Ad Schism

Book IV • Nirvana

Sophie,

I want to take you back
to a world of light and love
with life so luscious
and foods so ripe.

Bask in the soothing sun
like a goddess
and then run with me,
chasing dreams till the night falls.

When the light lingers
like warm water colors,
would you envelop me
like the jungle lulls the beast?

Passions painted so sensuous and divine.

Oliver

A feint light crept under burgundy curtains, it colored the little specs that floated aloft in the early morning; subtle rays painted the house in effervescent, silent strokes. With an ancient rhythm, all the sounds of life began to sway and stir, beckoned to rise.

As the sun's curious beams crept further into the indolent room, it fell upon ruffled bedsheets and perched itself on the strands of golden hair. The tips of which sat peacefully, scintillating upon the soft beige sheets underneath.

With the morning now dawning brighter shades of day, the streams that cut through the curtains fell upon her. They kissed her soft skin sweetly, as if to welcome her back from this long night's sleep. Within moments her nose crinkled, as if tickled by the lightest of feathers. The sounds of sliding linens echoed throughout the quiet room as she stirred slowly, picking up the drift of life that she had left from the day before.

Finally, she rose; as beautiful as a blossoming flower. Her blonde locks fell before her face but she pushed them back behind her ears, still blinking awake her sleepy eyes and stretching out until she shined and glistened, iridescent like the morning light.

In this moment she was alone but certainly not wanting; a relax radiated in every move she made, making it thoroughly obvious that it was for the moment alone that she lived in, not anything before her nor behind; she was simply fluid.

As she slid out of bed the light traced her silhouette in the wall behind her head. There the fine contours of her nose and cheeks cut the wood like an architect's blade. Yet despite the lighting she moved on, stepping swiftly on the cold wooden floors, listening intently to the soft echoes coming from the pads of her feet. While she strode, the shadows outlined her supple frame in black, and elegance fell upon her like a robe of satin or silk.

Soon the silent halls of the spacious house began to come to life. Hints of sound trickled in from all corners; speakers were set up all throughout. Yet it was not so much music as it was natural, for the soothing songs of birds whistled cordially, and a running stream persevered behind.

The house itself was more of a warehouse by design, it was large and extravagant but simple in its architectural structure. The ceilings were high, letting sound echo with a delightful resonance, and the walls were geometric with expansive windows; most covered by the burgundy curtains seen earlier. Speaking of which, she spent several minutes walking around the room pulling all the curtains back and tying them off on drawstrings.

Now that the light flooded in with little resistance, the character of the house was illuminated in all its grandeur. It was obviously and very authentically an artist's home. The colors were earthy and calming, toned with a certain feng shui that let it flow smoothly from one place to another.

Her workshop was simply a part of the living room, large gray slabs of clay sat ominously and shavings were swept into a corner basket on the ground. Everything had an air of disheveled organization that gave a very accurate appearance of work ongoing.