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Magayon had both the skills and the likeness of a nymph.
The woods parted before her, revealing all of its secrets only to and for her. The proud narra extends its branches to protect her skin; the lowly bamboos bow down to kiss the ground beneath her feet. Her speed was a gift from the wind himself. If she willed, to run from the clutches of misery would have been easy.
Still, she stayed by my side and sang on the days my darkness threatened to creep in, that even the voices on my head had no choice but to listen.
Her skin glowed silver, rivalling the moon's glimmer on a pitch black night. The mischievous twinkle on her obsidian eyes whenever she smiled is a sight that jewellers could only dream of. Her touch is fire, and months after contact my skin still sears in pain.
I have always thought her love would be worth it— the scars, the claw marks, permanently charred lips and memories of those kisses eternally burnt into mind, as if I was but a branded cattle. I thought it would be beautiful, walking around town and carrying something hers— to be reminded over and over that she loved me. These marks now haunt me.
Months after I left, I wonder if this was all part of the grand scheme, if she had always designed it this way. When she showed me her world of colors and light, did she know everything else would then turn grey?
The muddy footsteps around city were mine, but why does it feel as if she was the one who ran away?
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