"Embraced thy seething bough" by Kathleen Morgaine Haubrich

Thy veins composed of porcelain bear eyes of rich decay. Blink they not, but lie in unsaved radiance, drenched in fervent tears. Had thought to regain birth in blood, by the verve of curse`d blades. Thence, steel had spoken, woe scarred and sore upon its lips.

Atop the braided boughs did linger a wicked night, gravid and sure to thee. Though, fared she not along for what Vimridh’s grasp had stolen. Dark eyes asunder, and lips purely severed as eidolon’s curse was shed.

Vile screams! Serrated screams! Doth torn away from the bloodless lips of innocence. Course nails dug deep the silken flesh. Drew scarlet ribbons of blood, wreathing along her breast. Thence, the frigid taste of steel brushed past her lips, and clung firm to slender limbs. Bound then her neck, in a harsh caress of warmer blood. Gold fiendish eyes ever watching, enthralled without defeat. For pleased their Lords shall hence prevail, to whisper biddings of silent menace.  

Fingernails scraped hard the chains, availed her none alas. Tear stained eyes did wander far, to muse a finer serenade. A castle, laced in ivy vines, would kiss away thy scythe and blade. More flaw starved berth dwells not. If certain heavens tasted sorrow, this day bears far surpassed. For well they built mortality, to aid thy plight alas.

And so Vimridh did perish lo, borne back into the searing flames. Confined, the maiden poured away, reaped with her the deadly spear. Overtaken and sedated, she plunged the blade where age allowed to liberate consorts, and rushed anon.

Whirlwinds ceased, and sun’s cruel portrait fell upon the barren plain. She ran, fevered, and soaked in apprehension, for plight denies one peace. And Hark, she heard the battle call and plodding steps of loathsome Vimridh’s. Her steadied pace grew frenzied, sodden gown singed, and coiled hair in disarray. Thy smoldering scar of fear, lay bleak upon her, as rust harbors to steel.

She halted thence; her throat grew sore as she gazed upon the gloomy swamp before her. The mist lay poise and still, broad along the thicket. In a breath, she felt it swoon upon her shoulder, bare and sore, the thick scent of blood filled her nose.

In obscure shock, her eyes mingled with the tangled branches, void of hush or rest. Weeping and flowing, a bleeding wound dwelling in the tree, inflamed with reckless hate and spite. A fresher demon spawn, lone and faceless, cloaked in austere regret. To plunder life and dive to the sunless abyss of the midnight clearing, fiercely threatening. His wings, branching about his broad back, torn with brilliant envy. Oh, a sight to relish, Nay! A sight to dread! Bid quick her feet, the maiden ambled upon the declining tree branched, and with spear grasped tightly in hands, began her duel of life afeared. Gloom enwrapped the willowy branch as battle waned. Several fadeless slashes later, the winged demon rushed carelessly upon the Vimridh spear, in armored defeat.

Relief let loose a sigh from the maiden’s bloodied lips, as thy demon’s neck snapped harshly upon the muddied ground. Prevailed and proud, the maiden lurched atop the branch overseeing the beast’s cruel cadaver. A smile, chased seldom near this maid of victor, this sorceress of endurance.

Her tongue swept sweet across her lips, and lifted fair thy embers of the wound. Her hand brushed back her wayward locks, fingers mend coarsely open lesions. With steadied hands, she slipped with grace out of the long spun bough, surmounting the turbid swamp.

Banished by vanity and ventured fate, the maiden’s fall had proved unwell of interruption.

 - For round her neck lingered the dense steel shackle, who’s chain embraced thy seething bough. -