Collections of Embellished Fictions, Philosophies, and Poetry

Cassandra

She longs for one who calls her sister, longs for the brown-haired beauty she has come to love. The queen of the land and her heart, how she wishes she were her consort instead of the soon-to-be-king. How she wishes she could envelop the woman, shower her in chaste kisses, embrace her forevermore, with no one to look on and say, "Degenerate behaviour, a disgrace to humankind." How she wishes she could come calling, come screaming, "I love you," out loud, instead of whispering it in her mind, in her bed, all alone, in no man's home. She was the one to risk everything to show her queen the world, knew everything about her except what the monarch did when nobody looked. That was her business, and hers alone. And how the one who loves longed to be her business, to make love with the queen at night, where no one would surround them, when there would be nothing between their bodies except smooth, smouldering skin. 

She longs for one who calls her sister, yet feels betrayed. Her prophecies foretold are ignored, yet true. Her advice goes unheard into the day, evaporated by the sunlight's warmth, and she fades away when the brilliance of the sun shines. Only when the storms come, dark and darker, rain coming down in torrents is she listened to, but whence shall that come when the drought is upon them, with only sun beating down relentlessly? She feels inferior compared to her queen, who shines a light so bright, no hope could compare. And yet, she lives in the light's shadow, so sad, so despairing.

She despises the queen's lover. She loathes him with all her might, for he has all she never could. When did they work for their happiness, when it came so easily? Why was it her who had to break her back achieving the things well deserved, and yet never given to her? This resentment and envy grows in her blackening heart, and yet is unmatched to her love for the Queen. The Queen withers and decays, heals and hurts her, so careless yet so caring. The monarch's lover's heart burns and flakes away from anger and love, with nowhere to let the smoke rise. Her lithe limbs shall burn, then, to remove their utility and make her suffer. The queen cannot apologise, for it must always be her lover's fault.

Oh, to be a warrior with a lover so beautiful, the stars praise her! To be free of her pain, her anger, her jealousy, that she hides away out of habit. To be truly happy, to be where she's meant, these are her wishes, wishes that shall never come true, for fate is against her. What lover? Lest she be named a reprobate and sent to a convent. What warrior? When she is bound as a lowly servant to her ruler? What happiness? She knows not of it, not when her sorrows come in a raging flood in the black of night, and there are no eyes for it to be free. She is a blackbird in a cage, with a head of shining blue plumage. A gold and silver gilded cage she is in, with thorns and spikes threatening to impale her. And what a sad song she sings! How she longs to scream and cry, to flutter her wings and fly. Cursed is she to sing only the most beautiful of tunes and wait for the thorns to grow. Grow to cut through her fragile heart and pin it to the wall, with her green blood trickling to the floor. With purple stained glass, no one thinks to look for her. Her song was beautiful, yes, but perhaps she was too happy to continue. No, the little bird knows, and she will be the only one who knows the truth. Forever she shall be kept waiting in the wings.

She is a poor little blackbird, longing for a beautiful canary to come and bleed green with her. To fly, to soar, to see the view from the perspective of the sunrise. She is doomed to the night, however. Cold with desperation, never touched with light. When the queen joins her she is a shining moon, so gentle and adoring, and the jeweled blanket coating the heavens starts pulsing with fervor and love, for they only appear in the presence of their muse. Even after the sun sets do they bow down to their ruler. And the moon sheds her light, accompanied with fireflies and glowing stones. She can only hope to catch a flame of the monarch's warmth, to fill her land with beautiful lanterns and candlelight. Only the best for her love.

And none for her.

Tired is she of giving with nothing in return, and so she takes from her love and turns against her. There are only glowing stones, and the blackbird is trembling from the ever-advancing spikes. Does she dare to cross the line?

She no longer takes orders from the queen, if she cannot have her, then no one can. She seeks to destroy the woman who once (and still) held her heart in the tightest of vices, to use the thorns and form them into whatever she desires, sending them flying toward the canary's spirit (she does not wish it). Break her spirit, says the demon in her mind, the devilish little soul beside her ear, whispering. Kill her, she took everything from you. The demon knows of the blackbird and feeds her screams and cuts, slicing her wings with stones and letting pearls fall from her lips, sweet poison to make the bird bend to her will. The bird's breast thumps to the sound of her beating heart, slowing ever so slightly as the days go by. What has she to lose, now that she's lost everything she's ever known and loved? There is nothing left to lose.

She is ill. Her skin has turned a sickly shade of yellow, her lips browned, and dark circles are prominent beneath her cyan eyes. Her anger is now directed to the demon who injects her with sugary venom. She seeks forgiveness for her attempts on the queen's life, her ruler, her friend. But how much longer until her mind begins to falter, until she breaks and the thorns pin the blackbird's wings and heart to metal bars? How much longer can she go struggling to say, "I'm sorry"? The sly demon makes it easy and encases her in hardened stone, frames the queen who stares heartbroken as her kingdom is torn by stones and thorns. The glowing teeth rip apart the land, upturn trees and homes, bite away the hope and bring only strife and bodies that bleed red. The blackbird is killed.

The queen loves her, however, the woman who has everything would give anything to see the light shine in the poor moon's eyes. So when the demon is torn asunder, only remnants being fading whispers, she is forgiven. As the armor that pains her unconscious body is broken by her lover, a tender kiss is placed upon her brow.  She knows not of it. After she recovers, she goes to the queen's broken chambers to say goodbye. "I love you," she says, and the words are said back to her that make her heart burst with joy and tender care.

She is no blackbird, but a blazing dark phoenix, who rises from the ashes with a blue glow. The canary is proud and loving.

She wears her heart on her sleeve in a loving gesture, for the queen will remain her love until the end of time. Her green tunic makes her love smile.

She is the moon with pains, sorrows and darkness, yes. But the fire in her eyes is rekindled not by anger, but love, and true happiness. The canary and the phoenix bleed green forests together, reminiscent of their memories together. Two souls bound by fate, and a new destiny for her. There is so much more in Cassandra.