The stars, in spite to what they say, can not tell the future.
The sky was beautiful that night. Untouched by clouds, the stars were shining, just like as someone sprinkled the endless void with diamond powder.
Some believe, that these are souls of the ones who found their place to rest; that they are looking after us, watching our steps in the Overworld, other say it's an accumulation of gases.
No matter what, that one windy night many were watching the breathtaking view.
His tangled white hair was getting into his shining, ruby eyes filled with sorrow. Snow-white skin contrasted with the dark sky, like ying-yang, though one couldn't say which one was responsible for the good.
Sitting on the cold, wet ground, wind tugged the albino's grey coat.
He was almost like a statue, staring into the eternity of his own soul, as if the stars themselves could give him absolution for his own sins; for the unspeakable.
The years full of pain were his non-healing wounds, scratched over and over, purulent and itchy.
The Prussian couldn't forget, nor forgive himself a moment of enlightenment in his cold life, since love is truly a man's bane.
The memories were vivid, colourful and bright, yet they tasted bitter.
The golden salons, the unspoken words, fleeting glances and round excuses made to heal their burning hearts.
An incomplete feeling wardening through their minds; a whisper of temptation and fear; a quick thought crowned in a night full of sorrow, regret and hesitation.
His hazel hair and deep, violet eyes; the pianist's velvet hands; behaviour full of politeness, yet tricky and threatening, like a snake playing with a stray cat.
The Austrian's tempting smiles, sweet lies were a trap the Prussian fell into, believing Eldstein in a fortunate future they both hoped for.
Nothing like that happened.
Divided, quarelled by force they grew out of that lustful, unfulfilled love; at least that's what they have believed.
The feeling, still not extinguished was sparking in them, etching from the inside; a worm eating out their inner strength, leaving only the shell.
The Prussian wiped his face, rubbing bloody eyes. He stood up sore and chose his path.
A cat balancing on the roof.
YOU ARE READING
sketches. aph/ admin book
RandomENG/PL something more serious than my shitpost. poetry sketches, one shots, maybe some of my thoughts on various topics. some of the content will be hetalia themed, although not all of it.
