Never have I witnessed before such an uncanny sight amid the clouds and mist. A
beauty indeed, and one that is other-worldly and deep rooted in the darkest pits of my
memory. I have heard the vile tongues attempting to tarnish and defame this eerie vision: “He was carved in hell fire, sculpted by the fallen angel’s claws”, “He is no man, despite his contradicting claims; the spawn of satan is a more befitting title." No words, however, could frame that alluring symmetry; these are just the words uttered by fickle hearts.
The eyes, deprived of the glow of the living, burned with the intensity of everlasting emotions trapped in time. There was a hint of longing swimming around the iris, revealing traces of a cerulean past. The paper-like complexion quivered with the wind and welcomed the caress of my mortal hand. Blood, black and dense, pooled around the edges of the crimson lips, bearers of unspoken sins that profaned a past life; sins I long to unveil and redeem. Yet blood also made its way through the cracks
in the porcelain flesh, tainted by undeserved cruelty.
The icy breath fleeing the tortured lips clashed with my own, giving me a faint taste of the afterlife. He was no man: the despicable tongues spoke the truth, but he was certainly no infernal scoundrel. He was just a chained creature, enslaved to the past.