words Erica Menzies
She was beautiful.
The same way strange and poisonous flowers are to those who crave the sweetest of nectars. They grow at the water’s edge, flourishing in their own lethality, never blessed by the feeling of touch. To pluck a petal would render sweet and painful euphoria.
A lonely existence.
Her skin had been touched by the tears of the gods, a perfect marbled creation of the pain and anguish it took to send her here. To this place.
Her scars were stories pressed with silver and iron, a tangent masterpiece that reminded the world her beauty was a warning. A reminder that beauty is not without its pain and suffering. Her body was a tale told by all yet touched by none. Someday, this pain would be useful.
She remained in this sorrowful place. A light beckoned her in the far-off distance, amongst the roots of the great tree. She could feel its warmth. A memory of a beautiful place she used to lay when she was a kid. A memory, where she remained trapped in a time she had left behind; forced to outlive them all.
For the power of life is something that cannot be touched with delicate hands.
A gift from the gods: her immortality.
To remain imperviously beautiful,
In hope someday she would come back.