They Called Her Vespertine
Written by: Umbra Nadryne de Valois, Moonlight Weaver
Date: Saturday, March 28th, 2015
Addressed to: Everyone
They Called Her Vespertine:
Light fell upon her sun-petaled lips and yet she was thirstier than ever; thirsty as the moth for its death and sapped of vigor. This is why she sighed, whispery pale, when shadow fell, the darkness stealing all light as a thief pockets a gilded round of coin. Stamped by darkness, sun-petals waned to the waxy blue of rainclouds; bruised and ripe and parting to admit the soundless hungers of a thousand flowers.
Vespertine, they called her.
Miraculous and wonderful how blossomed she, in the night. When the moon eclipsed the earth and nocturne murmured of decay's beast prowling the whip-tailed willow trees, she caressed velvet blackness with her sisters, a choir in marrow-white beauty strung over the mountains round ribands of choking, green spite.
Penned by my hand on the 15th of Sarapin, in the year 680 AF.