ElFewja
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Ultra short and I was being overly poetic, don’t expect anything great.
The Flowers of Ber’Nar - */F feet
The elastic, ecstatic fingers of an ethereal and otherworldly wind scrambled through the field, stroking the stark white lilies that giggled and danced at the provocation. Beyond the rolling plains that swept out before me, guiding me towards the distant mountains, I witnessed that great, rising kingdom of swirling steel above the horizon split and splinter. The court of clouds – that mob of betrayers – shifted, feigning interest while blotting the queen to little more than a myth murmured upon the petals of the flowers. The grass swished and swayed, pleading with me to stay as I galloped along, crunching their requests into the soil. Trees wavered, spitting their thick leaves in admonishment at the advances of the ungainly Seabreeze that traveled so far for so little. As I bowled through the plain, its magnificence stretching into a fine, beady haze, a great sail rose and cantered through the air, rising above the trees before swinging downward. Passing the small grove of trees, I suddenly came upon a lone windmill gallantly trudging along.
As I approached, the hobbled together and lopsided rocks that formed its outer wall grew into focus. Thick lines of white strode between them, melding them into one unanimous voice that shouted across the plain. Bobbing forward, I saw an eldritch door carved of musty, deteriorating wood blossom from around the corner. The poor thing hung loosely in its frame. A groveling, harrowing shadow gnawed at the top left of the door while rusty hinges held onto the despicable thing. It creaked back and forth in the wind before shaking furiously at a rabbit-like squeal that resounded from within.
Trotting ahead, I neared the door and peeked through a chasm that spun through the boards. There, lying in the center of the hay covered floor, lay a woman. Nodding, I shoved my shoulder into the door, forcing it to comply. As I strode in, the poor, writhing thing looked up. Her short, brown hair wobbled as she lifted her dusty chin from the floor. The bangs that hung limply across her forehead wavered as she shook her shoulders, her carefully painted, daisy-blue eyes watering as she looked at me. Immediately, I noticed the wad of cloth wrapped around her potently smiling lips. My gaze fell further, latching onto her arms, wrapped together at the wrists by a bundle of rope, a single strand extending into her overlapping hands. Skating down her silver dress, I drifted down her legs, catching a wisp of rope wrapped at her ankles before my sight rained overtop of her feet.
They sat, barer than a clear, soundless night, harassed at all sides by a great flurry of devilishly long and excruciatingly pointed white feathers. Muffled music rose and fell from her gag, desperately vying for my attention. Gazing at the great, spinning machine that spread stolen wings across her soles, I stood for a moment, scratching at the side of my chin with the middle finger of my left hand. The feathers spun and prodded, swiping across her arches and slashing between her toes while she shirked and danced upon the floor in merry suffering. Looking back towards the maiden's shimmering soles I felt myself hypnotized. They were tiny, beautiful things, like wonderful flower petals that scampered across the silver surface of a moonlit pond. The rounded, well-spoken edges of her feet glistened a jubilant pink while the color faded to bitter snow towards the middle. They sparkled like gemstones as they bent and flexed, weaving billowing waves of shadow up and down them as they contorted into lovely crescents. A frenzy of ripples scrawled across her skin as though by the pen of a maddened monk as her toes wriggled against her adversary.
A howl tore from outside and the wood spun faster, dabbing a multitude of feathers into her toes. With a shriek she bucked up, then pressed her cheek in the floor, looking away from me. Her shoulders swam against the ground as she crinkled with giggles and laughter while the endless parade of feathers cast their ticklish fury upon her private realm. For the briefest of moments her fingers spread out, then pinched at the strand of rope that rested in her palms. Her elbows quaked and her fingers dove at the fraying bundle that bound her wrists before tightly chomping into it. Crossing my arms, I wondered at this woman while watching her scurry and flounder.
Tracing across the room, my eyes fell upon a small fireplace in a makeshift corner of the round room. There, a single chair resided at a lopsided table, adorned by a small, silver plate. A great iron cauldron stood over the fire. Left, nearly out of sight, a bed hunkered quietly by a window, its sheets ruffled as much as the backside of the woman's dress.
Setting against the wall, I watched as she writhed about on the floor, her struggles casting the strands of hay about while she quietly mewled out a ballad of and for her agony. Pinching my cheek, I mused for a moment upon her upright, brown leather boots, wondering how they fell from her feet and left her so clearly and unbearably vulnerable. She thrust her hips into the ground and wiggled about while the feathers teased her tender flesh, the rustle of their vanes echoing hollowly against me. Perhaps a bandit had come along, arranging her home into a territory most hostile towards her. A ring upon her finger leapt and caught the fading light of the dying sun, sparkling in its own makeshift glory as her damp eyes painted her cheeks. More likely, she had committed a crime, I thought to myself, one so dastardly that she was put to a punishment particularly crafted just for her, her own body used as a weapon against her, and so she was left here until such time as her judicial saviors arrived again. Turning her head, she pinched her eyes shut, her lips wrought with mirthful glee as she squealed. Creases of loving laughter clashed from her eyes and across her face.
Sighing, I looked away as she let out a disheveled moan. Lifting her feet away from the floor, she pressed them up towards the base of the wooden grinding wheel. She shrieked wildly as her skin touched several tiny brushes fixed to the bottom of the hunk of wood, their bristles spinning at a maddened pace. Cowering into her left shoulder, she tugged at her ankles, the rope heaving her back beneath the tumultuous, inexhaustible feathers that labored to loan her a fleeting smile so that she might rival the stars. Nodding, I momentarily considered that she had bound herself, either to punish herself for some awful offense or else to dress her feet with some undeniable, secretive pleasure.
Lifting my chin, I glanced through the open crevice towards the darkness that seeped over the plain like a jar of spilled ink. Pushing my elbows back, I stretched my shoulders outward, then flexed my neck to side to side with a crunching crick. Shuffling across the room, I strode overtop of the giggling puddle of a woman before tugging her chair out. Throwing my leg out, I spun upon my boot, a small cloud of dust flying up as I fell into the chair. As I leaned forward over the back of it, I crossed my arms and nuzzled my chin between them. For several minutes I watched as she cawed and crackled with laughter, shaking and sambaing all over the floor, her beautiful feet refusing to yield to the feathers or herself. Her face brimmed with laughter as she shimmied about helplessly.
I sat, watching, waiting in case she cried or called for help, all the while musing at this strange country I found myself within. With a yawn, I lifted my right arm and rubbed at my left shoulder, feeling the weight of her burden press down against me as I took it upon myself. Before long, the twilight seeped through the window, dousing us in ethereal moonlight, her silver, animated form wrenching back and forth as though burned by it. Staring out the window, I endured her suffering alongside her as she let out an endless array of squirrely shrieks and cries of laughter while the horizon slowly and enviously blushed into a sniveling pink.
The Flowers of Ber’Nar - */F feet
The elastic, ecstatic fingers of an ethereal and otherworldly wind scrambled through the field, stroking the stark white lilies that giggled and danced at the provocation. Beyond the rolling plains that swept out before me, guiding me towards the distant mountains, I witnessed that great, rising kingdom of swirling steel above the horizon split and splinter. The court of clouds – that mob of betrayers – shifted, feigning interest while blotting the queen to little more than a myth murmured upon the petals of the flowers. The grass swished and swayed, pleading with me to stay as I galloped along, crunching their requests into the soil. Trees wavered, spitting their thick leaves in admonishment at the advances of the ungainly Seabreeze that traveled so far for so little. As I bowled through the plain, its magnificence stretching into a fine, beady haze, a great sail rose and cantered through the air, rising above the trees before swinging downward. Passing the small grove of trees, I suddenly came upon a lone windmill gallantly trudging along.
As I approached, the hobbled together and lopsided rocks that formed its outer wall grew into focus. Thick lines of white strode between them, melding them into one unanimous voice that shouted across the plain. Bobbing forward, I saw an eldritch door carved of musty, deteriorating wood blossom from around the corner. The poor thing hung loosely in its frame. A groveling, harrowing shadow gnawed at the top left of the door while rusty hinges held onto the despicable thing. It creaked back and forth in the wind before shaking furiously at a rabbit-like squeal that resounded from within.
Trotting ahead, I neared the door and peeked through a chasm that spun through the boards. There, lying in the center of the hay covered floor, lay a woman. Nodding, I shoved my shoulder into the door, forcing it to comply. As I strode in, the poor, writhing thing looked up. Her short, brown hair wobbled as she lifted her dusty chin from the floor. The bangs that hung limply across her forehead wavered as she shook her shoulders, her carefully painted, daisy-blue eyes watering as she looked at me. Immediately, I noticed the wad of cloth wrapped around her potently smiling lips. My gaze fell further, latching onto her arms, wrapped together at the wrists by a bundle of rope, a single strand extending into her overlapping hands. Skating down her silver dress, I drifted down her legs, catching a wisp of rope wrapped at her ankles before my sight rained overtop of her feet.
They sat, barer than a clear, soundless night, harassed at all sides by a great flurry of devilishly long and excruciatingly pointed white feathers. Muffled music rose and fell from her gag, desperately vying for my attention. Gazing at the great, spinning machine that spread stolen wings across her soles, I stood for a moment, scratching at the side of my chin with the middle finger of my left hand. The feathers spun and prodded, swiping across her arches and slashing between her toes while she shirked and danced upon the floor in merry suffering. Looking back towards the maiden's shimmering soles I felt myself hypnotized. They were tiny, beautiful things, like wonderful flower petals that scampered across the silver surface of a moonlit pond. The rounded, well-spoken edges of her feet glistened a jubilant pink while the color faded to bitter snow towards the middle. They sparkled like gemstones as they bent and flexed, weaving billowing waves of shadow up and down them as they contorted into lovely crescents. A frenzy of ripples scrawled across her skin as though by the pen of a maddened monk as her toes wriggled against her adversary.
A howl tore from outside and the wood spun faster, dabbing a multitude of feathers into her toes. With a shriek she bucked up, then pressed her cheek in the floor, looking away from me. Her shoulders swam against the ground as she crinkled with giggles and laughter while the endless parade of feathers cast their ticklish fury upon her private realm. For the briefest of moments her fingers spread out, then pinched at the strand of rope that rested in her palms. Her elbows quaked and her fingers dove at the fraying bundle that bound her wrists before tightly chomping into it. Crossing my arms, I wondered at this woman while watching her scurry and flounder.
Tracing across the room, my eyes fell upon a small fireplace in a makeshift corner of the round room. There, a single chair resided at a lopsided table, adorned by a small, silver plate. A great iron cauldron stood over the fire. Left, nearly out of sight, a bed hunkered quietly by a window, its sheets ruffled as much as the backside of the woman's dress.
Setting against the wall, I watched as she writhed about on the floor, her struggles casting the strands of hay about while she quietly mewled out a ballad of and for her agony. Pinching my cheek, I mused for a moment upon her upright, brown leather boots, wondering how they fell from her feet and left her so clearly and unbearably vulnerable. She thrust her hips into the ground and wiggled about while the feathers teased her tender flesh, the rustle of their vanes echoing hollowly against me. Perhaps a bandit had come along, arranging her home into a territory most hostile towards her. A ring upon her finger leapt and caught the fading light of the dying sun, sparkling in its own makeshift glory as her damp eyes painted her cheeks. More likely, she had committed a crime, I thought to myself, one so dastardly that she was put to a punishment particularly crafted just for her, her own body used as a weapon against her, and so she was left here until such time as her judicial saviors arrived again. Turning her head, she pinched her eyes shut, her lips wrought with mirthful glee as she squealed. Creases of loving laughter clashed from her eyes and across her face.
Sighing, I looked away as she let out a disheveled moan. Lifting her feet away from the floor, she pressed them up towards the base of the wooden grinding wheel. She shrieked wildly as her skin touched several tiny brushes fixed to the bottom of the hunk of wood, their bristles spinning at a maddened pace. Cowering into her left shoulder, she tugged at her ankles, the rope heaving her back beneath the tumultuous, inexhaustible feathers that labored to loan her a fleeting smile so that she might rival the stars. Nodding, I momentarily considered that she had bound herself, either to punish herself for some awful offense or else to dress her feet with some undeniable, secretive pleasure.
Lifting my chin, I glanced through the open crevice towards the darkness that seeped over the plain like a jar of spilled ink. Pushing my elbows back, I stretched my shoulders outward, then flexed my neck to side to side with a crunching crick. Shuffling across the room, I strode overtop of the giggling puddle of a woman before tugging her chair out. Throwing my leg out, I spun upon my boot, a small cloud of dust flying up as I fell into the chair. As I leaned forward over the back of it, I crossed my arms and nuzzled my chin between them. For several minutes I watched as she cawed and crackled with laughter, shaking and sambaing all over the floor, her beautiful feet refusing to yield to the feathers or herself. Her face brimmed with laughter as she shimmied about helplessly.
I sat, watching, waiting in case she cried or called for help, all the while musing at this strange country I found myself within. With a yawn, I lifted my right arm and rubbed at my left shoulder, feeling the weight of her burden press down against me as I took it upon myself. Before long, the twilight seeped through the window, dousing us in ethereal moonlight, her silver, animated form wrenching back and forth as though burned by it. Staring out the window, I endured her suffering alongside her as she let out an endless array of squirrely shrieks and cries of laughter while the horizon slowly and enviously blushed into a sniveling pink.
