My feet rest against the cold stone, the brisk air funnelling past me and though the door, seeking warmth just as I should.
Fingers trembling from both the cold and anxiety find purchase on the sturdy embossed door. Fingers dig mercilessly into the meticulously crafted woodwork.
My eyes raise, the object of my desire just beside the eastern garden; the rose garden… the one place forbidden to me.
If only he would move closer just to greet me.
A baritone grumble prompts me retreat.
Somehow the castle of misery seems somewhat preferable to the garden of terror.
With a predators precision, he bounds, hovering over me his face a mask of gruesome repulsiveness.
Creases upon creases with hair tucked between, his eyes glow with predatory delight, flashing from my prone form the warmth of the interior.
Even with the face of nightmares ingrained in my mind, I see no need to scream.
Why scream if no one is there? Why scream if they won’t even hear? Why scream if you’re screaming all the time? Locked in a castle of merciless and lies.
As these thoughts flutter round my brain, his feel his weight vanish, like a gust of wind.
His eyes flank me with a look of profound understanding.
I blink once and he’s gone away, his tail and a patch of roses the only indicator of my rave.
YOU ARE READING
Heart Of Thorns And Roses
PoetryHe lurks in the dark like a shunned panther. In the day he entrances with mirthless banter. Vicious beauty lies beneath the surface Of a beast whose motives are not unfound. He gazes at me in silent rumination, For I've stolen is one consolation. Hi...
