Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The Roman Myth . . . Chapter Two hell's gates open
Since magic is never created nor destroyed, regardless of the heat death of the universe, the magic will still continue to exist. Thus, for eternity. Wanda is haunted by harsh memories that linger like a softly uttered curse, spoken from their parted lips. She kneels into a dream where she's lost, and unforgiven. Her hands are stained with the blood of her mistakes. Their destiny rested in the palms of her hand. Either, she could release her clutched fist, or squish them flat, letting their blood seep through her fingers.
But Wanda; the woman filled with rage, wasn't finished with her revenge, she was gonna make them wait, till she felt as if their virtue was worthy... Partially out of fear- Wanda would never admit to it. Wanda believes she's the strongest and most powerful flower in the patch, but just like all blooms, her armor is made of petals, fragile and delicate. Wanda never knew just how greedy her stone heart was when she stole the world. To kill her dreams would be trying to wrap an invisible string around Wanda's throat, choking her to death. This was their fault, they brought it upon themselves.
Her softness of a delicate flower had never served her greatness before. Wanda wanted to be on top of the world or nothing at all. When denied she ripped the world apart. She froze, she burned. She cried to the root of the earth and screamed to the stars. She became the rigid end of the knife that she had been stabbed by one too many times. As everything crumbled and died before her wildfire eyes, Wanda grew- like the tallest bean stock! But slowly, Wanda's power was killing her slowly- bit by bit. Like a deadly cancer, or ravish poison ivy, she wouldn't even notice till the infection had spread too far.
There was something terrible in Wanda, and it was grinning at her maliciously. Born to create chaos and destroy, like the predictor of war and death. This malicious creature was made of iron. When she bleeds, she reeks of rust. It's iron that filled her heart and settled in her veins and bones. Wanda had fallen in love with it. So full of danger, her rage, and revenge. There would've been no way to stop her unless she had fallen in love with something pure and real.
A dry March cold was traversing the open window, blowing itself into the flesh of her body, a girl in the depths of her thoughts, sitting and staring out the window from her dining room. A cry of fresh tea was rising from the kitchen, mixed with the smooth and breathless smell of her coconut & Hibiscus shampoo and honey mist body wash. The leaves outside her door turn a bit in the air, and a breeze from the whole world breathes through the large pajama shirt that fell to her just below her tighs. A knitted cardigan was thrown over the top and her bare feet danced through the kitchen on their toes, her fingertips busy with the penny that spun around, glistening from the sun's echo.
1, 2, 3, spin.
She dunks a teabag a few times into the pink teacup before she lets it sink, swirls a silver spoon with a hovering finger through her herb tea, sitting in the sun that basked in a pool at the foot of her kitchen. Her index and middle finger spin the penny on the counter, catching the small coin before it topples over on, tails face up. Sparing a glance over her shoulder, her lips curl when she took in the glistening bird's jewels.
