"Oh, mother," the Deity said in a voice as mournful as it was smooth, "how many moons have passed?"
Moonlight bled through the skylight located within the sepulcher carved of marble. An array of torches lined the circular room - each located within a decadent alcove. Intricate runes and alien writings loomed above, each sculpted with ancient hands and fortuitous intent; they wrote of this day, and saw it in their dreams.
Mesephonine dreamt of it too - each night restless and weary, coiling and contorting - of the day they'd be reunited. They leaned within the pungent sarcophagus, the slab chipped and whittled into Marengesh's features.
Their mother lay within, her skin soft with the appearance of porcelain. Gentle, peaceful - unlike the day she left the world. Even as Mesephonine stared at their mother's preserved corpse, they felt a lack of kindredship that led them so deep beneath the soil.
In death, the Mother of Destiny's influence coursed through every being's veins. However, free will remained; she played no hand in anyone's decisions - not even Mesephonine's.
So then why - why could they hear a voice they could never fathom? A tone sweeter than their own, words so grooming and persuasive that not even the Absolutes could be dissuaded?
Their emerald gaze studied her hollowed features. Death decorated her more than her legacy. Impotence, sacrilege. She knew of the destiny of others better than her own. Perhaps that was why she lay before her first and lastborn, determined to sway their every move.
For that, Mesephonine licked their teeth in thought. If it were in their holy, innocent nature, they would have spat on her corpse and sealed her away where she belonged. Alone, forgotten, feared. But not by Mesephonine. Never by Mesephonine.
With a deep sigh, Mesephonine tucked their mother's silken, milk-white curls behind her ears and placed a kiss on her forehead. How many moons had passed?
"Not enough." Standing, they brushed the dust from their lavender blouse and puffed their frilled sleeves. "Not enough for me to mourn you."
Moonlight bled through the skylight located within the sepulcher carved of marble. An array of torches lined the circular room - each located within a decadent alcove. Intricate runes and alien writings loomed above, each sculpted with ancient hands and fortuitous intent; they wrote of this day, and saw it in their dreams.
Mesephonine dreamt of it too - each night restless and weary, coiling and contorting - of the day they'd be reunited. They leaned within the pungent sarcophagus, the slab chipped and whittled into Marengesh's features.
Their mother lay within, her skin soft with the appearance of porcelain. Gentle, peaceful - unlike the day she left the world. Even as Mesephonine stared at their mother's preserved corpse, they felt a lack of kindredship that led them so deep beneath the soil.
In death, the Mother of Destiny's influence coursed through every being's veins. However, free will remained; she played no hand in anyone's decisions - not even Mesephonine's.
So then why - why could they hear a voice they could never fathom? A tone sweeter than their own, words so grooming and persuasive that not even the Absolutes could be dissuaded?
Their emerald gaze studied her hollowed features. Death decorated her more than her legacy. Impotence, sacrilege. She knew of the destiny of others better than her own. Perhaps that was why she lay before her first and lastborn, determined to sway their every move.
For that, Mesephonine licked their teeth in thought. If it were in their holy, innocent nature, they would have spat on her corpse and sealed her away where she belonged. Alone, forgotten, feared. But not by Mesephonine. Never by Mesephonine.
With a deep sigh, Mesephonine tucked their mother's silken, milk-white curls behind her ears and placed a kiss on her forehead. How many moons had passed?
"Not enough." Standing, they brushed the dust from their lavender blouse and puffed their frilled sleeves. "Not enough for me to mourn you."
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