write was his fate, his angelic creed,
But his creativity, his heart, was gone- and so he wrote maps, as they were much needed.
He traveled the realms of Æthere all over,
Drawing and scribbling away,
This made him a loner,
But that was okay.
When he had finished there,
All spaces accounted for, no cloud unturned,
He traveled to Tartaros- much to the nymphs' and angels' despair.
They called him a fool, a stupid boy, said he will get what he deserved;
But while mapping the surface of the underworld,
He got a bit delayed.
He saw a strange man, a male Lampade, who lay curled
At the roots of a pomegranate tree, asleep, clutching a darkened blade.
As Atlas crept closer,
He believed to see something dreadful;
The blade was stained red, as was its holder,
Either he was a murderer or in dire peril!
Atlas shook the Lampade's shoulder,
And the man blinked open his tired eyes, disturbed-
The angel was startled, the man's eyes seemed to smolder,
{Though he would learn this was quite normal in the underworld, it never stopped making him feel perturbed.}
"What," the Lampade growled, pushing himself up,
And the splatters of red traveled down his chin and chest;
Atlas pointed this out, and with a grin, the Lampade held up a golden cup,
He said he'd been draining pomegranates for their juice, and had laid down for a rest.
Atlas stuttered, blinked and blushed,
He felt like a fool, a bumbling fool!
He apologized to the man, took to the air, still flushed;
When he tried to dart off and hide, the Lampade laughed and caught his leg, and the angel quickly hushed.
"Don't worry, you're not the first to assume that.
"You've dropped most of your scrolls, anyway. Why not stay and drink- it's so rare to see an angel this far down."
If Atlas were honest- and of course he was- he was rather afraid of this dark bat;
But a rest did seem nice, as he'd been traveling for so long; so he tucked his wings away and simply wished he were back in town.
He was offered a pomegranate and, unthinking, bit into it-
He quickly wished he hadn't, remembering the single rule he'd been told;
"Anything drunk, swallowed or bit
Will bind you to the underworld, a contract that will never break its hold."
Atlas quickly spat out the seeds, wiped his tongue of the juice;
But it was all for naught, and the Lampade grinned madly-
"I honestly can't believe you fell for that," he said, tilting up the angel's head; "Don't worry, I'll keep you save from any abuse."
He clasp a golden band onto the angel's hand, who looked at him sadly.
"I- I will despise you, Lampade, and never serve you no matter what the price."
The angel met his captor's eyes and glared;
"I do not care what the consequences are, or whether your band holds me like a vice;
"You have no power over me. I am not scared."
The Lampade smirked at him, tugging on the golden cuff;
He placed a dusky hand over the angel's chest, where a hole had begun to close.
"I know you won't," said the nymph, "and I do not want you to. But these holes looked painful, empty and rough,
I want to heal them for you. And this," he poked at the scar, "is becoming your heart, and your ability to lie." And with that, he arose.
The Lampade walked away, and Atlas stared at his back, dumbfounded and shocked;
He placed his own hand over the scar, and felt a small heartbeat straining against the skin.
"You needed to be brave," said the Lampade, "and sometimes you need to lie to yourself before it becomes true. Your emotions are locked,
"And without ribs for protection, or lungs for padding, your heart is helpless. So follow me. I'm not asking you to sin,
"Just to gain a sense of... Humanity." His smile was sardonic.
Atlas fell into step beside him, still dazed and confused. He turned to the man and said,
"Why are you doing this? Trapping me down here, it's practically demonic."
He looked around them, at the cave and all its trappings; this was a place for the dead.
The Lampade scoffed, his handsome features screwing up in distaste,
He held the angel's wrist tightly, as if he were afraid of loosing him.
"I've seen angels like you before, heartless, soulless- I think it's a waste.
"It's demonic what they're doing to you there. And here, while grim,
"It's better than living your lives as walking shells."
He tugged him forward and into a floating marketplace,
Where they sat on a low wall, taking in the sights and smells;
'So this is my new life,' thought the angel, as if in a dream; 'Perhaps... Here my talents won't be a waste.'
The angel took out a blank scroll, and wrote.
He wrote of the nymph and the pomegranates, of his capture and his heart;
Of the marketplace and the man who made his head float.
He compiled it into a poem, one you now read; and this, dear readers, is only the start.
A Lampade is an underworld nymph.
Yes, I know that all nymphs are supposed to be female. Hush. |D" Creative liberties were taken for storytelling purposes!
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The Hound xx The Fox 
