Experimental Writing - Tumblr Posts
Ø₱Ɇ₦ł₦₲ ₮ⱧɆ ɆɎɆ
Her robe falls away in an opalescent swell, collapsing at her feet like a serpent’s skin.
Laced through with eldritch circuitry, her lithe body, niveous and bare, pulses rhythmically with light.
Polychromatic bioluminescence coruscates hypnotically beneath the milky translucence of ivorine flesh, lambent sub-dermal lattices of blushing radiance tracing the interior contours of her being.
Her lucid roseate eyes and glossy pink lips glitter jewel-like, the high cheeks of her delicate visage blush, a pale flower blooming in the brood chamber of the crystalline naos.
She begins to dance, at once lovely and frightening. Graceful and fluid, yet sharp and precise, the air about her whispers secrets with each practiced motion, her slender limbs sighing like swords to her silent song. As exquisite hips sway, shapely legs leap and glide, nimble feet caressing the kaleidoscopic mirror of the quartzite floor. Spine arcing, wild cascades of gossamer hair fall in glowing fiber-optic waves over pallid breasts as she draws unseen signs in the gestural language of a lost world. Spectral and diaphanous, her delicate fingers trace luminous shapes, neon-pink glyphs of molten intent whose fluid forms weave a delicate web of abstract patterns. The cosmos shudders in harmonic resonance, rhythmically entrained with the deep magic of her dance. As worlds align, the veil parts and The Eye is opened. Through it she sees the true shape of all things and goes mad with ecstasy. © JM Tiffany
Red Hands
It was Fall.
Smoke rose from a squat birch hut that was dug half into the slope of a leaf-littered hill.
The cottage’s roof was piled with heavy mats of green moss, and the lambent orange glow of tallow lights shined through its deep-set windows.
Inside was a hushed voice muttering of the cold and of sad little no-one’s.
A child’s bones were there, wrapped in a swan’s wings and tucked into a nest of sticks.
I heard a woman weeping, her deep sobs answered by a pained voice, dark and coarse, whose wet rasp sounded like dull steel scraped over bone.
In the faint amber radiance of the dying sun, I pressed my ear lightly to the chinking and listened in the chill.
The thing croaked and hissed of things hidden, and, mesmerized, the woman swooned.
It spoke in kennings of the ancient ways, and of the faint life that lives in death.
The wretched wight revealed to her the dim paths that lead into Shadow, prescribing offerings and signs as it instructed her in the opening of the ways.
As the setting sun kissed the horizon, the cottage fell silent, and the mourning woman ground something slowly with a mortar and pestle.
Then, she hummed a sad tune to her strange god, her dead offspring, and I, her lurking watcher.
It was then that I left her to suffer alone in that place the grim tasks of the wight.
I padded away like a wolf. And though I parted as night from the dawn, I left her all the coin in my purse and the haunch of a deer whose blood inexplicably yet stains my hands.
I have never returned to those woods where I came upon the woman and the infant’s remains.
Many years have passed since then, and I am too old and frail to hunt. As you can see, time has gnarled my joints and drawn the color from my beard. But, I have never forgotten what I learned there, in the red dusk of yesterday, and a harsh voice continues to utter black secrets in the darkness of my dreams.
© JM Tiffany
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