Shadows... that was all that soothed the carousel of swirling emotions which blended with the darkness, only to entwine and writhe with the mitigated light seeping from behind the door from the hallway beneath. Amber-gilded spectrums that strove to reach out, in failing hope to warm a cold heart. There was no such thing as physical light, piercing the ice on the exterior. Cold as she may appear, or this merciless calculating killer silent in thought and complexity—she was awash with the mystery of emotion, those of loss, regret and vengeance. Those three emotions, or much rather, emotional adheres to the poison of her wrath... was enough to melt the thickest of glaciers, a thousand years over, or a millennia of ice ages. There was something more potent that the passions of revenge, hatred and contempt. One emotion that toppled all three like the Towers of Babel, rendering all to nothing but rust, then slowly casting to the dust of entropy. Nothing wilted here however, not even the last dying light procured by the overture of unnatural illumination from behind the metallic door. That cursed luminosity, the only guarantee of enlightenment not faltering, not dying. It installed a false sense of endurance and patience, Satrina could cry a thousand rivers had she permitted herself to do so; but no, it was not the flow of salt and water required to wash away these sins like the baptismal of Jordan. It was swallowed, caught as a lump to the throat before skin hardened, emotions frozen, and her eyes clouded to the darkness of bereavement, and even in those moments of dark solitude, faith had not been abandoned, for there was still that firm grasp on belief.
Hope... Satrina near scoffed at the sentiment of that word, a word that many had fallen upon like spears jutting outwards from the force of an unknown enemy. The knife constantly at the back concealed behind the multitudes of smiling faces, courteous in their treasons, polite in their declarations of spite, sweet in their transgressions of malice. All the while, the poker face remaining, unmoved and unchallenged by perhaps the greatest trial left yet to face, do or die, succeed or fail. No in-betweens’ remained... the liminal refused to play neutral. The final chess piece played near to perfection from the opposition, yet what was the message yet to be portrayed? What was the lesson, reason or cause that made sense of it all, no justice in the chaos of the Commonwealths loss? It was this waiting game the provoked intemperance of frustration, eating into Satrina’s essence like the worm to its carcass... lifeless. In the silences of seclusion, when her eyes were closed in search for answers, only to hear the static signals of white noise and scrambled frequencies. Sometimes there was nothing but the crawling of the primal darkness of empty space, or the scuttling... reminiscent to dead flesh crawling with parasitic life. Conundrums of symbolic quandaries, enigmas and senselessness, a mind clouded with the visions of the Lorenzian firmament turning from the amethystine hues mixed with cobalt and saffron to blackness. Ash falling like rain and the sorrows of its people were not even enough to spare her own tears; for not all lives were spared let alone saved. Forced upon death-kneel, to kiss the earth that already was dampened with the stains of blood.
Hope... Satrina near scoffed at the sentiment of that word, a word that many had fallen upon like spears jutting outwards from the force of an unknown enemy. The knife constantly at the back concealed behind the multitudes of smiling faces, courteous in their treasons, polite in their declarations of spite, sweet in their transgressions of malice. All the while, the poker face remaining, unmoved and unchallenged by perhaps the greatest trial left yet to face, do or die, succeed or fail. No in-betweens’ remained... the liminal refused to play neutral. The final chess piece played near to perfection from the opposition, yet what was the message yet to be portrayed? What was the lesson, reason or cause that made sense of it all, no justice in the chaos of the Commonwealths loss? It was this waiting game the provoked intemperance of frustration, eating into Satrina’s essence like the worm to its carcass... lifeless. In the silences of seclusion, when her eyes were closed in search for answers, only to hear the static signals of white noise and scrambled frequencies. Sometimes there was nothing but the crawling of the primal darkness of empty space, or the scuttling... reminiscent to dead flesh crawling with parasitic life. Conundrums of symbolic quandaries, enigmas and senselessness, a mind clouded with the visions of the Lorenzian firmament turning from the amethystine hues mixed with cobalt and saffron to blackness. Ash falling like rain and the sorrows of its people were not even enough to spare her own tears; for not all lives were spared let alone saved. Forced upon death-kneel, to kiss the earth that already was dampened with the stains of blood.
