Mother of Light and Father of Shadow
I would be the wind answering to her beckon to lift silken strands from too warm neck and caress my intent along softly scented skin.
I would be fire, flickering her shadow in homage across the walls of the cell she keeps herself within until even she would have to see her form kissed by light as I paint her against her own self containment.
I would be the earth beneath her feet if she would but walk me and of my essence partake until mind and soul remembered how to smile again.
Ah, but all that pales.
I would be water, liquid essence “born” just to please her.
If she twists the brass to turn on the tap, my consciousness drifts towards hers once more.
If she adds beads of jasmine and oil of almond, I know colour no matter how faint, flavour no matter how sweet, and aroma lightly filtering through my essence as I am permeated by her command.
I rise in tendrils of steam to reach for her as she steps near.
I beckon with desire mingled between her thoughts and mine as the whisper of her dreams I hear.
I watch her every move. I feel her gaze as her mind puts away the finish of a day.
I watch her fingertips trace that which I know is my path along her consciousness as each synapse registers the briefest flutter of our shared touch.
Layers dissolve until before me she stands in purest form.
Leaning over she breathes me in while her fingers finalize the circuit as she tests water’s temperature for readiness. As her hand stirs me to a swirl of aromatic incandescence I feel the circuit complete.
Even as she steps in and lowers herself into the fluidity of my embrace the “ahhhhhmmm…” is a mutual utterance. I feel the blend of her spirit with mine and the completion is almost too much.
Each curve knows my caress. Each finger glides through me until nothing is left untouched as searching hands glide in shared essence over satin skin. I would be the air wrapped round her in her night as she dreams of me again.
||How I came to be I may never know. It is as if one morning I opened my eyes and I simply was. As time passes with little measure I pause and force myself to remember. No longer can a more firm form I bring to mind’s eye. Years pass adrift in hazy mist that caresses as if a warm wet ardent lover seeking one of its own to enfold. But I am more than mist. Now and then I feel a gripping tug reaching for that which I once was and the lure pulls me closer to the surface I drift above.
Once I spread my form liquid thin and coated as far as I could reach, seeking a point of penetration to allow me to seep back in. None I could find. Yet as the eons span I find an occasional pull as if an invitation is extended, yet I know not how to respond. It has never reached in this far, touched this deeply, or gripped my unknown center with such tenacity before. I feel the beckoning call pulling from below. Do I dare answer? Oh, if there is still that, do I dare not?
The room is subdued, steam rises from the clawed porcelain bath as a servant fills it. A brush lay bristles upwards on the dressing table of pale cream. Her hair, white golden streams of brushed satin gleams in the candle flickers.
Her hands lift the gown, slide the silk over a form that remains, even as summers pass, supple and firm. Her hands lift up the glistening tresses over the collar and release them over shoulders just barely covered. Violet eyes turn towards the reflective glass which covers nearly the wall of her bedchamber.
Vanities own you are, beauty of ice and warmth of reflection."
She see's all around herself and still there is chill where there should be brilliant warmth. The sensitive balls of her fingers against the cool of the glass, she touches her reflection. All the light that is bestowed through touch and command, does not warm, can not dissuade the emptiness that hollows out her core and laughs at her reflected beauty.
She looks into the depths of the mirrored reality and still sees the whispered faded portrait of what never was. Lips never speak a name nor do eyes see the curve of jaw. Still, her name she hears upon the hinted dawn, a voice never diminished by time or choice.
I am Sanerium of the House of Rose. Daughter of Light . . . and mother of the Trianthem, and still, I am not wholly woman."
||You burn? You know nothing of burn until you live wanting to die…seeking even the chill of another plane to temper a mixture of angst and heat into a meld found at least bearable.”
The words cross my mind, but choke me rather than be born as an utterance she might hear.
I have no desire to hurt her. I sense the sorrow and the yearning as surely as I once knew my own.
Watching her move, the anger carried for years melts away. It seems such a futile waste of emotion as I stand aching to touch her once more.
To silvered surface I step, knowing that the soft radiance of her candlelit room will allow her to see the shift of form behind coolness of glass.
See me my Lady of the Dawn.”
I seek not to startle her...
Ribbons of color and of soul I knew. Beings that were existent but unembodied I spent my days amongst. This was not the same. This was something else altogether. My eyes opened to look at my reflection. I hungered to watch the want in my eyes melt into satisfied response. There was silence and I was alone, until I looked past my own face into the shimmering reflection. Form not my own whispered a name.
Such a name I'd not allowed voice for an eternity it seemed. Every nerve was alive with it. Ash.
Grace walketh in the forest
her tall lithe form
with a silver halo
and gentle aura
draped in sheer silver silk.”
Your wandering knight marks
Thine’s progress by roses blooming
In filigreed ivory amorettes
from thorns prior to thine passing.
This knight would’st thee approach
with courtesy in all manner
of chivalric virtue,
ne’er thine name to disparage.
To be worthy thine accolades
this knave must so aspireth
as thine chain of fealty
doth this gallant knight errant
lureth link by silvered link
to thine chalice which doth
with kindred kindness overflow.
Wouldest but that body
be more noble than soul,
thine indulgence he doth request
and in humbled homage pay thee
with this rusty relic
of life worn sentient within.
Draped in silvered lunar glow
She walks as Grace,
her carriage of noble virtue
born of an ancient silvered soul
with haloed head held high.
... with your name upon my lips
and your heartbeat in my ear.
Succulent morsels of scented sleep
the fast breaking meal of my morn.
Fingers still curled in my hair
from the nights passions play
moistness warming me from
shared pinnacles ascension.
A lost eyelash upon my cheek
whose color isn't mine
pillow soft as morn's first light
tells the tale stillness brought.
Slowly pulling apart upon days reveille
lingering with the nightingale's song
promises of another meeting
when daylight is once more gone.
Secret smiles to greet the day
warmth held jealously inside
till another filling comes again
from your welcoming bedside.
Sanerium Rose to her Ashtam '00
While lifting the handle of flourished brush to the chill surface, around my wrist seven pearls glistened. Each iridescent glimmer offered its will in submission. Seven words heard I, and seven answered.
Come to me my Knight of Dusk"
|Minions of light, paint for me pearls of shadowed past." The words commanded while my heart trembled. How daring was I? How unwise to unleash the deepest passions of elements fusion. Outside of my room a clap of thunder followed a flash of radiance. Splashed against slick pane the tears of eons came together in their display of abandon.
My scalp tingled with the memory of this very brush within beloved fingers used. Strokes of leisure spoiled and pampered to high luster luxurious strands.
||The sixth pearl on the arm of grace glimmers iridescent like a signal post guiding me near. Murmuring in the tongue of wind swept sirens beckons me to the brink of the yawning abyss she calls me to fill. That which once was hangs like the fullness of fruit on the tree in the garden of eternal joy. Tempting. Forbidden.
If my soul seeks ensilage, she will be lost to me once more. If I negate caution after due warning and reach to assuage the hunger within, will I find desire’s belly full and the chalice of soul emptied by benefit of her own chasm’s longing?
Somehow I know even if the answer will desecrate my being, to her call I will hark. No other option can I abide. Insatiable as the need for release once was, the desire for the velvety constrictions she offers sounds like maternal lullaby crooning to sleep the words of warning whispering in my mind.
Sanerium, call. I will come.
The sky had been the color of milk, the trees avocado green. Ashtam and I had spent wonderful days and luxurious nights together until the night he slipped the pearl circlet around my wrist.
I had failed. He was not the one I was sent here for I was informed. The ancient one himself spoke softly to my ear, his breath all that I could sense of him. "No my child, there is another. This is not to be." My heart bled as I lifted his parchment and tears stained it as I left it upon his pillow. There was another.
I had found then, Roberus. Within the week we were wed. My life here had begun, but not without the memories of a life beyond this gravitational pull.
I was immediately with child. Roberus mother, Krystal, had tended me for the shielding. There was not a singular child, but a duo. I bore the embryos of both the mortal world, and the world of shadows.
Two daughters, Two fathers. Krystal knew, but she was the only one. I had told none. Krystal had taken Ava, Ashtanon's daughter, and raised her as her own.
Perhaps now it was time for a reckoning to allow the girl to understand who she was, and why she had lived her life. . . in the shadows.
I touched my wrist, the pearl glistened there. Fined boned was I and the delicate mist colored material I was swathed in was both comfortable and flowing.
I felt like a girl and yet there was a richness there that made my determination solid. Ashtam was my future. I breathed in several times, my eyes closed as I spoke the words my heart nearly shouted.
Come to me my Prince of Shadow"
Come to me my prince of shadow.”
Gauzy layers slide beneath my touch as my transition completes.
My name she whispers, then calls with familiarity of a voice growing stronger as determination breathes desire into her own intent. A silvered angel she stands as behind her I find myself beckoned. Granted form by the seventh pearl along slender wrist,
my essence around her wraps.
Select from below to visit
my other web pages:
NOTICE OF COPYRIGHT
Chantaclair's Parlor Designs © 1999 ~ 2018
Terms and Conditions
all pictures used with permission
NOTICE OF COPYRIGHT
The current time and date:
For Visiting the Parlor
Thank you for Meandering the Manor
Please come again.
The Manor Home | SiteMap | About Me | Business | Calligraphy Classes | Chapel | Computer Classes | Dance | Delium RPG | Ezine | Family Room | Feedback | Floral Design | Links | Massage Therapy | Piano Lessons | Search | Victorian Pins | Web Design | What is New? | Writing | Contact Me