white ink gold stardust

She is a golden nebula, all of her swirling value instilling grand creation. She is the safest birthplace of wonders, the evocator of emotions and thought. She is the reason that I am, that we are. She is the Muse, and forever shall she be the one greatest part of me.

[whiteinkgoldstardust]

         The sky is heavy, burdened, thick with the scent of coming rain. So depressingly overcast, water forming on the skin with the deepening humidity. Sinking into pores set into waxy and pallid skin, skin turned by undeath and near death. Two pinkies hooked together, such a gentle and pure gesture, such a gentle and pure set of smiles, even with a set of brand new fangs.

         An ugly attempt at a minty green is the color that hangs on his form, an attempt at cloth made from paper and some material that may or not be a natural fiber. The garb he donned all too often for anyone’s comfort but his own. But at least he wasn’t surrounded by white walls, white sheets, white lights. There’s no number on his door right now- there is no door at all. No, there’s the soft grass under his bare toes, the tiny little flowers, scentless with white petals. The sky may not be blue, but it doesn’t need to be. There’s a sky above him, and there’s earth below him, and there’s her beside him. That’s all he really needs.

         Feet stop, their dents in the plush and natural carpet deeper than those in their paths, and hooked pinkies are traded for held hands. She’s so short next to him, and she’s so cute in her frills and her lace, those dresses that she dirties within the first five minutes of putting them on, Mary Janes covered in scuffs. So cute, with her decorated pins nearly falling out of her bright blue hair, with her pale and colorless cheeks, with her sharp smile, with her gleaming red eyes nearly pulled shut by her beaming.

         For a while, all they do is stare at each other, unable to help giggling, him leaning down just so they can press their foreheads together, push their tips of their noses together, no longer looking at each other, but oh, they’re paying so much attention. Him to the way she manages to smell not of undeath, but of some sweet tang that pinches a buried nose. Her to the weakly flowing blood just beneath his skin, though his heart is so strong, so very strong. Him to the soft and cared for hands that felt like royalty. Her to his true and real breath on her shining skin.

         The drops begin to fall, small ones, almost mistakable for a mist, but they make impact on bare skin, on the surfaces of clothes and hair and arms and mostly hidden faces. So soft, at first, gentle, but soon the water is falling hard. Though, it’s not like either of them care. They continue to stand there, feeling only each other, almost like they’re entranced… Arms looped about the other, holding them close.

         She looks up at him, finally opening her eyes, and she smiles, wiping his face in the heavy rain, a useless notion but a reason to touch him. “Looks like rain.” He laughs down at her, a gentle chuckle, his own chuckle that always sounds somewhat caught in his throat, like it can’t get past his adam’s apple. The way his hair mats to his head, it looks like seaweed, and she pulls a leaf out of the way. “The sky matches your eyes, Ko.”

         His smile saddens a bit, and he mirrors her, pins falling as he tucks bright blue locks behind her ear with long and square fingers. “... You eyes used to match the sky, too.”

         Bright red orbs widen, and the rain washes away her smile, shows the guilty gape beneath. But she refuses to stop smiling for any more than a second, freezing back over, fangs glinting in such a beaming ray of light that she gives off. “Well. What if they looked like the sun instead?”

         A wide palm cups the side of her face. “I think I’d like that.”

         She slings both of her arms around his neck, hanging off of him, the inside of her arm brushing past

two once weeping holes in the side of his neck.

[whiteinkgoldstardust]

         She sits atop the tower, so old, so familiar. She looks down, at her paws, watches them, watches her ears, watches her tail. She looks at the collar she does not wear, the pins. The piercings return, as she sees them, and thinks of them. Did she always have this mane? No, no she did not. And this golden light was not always stardust.

         He sits atop the tower, so old, so familiar, He looks on, at himself, watches his reflection, watches the drastic shift in the mirror as time goes on. Always so difficult, always something to be conquered; and She was the only one who could. Patterns, antlers, wings, broken bones and bloody spatters, delicate poses and dynamic perspectives. The only way he could ever be envisioned.

         They sit atop the tower, so old, so familiar. They look at each other, watch their sibling and counterpart, watch their other half that they cannot exist without. The good and the evil, the sun and the rain, but there is good in the evil, for he is what makes her so sweet. Insecurity, numbness, pressure, expectation, debility, reality, stare down confidence, feeling, freedom, pride, genius, fantasy, and past the ferocity, past the contrast, there is love, understanding, and so much of it.

         If she is the force which drives the pen, then he is that which dries the ink in its well. If she is inspiration, creativity, he is broken thought, destruction. If She is Muse, then He can only be Mokuhen, a word, name, and title all at once, created solely to oppose the term she had simply claimed.

         He had been forgotten. Cast away. Exiled. She thought She was doing what was best. But She was wrong. Without Him, She had grown so weak, without even Her notice. But now- now He had returned! And with Him came Her strength, Her fire, the force to drive Her further, the challenge.

         That was the good in the evil. The challenge. The challenge is what stands in your way, what impedes your progress, what defies you. You can either kneel to the challenge, or you can accept it; to accept it in itself is to overcome it sometimes. The challenge, while it may slow you, is not there to stop you, it is there to push you farther once you have passed it.

         From beneath Her, in His blood, He smiles, and She smiles back.