Nefelibata

Pied Piper

Ominous caligo rises from the ground as the soft flute manipulated its mysticism to gain upon those with longing for something fresh. The clairvoyant male flirted with the body of the flute, a passionate battle emitting from his lips and the lip plate, their battle cries forming a melodious weep of demise. He stood in front of the headstone of his mother, salty tears stinging his pale cheeks, the trail it left exposed him to the true harshness of the winter wonderland, bleak shivers running through his spine.

The headstones around him glowed faint hues of unearthly, golden and white, definitely like his eyes as they cut through all the haze. The roots before his feet retreated back with a hiss, the dirt turning to libation and parting, exactly like the seas did for Moses. There It revealed a sarcophagus of maple wood, heavenly light seeping through the cracks and vaporizing the wicked veil of forgotten vows that the diviner had forged. He stepped to the side, giving Cupid the passageway to his sensibility. His flute, nonetheless, planned on; the war never stops going on. Both sides were playing arduously, gradually devouring at each other's vigor and pure virtue.

His flute, produced from the suns toil and the moon's tears caressed his nose upon sniffing the faint petrichor that grazed in the air, acquired after the performance that marked Valentine's Day up on the calendar of mankind. The lip plate was rendered with Aphrodite's kiss, the cavities with Poseidon's trident, and the music with his father's medicine to harmony. His father, Apollo, had a halcyon sweven where he could hear the tranquil psithurism humming in his ear, soon a yellow rose fell at his feet, there he saw his son's every minutia, his weaknesses and drive, a tragic amorist he foresaw. Being the empathic soul he is, he sought an answer for his future son's tragedy. That's how the flute was born.

Nevertheless, presently, cupid is almost to arrive and bestow him a glimpse of his sweetheart. The blond was slowly losing his sanity, using his magic to this extent was having its consequences. It was identical for anyone who pursues knowledge by hurried means. His nose leaked grotesque red blood, while the world around him turned dark and white, the grave's gaping still persisted with golden grace. His knees buckled and he dropped to the sandy ground, his dark jeans now contaminated with creamy dirt. Lesser tendrils of white climbed out of the grave, similar to those fingers of the undead that dug themselves out desperately, their mind infected with the sinful desire for flesh.

Magnificent white wings peeked out the hole, then followed the body of a man close to Mika's description. He had fair skin; light hazel curls framed his handsome face, sharp yet mischievous, with kind brown eyes that gleamed in the darkness. He had a lean figure and a muscular build upon his arms and calves, definitely a busy man.

At his presence, Mika became lovesick, dropping his flute from his lips and clasping his hands, upon his knees without a trace of dignity on his lonely golden eyes. Drops of blood could be seen on him; he saw them too strangely. His world converted into a black hole, but he somehow had the vision to see his mortality with traces of divine pearly blood mixed in too.

"Oh, grand Cupid with bleeding hearts impaled on your arrow tips and reliever of desolated souls..., Please give me hope for I sense hereafter I shall succumb from a torn heart that never received the risk of beating for passion." Mikaela implored as plummeting tears of twilights from his left and moons from his right wet the cruel dry ground. Dignity departed from his famished mind. His voice dripped with sorrow, resonating in his throat because of how low it was. He yearned for an epiphany. 

The Cupid glanced down at the tears that had struck the ground, like fallen soldiers raising their swords up to the sky and plunging it into their hearts in defeat. He could believe this man. No mortal would foolishly plead for aid; their arrogance is simply too much, especially from a God. How could love, a concept considered fictitious by many, affect you every single passing day? Was it a gimmick of the mind when it gets too isolated or a true consolation from beyond death?

"Mikaela, Son of Apollo, has your creator's condemnation caught up to you? What do you propose in exchange?" Cupid boomed, thunder clapping above his relentless brown eyes that pierced through the deprived man.

Mika tilted his head, a scowl of confusion on his tired and bloody face. He glanced down at his body and sighed. He'll do anything to make his pact with his soulmate stronger, a simpler way for them to reunite. He couldn't give his flute; his father would be furious. Hmm..."I'll... I offer my soul after I die... You can have me as your slave as long as my loved ones are living life to the fullest... It's all I can offer, sorry if it's not enough-" Mika explained with embarrassment, his cheeks growing warm with the shame he felt. He gave up everything to make this trip, move to another country to just do this. 

Cupid's potent voice interrupted his remorse. The God was impressed with what this man did. A soul for a glimpse of his love... My, my, my... And to ensure happiness for his family. Inspiring, cute. Cupid fluttered his wings and nodded, satisfied with the deal. Just a mere glimpse and he'll have a servant for life. Hell yeah! "Mikaela... Your sacrifice is approved. To make this pact solid you must drop a bit of blood on this arrow tip... When you grow ancient and fragile and your days come close to an end, this arrow will puncture your heart and deliver your essence to me. Just a warning... Death is only the beginning, are you sure you want to give that up?" The Cupid warned, taking a golden arrow out of his pack and showcasing the white tip to the man. His face was rid of emotions; they wouldn't do anything in a situation where a man is choosing between death and love. 

"I submit my soul to you, sir..." Mika announced with confidence, taking his silver pocket knife out of his jeans and slitting his finger above the alarming arrow, his blood deliberately falling to the pointer, it hissed as it dripped on to the metal with a soft boop. It appeared to consume his blood because it began to steam and disappear into it, like mixing boiling milk into melted chocolate. When it finally ended, the arrow turned into a necklace and materialized upon his neck. It was heart-shaped, an arrow going through the heart. 

The heart started out as white at the bottom and turned to a vibrant red as it flowed up. His blood was inside it! The arrow was made of gold with a black tip on the front; colors seemed to be matching fine. It was about the size of 2 quarters but weighed like ten of them, or maybe those were just his nerves getting to him, the realization of what he did processing itself subconsciously and weighing the blessed yet condemned article down. 

"Now... Let's take a look at your soul mate!" Cupid said lightheartedly and snapped his fingers. A powerful white glow blinded Mika's eyes and threw him back into a tombstone, his head striking the edge just enough for him to become drowsy. As he blinked and groggily lifted his arm up, a warm fluid seeping from his head and onto his face, his vision becoming depleted in a void of darkness. The last things he gazed upon were those kind brown eyes of Cupid, panic flooding them like the wave of sleepiness that soon knocked him out completely.