Like a piece of art that has come to life! A Goddess’s graveyard, in color and stench. She swung her hammer around her fingertips, flourishing it in perfect circles, never losing that twinkling light in her eyes. And watched as little bits and bops slipped off and met with the rest of itself----wherever it may have lay----a meticulous mess of “something” or “other”. The red sea parted under the sheer weight of her and her armor, leaving behind two pieces of gum wherever she decided to stomp. The shells were crunchy under her steps. She knew it well. First they slip out in blue, then they cry out in red. Always. Never failing, they ooze blue, then they scream in red. The sound of it all was deafening. The violent color of it all, amazing. Her pencil colored Neverland, a priest-made wonderland. A trail of footsteps, the color of magenta flowers, and the sight of her life’s mission, the vision of the Morning Star guiding her.
But the grass! It was painted so, so lovingly.
And the trees! Toppled over, the rings inside hundreds, if not thousands, one after another down to the old heart of it. Baumkuchen.
Her pretty, sparkly world. It was daises and roses. It was the scent of breakfast in the morning, a sweet pound cake with tea, all doused in maple syrup from the tap of golden unknown. She could feel his doubt. She could hear the whispers of his disbelief. For a nonbeliever, it was best for her to show him. Show him redemption. She took the little handkerchief and tucked it into her pocket. Lime Serenity lifted her hammer once more and let it sink down to her side, the impact of it sending bits of flesh spraying about the forced clearing. On the trees, dripping on leaves. On the hem of her skirt. The silence to a riptide, the drowning silence in the wayside. It was, above all else, quiet. And she liked that the best. Strangely solemn, strangely quiet. She turned around to face him, smiling gently.
“They are DEAD, Mister Sora.”
Ah! So poor, a young boy, to look so grave and ill! Ah! So sad, a poor young boy, someone with colors like Northern Lights! Sora. A belovèd, adored, and sunkissed young man. She took her hammer and ripped it across the ground, taking grass and ground with it. Above all else, silent. “Justice and peace...” she began, raising her hammer high to the air, above her head, in all of her glory and singularity! “....has no home for demons.”
.... He could not hear them. Their whispers of lies. Little, crawling, on her cheeks and her arms, on every bit of flesh uncovered by the gloves that went from her fingers to her forearms. On every bit of flesh uncovered by the white stockings that tied themselves up under the knee. He could not hear them, no? Their sounds of sweet promises and ‘THE WORLD CAN BE YOURS IF YOU WANT IT’. When she extended out her hands, all she got back was begging and pleading for her to accept them. And love them. And nurture them in herself. Without light. Without peace. To let her let them----take over. And then they will be redeemed. Hands that took hers not in prayer, but in selfishness. Hands that caressed her cheek not in love, but in desire. Hands that made themselves deafening, ready to clap the moment she traded her soul for something so silly as immortality. He could not hear them, no? Because she could.
He is pure. And cute. And sweet. And looked like cherry blossoms on a cliffside. And smelled like mangoes in a basket.
Raised. And blinding. And visually melodious. From the cross on her hammer, glowing white in gold rings, slowly bled a liquid light from the height of her. Engulfing her. It fell softly on the edges of her dress and slipped off, eternally falling. Sticky like oil. Droplets hit the ground sizzling and she gave him a loud, bright smile as she took it and pounded her hammer into the ground, using it to launch herself into the air! “’Heartless’, huh!? Of course they can be saved! Because they are simply silly people who became blind!”----amazing, and terrifying. And above all else, her voice rang loud in the forest’s silence. She twisted and spun before landing hammer-first into the ground! And it boomed.
Light and feathers buzzed and exploded over the field over them, sending shells and bits of flesh burning. A solid requiem of her doing. An ostentatious kind of love, a blatant kind of adoration. She kissed and told, told the world about the intensity of it all! And from her sweet secret came visions of pretty, sparkly things. It sizzled and burned, and turned into sparkles. It sizzled and burned, and became feathers. From the bottom to the top, burning up, purified, putrid, purified. Parched, dry, and burned. What once was, shriveled up in the light of daytime gold and squirmed into itself before the light eventually enveloped its pathetic shadows, and popped. Her beautiful, lovely world. It was daises and roses. A sweet pound cake that tasted lovely with tea. She twisted her body on the pivot of her wrist and landed right foot first, the rest of her dress following after her, flowing down to an ever-emerald grass, and she seemed a little ballerina atop the music box she rewinded. Good as new. As if nothing ever passed by. Good as new. With trees toppled over, with grass ripped from its roots, with flower petals squished smushed under her boots. Torn and ripped up. Good as new. Without a single screaming voice to be heard, and it was good as new.
“I am a really, really cool guy, did you know? Because I am the only one that can hear them without turning topsy-turvy. Did you know? Because I can hear them, Sora.”
She breathed in the color of it.
“... To the Goddesses they go, then! JUSTICE and PEACE for all.”
For once, said without a smile. The riptide under her current passed. The waves were left to crash on her quiet shore. And the sounds started to come back gradually, filling her ears and eyes with pretty words and meanings. Solemn. She was a Sister, after all. She took a breath and closed her eyes before the brightness returned, obnoxious silliness like her pillow to fall back on, and grinned brightly at him.
“Don’t worry! It’s normal to not hear a thing! Your soul is super-duper, ultra strong, Mister Sora! Something to this level can’t even pull a hair off your head! But I’ll protect you. When you’re scared and shivering. And wanting to throw up. And hurting and frail, through sickness and nausea. Lime Serenity! By a swear to my name as a Holy Knight. But if you want to go home, I can take you back.”
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