#mamas ghastly curtains

[sabrinadesignz]

I came across this photo and I'm curious - what set is this? I'd imagine it's part of the Featherington house based on the yellow walls, but I can't recall seeing it in the show.

[silverfootstepswrites]

Incandescent [3/3]

title Incandescent (3/3) summary Happy ending. pairing itasaku (of course)

Part 1 | Part 2

“I still can’t believe the audacity. Inviting us to his palace? Who does he think he is?” Sasuke grumbled under his breath. 

“Be quiet, Sasuke. You’re representing your father on your trip. Don’t forget that,” Mikoto scolded him. And she straightened his collar with a sharp tug before the gates opened in front of their carriage. 

In the carriage behind them was Marquis Hyuuga and his wife and children. They wouldn’t have sent the Queen alone on a trip into foreign lands after all. And the number of mounted guards that followed the carriages made it absolutely clear what would happen if harm came to the royal family. 

The imperial palace in Bermellon was.... not what anyone had expected. Of course, word had spread that the capital of the empire had suffered greatly from the civil war. A fire had consumed much of the palace- everyone knew that. But the gravity of that destruction didn’t hit them until they saw the building for themselves.

The grey stone walls were covered in ivy. The western wing was still blackened in places and missing windows. Some of them were even covered with planks of wood. Parts of the roof had collapsed, revealing the wooden skeleton of the beams within. Mikoto took Sasuke’s arm as she stepped out of the carriage.

“This is a palace?” they could hear Marquis Hyuuga mutter behind them.

The foyer was enormous. Wooden scaffolding filled one of the corners of the room and half of the staircase. The walls were worn and blackened by smoke. There was a lighter rectangle on the wall from a painting that had been removed. The other paintings were smudged black or covered by canvas. 

Sasuke wrinkled his nose. “Hold tight to me, Mother. This place is filthy.”

And if the steward walking in front of them heard, he didn’t say anything. He guided them to the left, away from the charred end of the structure. As they traveled the long hall, the smell of smoke dissipated. And at one point, the dingy windows became sparkling clean. The curtains flanking them were a tasteful shade of vibrant green, perfect for the spring season. It was almost like they had traveled from one building into a completely different one. One that was obviously well-cared for.

A gasp left Mikoto when they were shown into a sitting room. Vases of deep purple flowers adorned the side tables. A tray of still-steaming tea sat waiting for them. A servant waiting inside poured them cups as they took seats on the sofas. When Marquise Hyuuga ran her finger along a windowsill, not even a speck of dust came away on her white glove.

“His Majesty will be with you shortly,” the steward said. He bowed stepped out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

“Ghastly manners. None of my servants would ever be so sloppy,” Marquise Hyuuga remarked. When she picked up the teacup, she paused to note the floral motifs on the handle. It was a very tasteful style. Whoever had chosen it was keeping up with the trends. 

The finger sandwiches and pastries set out for them were still soft- probably made not long ago. And after a weeks-long journey with nothing but greasy stews from inns, the food quickly disappeared into ravenous stomachs.

Through the crack in the door, they could hear hurried footsteps. The steward from before directed people, his voice sharp with impatience. “Put that there. Take those to the kitchens.” And all of this came to an abrupt halt when footsteps echoed down the hall. The sharp tap of heels against the tile.

“Oh no, Leal. I told you to show the guests in through the eastern entrance. The other side is a mess,” a woman’s voice sighed, drawing closer as she spoke.

“My apologies, My Lady. Workers are unloading lumber in the eastern courtyard. We had no choice but to redirect them this way,” the steward answered. His voice a little less crisp.

“Well, there’s no use in fretting now. But come find me next time. It’s better for people to wait than to think that His Majesty lives in a haunted mansion,” the woman said. The authority clear in her voice. 

“My sincere apologies, My Lady. I will not make the same mistake again.”

“Oh, raise your head, Leal. His Majesty should be arriving any moment now."

Mikoto and Marquise Hyuuga exchanged a look. For noble ladies such as themselves, it was easy to spot the lady of the house. Or, in this case, to hear the lady of the house.

“I thought the Emperor was still unmarried,” Marquise Hyuuga whispered. 

‘So did I,’ Mikoto mouthed in return. They jolted upright when there was a knock on the door. 

“His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Itachi of Bermellon.” 

Leaning her cheek on her palm, Sakura stared at Itachi’s face. 

It had been almost two months since he had written to her, asking her to come stay at his palace in the capital of Bermellon. Ostensibly as a way to extend his thanks for her family’s trade with his nation. Which, on paper, wasn’t such an unlikely reason. And just to keep things proper, her mother and several of their servants had come with them. The remaining staff at the manor was instructed to feign ignorance. And the staff at the mansion in the capital wasn’t told anything at all, which minimized the likelihood of unnecessary rumors floating around.

“This wasn’t part of the plan,” was all she said when he greeted her on the front steps. On the good side of the palace. The other side was a charred ruin that looked like it belonged in a history book.

Mebuki looked ready to faint when Itachi turned to her and bowed deeply. 

Itachi prepared rooms for them in the eastern wing of the palace, which, even in its dilapidated state, was beautiful. Although the structure was in tact, it didn’t gleam the way a palace should. Sakura knew her mother saw the same thing she did when she felt a touch on her elbow as they walked through the enormous place.

Mebuki excused herself right after dinner that first night. 

“Are you alright, Mama?” Sakura asked, grasping her mother’s forearm. She pressed the back of her hand to her mother’s cheek. There was no fever.

“I’m just tired from the traveling. Don’t stay up too late. You’ll ruin your skin,” Mebuki replied. She kissed Sakura’s forehead and bowed to Itachi before she slipped out of the room.

Sakura and Itachi finished their meal in silence, sitting at opposite ends of what was, in her opinion, a needlessly long table. It wasn’t until they stood on the balcony, finishing off their wine that they finally spoke.

“I’m facing an.... obstacle.... that I’d like your help with,” Itachi began. 

Sakura frowned at her wine. “Can I assume that the reason you couldn’t put it into writing was because you were worried about someone intercepting it?”

“Yes.”

Sakura puffed out a breath, eyes wide. “I do not envy you, Your Majesty.” Itachi snorted quietly at that as they clinked glasses together.

As it turned out, diplomacy was not Itachi’s strong suit. Part of his reason for locking himself in his palace, apparently, was that he had no idea how to deal with the other nobles. 

“Oh, that’s simple. I’d be happy to help,” Mebuki laughed over breakfast the following morning. It didn’t take long for Mebuki to ingratiate herself with the social circles of the Bermellon courts. At first, it had been odd that a foreign noble would serve as an ambassador for the mysterious emperor. But Duchess Haruno, who was the flower of Cian society soon became the flower of Bermellon society as well. Her wit and charm quickly won over the remaining noble houses.

And while Mebuki handled the nobles, Sakura dealt with the palace itself.

“Renovate it?” Itachi repeated. He sighed. “My Lady, I’m sure that ‘massive debt due to war’ is not a phrase lost on someone as intelligent as you.”

“First of all, your palace is a tool for diplomacy. It’s a way for you to show power and control. An emperor sitting in a ruin doesn’t do much for publicity,” Sakura pointed out.

She raised two fingers. “Secondly, hiring local craftsmen, builders, and lumberjacks will help stimulate the economy of the nearby cities. Money does nothing for the people sitting in your coffers.”

One more finger went up. “Lastly, I’m not a doctor, but living here can’t be good for your health. This place is a mess.”

“The fire-”

“Happened years ago. Your palace should have been at least halfway restored by now,” Sakura interrupted him, ignoring the way he laughed to himself, shaking his head. 

And then, Sakura added, “Let me do this. I’m apparently insufferable when I’m bored. At least this will keep me occupied.”

“Are you threatening me, Lady Sakura?” Itachi asked.

“That’s such an ugly word. Why don’t we say ‘persuading tenaciously’?” she suggested.

Which brought things back to why Sakura continued to stare at the emperor as he signed some documents. Itachi was doing a good job of ignoring her until he broke into an exasperated smile.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked, finally meeting her gaze. 

“Are you King Fugaku’s bastard?” she wondered.

His pen didn’t even falter. “Yes. I’m surprised it took you so long to ask.”

“Well, I had a feeling. But I just wanted to get to know you first. You know- to make sure you weren’t the kind of emperor who would behead me for asking a question like that,” she replied in the same, lighthearted tone.

“When did you decide that I’m not?”

“Hm, around the time you let me pick out all the fabrics for the grand ballroom on my own,” she replied. Deep red damask, almost the color of roses. Golden tassels for the curtains. Beautiful, luscious shades that would make a statement.

Itachi finally set his pen and the signed papers down. Leaning back in his chair, he looked her in the eyes. 

“Can I hear the full story?” she requested.

Itachi crossed his arms across his chest. “It’s... well, like most bastards, I wasn’t planned. My mother was a cousin to the last emperor. But she was something absurd, like 20th in line for the throne. Not close enough to matter. And I was never formally acknowledged by my father growing up. I don’t think he imagined me ever becoming anyone significant.”

That wasn’t what she had expected. Sakura clasped her hands together, forehead wrinkling. “So what changed?”

“The plague. It wiped out half the royal family,” he stated. So matter-of-fact.

“Oh.”

“And then the civil war took care of the rest of them.”

“....Oh. I’m... I’m sorry,” she stuttered out. Hands fluttering, unsure of what to do with them anymore. She blinked when Itachi grasped her sleeve, pulling her hand back down.

“That’s quite distracting, My Lady,” he told her. 

They both looked at their hands, which were almost touching. Sakura quickly pulled her hands back down into her lap. He looked away. Cleared his throat, fist pressed to his mouth.

“That’s why your palace is so quiet,” she realized.

“Yes.”

“Does he know that you’re his son?”

“I’m sure his spies have figured it out by now. Likely around the time that he laid down those harsh tariffs at the border. Maybe he doesn’t want my country to survive long enough for word to get out,” Itachi retorted, his words tinged with bitterness. 

Sakura studied his expression for a while before she asked, “Do you hate your father?”

He looked back at her. And perhaps it was the way the sun came in through the windows. Something strange flashed across his face. It wasn’t anger.

“Don’t all children grow up to resent their fathers?” he wondered.

“No,” she immediately answered. Itachi’s eyes widened. 

“I mean, sometimes my Papa annoys me, and I definitely annoy him, but I don’t resent him,” Sakura thought out loud. Then she tilted her head to one side as she considered. 

“Well, then again, I’d resent my Papa if he were anything like your father,” she concluded with a smile. 

“I should get back to business, Your Majesty. Don’t work too hard,” she called over her shoulder before she slipped out of his study. 

The guards, the steward, and even the scullery maids marveled that the atmosphere of the palace had changed since Lady Sakura had arrived. The reconstruction of the ruined place brought along with it a sense of hope. And while she was strict with the staff on keeping the palace sparkling clean, she was also very kind if they met her expectations. The vases in each room were filled with fresh flowers every other day, and the windows opened in good weather to let the fresh air circulate throughout the place. 

But the biggest change was, undoubtedly, the way His Majesty sometimes smiled when he thought no one was looking.

“I apologize for the wait. Thank you for your patience,” Itachi said as the doors swung open. Everyone stood to bow to him. Marquis Hyuuga shot the Queen a look when he saw that she was also standing. She gave him a bewildered look in response. She didn’t understand why she had gotten up either. 

It likely had to do with the aura of the Emperor. Like a simple touch from his skin could set something ablaze. Nervous eyes followed him as he took a seat. 

His gaze flickered to the empty tray of snacks and tea on the table. 

“It seems the refreshments were to your liking,” he noted. He gestured to the servant standing by the door who bowed and slipped out to get more.

Mikoto scrutinized the Emperor. It was true that the food had been to her liking. Oddly so. Not many were aware of her fondness for blueberry tarts. And the tea was a mild blend- not too strong- just the way she preferred. Those thoughts were pushed to the side when the Emperor’s eyes met hers. He was just a boy in comparison to her. But that look made a chill run down her spine. 

“Now, the business I’d like to discuss...” he said.

Sakura peered out past the curtain as she watched the procession of carriages and soldiers head down the road. 

“You could have made an appearance and greeted them.”

Sakura jumped. She whirled around to face Itachi, who just smiled at her. He knew by now that she was easily startled. Scowling, she gave a half-hearted swat in his direction.

“The timing wasn’t right. And you should have at least told them to stay for a few nights,” she scolded him. 

“I did offer. But they turned me down, so I provided lodging for them at one of my empty estates,” replied Itachi. He turned toward the window, stealing a glance at her out of the corner of his eye as he added, “Besides, if they stayed, you’d have to continue skulking around with the servants. I can’t have that.”

“Your chivalry is touching. I’m about to burst into tears,” she retorted in a flat voice. 

Itachi threw his head back and laughed. In the quiet of his study, Sakura let herself laugh too. And in the hallway, the baffled servants froze to stare at each other as the unfamiliar sound of the Emperor’s laugh seeped out from under the door.

Sakura stayed for three more months, overseeing the reconstruction of the palace. Each day was a dizzy flurry of materials and workers flowing in and out of the place. There was a new problem each day with the fabrics or the pay. Sakura scarcely had a moment to sit still during the day. And more than once, as she and Itachi shared a nightcap on the balcony, Sakura dozed off, just for a moment against his shoulder. 

Itachi stood on the newly-constructed steps of the palace, his hands clasped behind his back. The servants, who had been busy to start with, suddenly moved even faster at the appearance of the dreaded Emperor. 

He watched Sakura directing people around as naturally as if she had lived there her whole life. She started when he sidled up beside her. 

“Please write to me once you arrive safely,” he requested. 

“Why? Won’t your spies run to tell you before my letter even arrives?” she responded. And she had gotten good at catching his smiles before he could stifle them.

“But since you asked so nicely, I will,” Sakura added. 

“Good.”

They stood together wordlessly for another minute. And then, it was so quiet and so rushed that Sakura wasn’t sure whether she’d really heard it or not. But she thought, as he turned away, Itachi said: “I’ll miss you.”

The trip back home to the Haruno manor was quick. As the southernmost territory of Cian, once they crossed the border, they were technically in their own lands. 

Sakura found herself staring out the carriage windows. At the lush forest that lined both sides of the road. 

“Should we have found an excuse to stay longer?” Mebuki asked. 

Sakura smiled as she turned to face her mother. Who had always read her like a book. 

“No. How can I wreck havoc if I’m so far from home?” answered Sakura. 

Havoc was a good word to describe the political situation at the end of that social season. Word arrived to the palace that Duchess Haruno and her daughter had been seen crossing the border from Bermellon to Cian. 

“I thought it was strange that the food they offered me was exactly what I liked. The Haruno’s would know that quite well,” Mikoto muttered.

And while the talks with the Emperor of Bermellon had been about peace and arranging a formal treaty, the Haruno family’s involvement complicated things. 

“Perhaps they’re arranging an alliance to unseat us,” Fugaku murmured, rubbing at his jaw as he thought. 

“Or it could be a show to unnerve us,” he then amended. He wavered back and forth. Both possibilities were equally dangerous, but he couldn’t really tell which it was. He had known that Duke and Duchess Haruno were seasoned players of the game, but he was unsure of how well-versed in subterfuge their daughter was. His eyes drifted over to his son, who sat glaring at a corner. He would have offered some valuable insight about the girl had he not spent the entire course of their engagement ignoring her.

“I’ll have people look into this. In the meantime, the girl is back in the country. You know what you have to do,” Fugaku decided. 

Sasuke glared, but he jerked his head up and down in a stiff nod.

As winter settled over the capital, the correspondences between Bermellon and the Haruno manor continued. And when the spring came and Sakura headed up to the capital, the letters continued to flow back and forth. 

It had been two years since Prince Sasuke’s slight against her. He had come to see her once a week during the colder months. Sometimes she had pretended to be out on business. Other times, she pretended to be ill, which her mother always drove home with the reminder: “She suffered such a huge shock, you see. Ever since then, she hasn’t been the same, the poor thing.”

The royal family sent dresses and jewels. Beautiful shoes adorned with gems. Rare gifts from distant lands. 

After consulting with her parents, Sakura decided to show her face in the capital for the social season this time around. She knew that at each event, the royal family and their little spies checked to see if she ever wore any of their gifts. And the answer was same each day: hell no.

In the meantime, peace talks with Bermellon continued. Now that Bermellon had a steady supply of food, their armies were back to the fearsome numbers that had made them a threat in the first place. Envoys sent to the imperial palace reported back that the Emperor also seemed to have many powerful allies among the nobles there. 

The only solution, it seemed, would be for the royal family to join hands with the Haruno’s. Only then would they stand a chance against such a mounting threat. 

At end of the summer season, invitations for the Queen’s annual ball went out. 

Sakura leaned her hip against her father’s desk as she read. 

“The Emperor says that he received an invite as well. Is this a trap?” she wondered. 

“I doubt it. His Majesty King Fugaku has been pestering me about you for the last few months,” Kizashi answered, lowering his spectacles. 

“And what have you said in return, Papa?”

“That you were still very hurt. And that what you wanted was an apology, not jewels.”

Mebuki nodded. “The Queen also had similar questions. I assured her that you were still very in love, just that your pride was wounded.” 

“Oh Mama, Papa, you know me so well,” Sakura sighed, hands clasping together. She beamed at her parents. Kizashi roared with laughter when Sakura leaned in to kiss his cheek.

On the night of the ball, Sakura found all eyes on her. She curtsied perfectly to the royal family, and blushed modestly when Sasuke asked her to dance. She chatted with Ino and Temari, tittering in all the right places. Halfway through the ball, she feigned shock when a herald announced the Emperor of Bermellon as a guest of honor. Their eyes met across the ballroom. It took every once of her self-control not to burst into giggles. 

As the party began to wind down, Sakura heard someone call her name. She turned to find Sasuke staring her down. Frenzied whispers hissed around them as Sasuke knelt in front of her. He took her hand in his. 

But Sakura could scarcely pay attention to this scene because at the other end of the ballroom, she saw the guest of honor rise from his seat. This wasn’t part of the plan.

“My Lady, I offer my most humble apologies. I allowed rumors to deceive me. My actions toward you were deplorable and shameful,” Sasuke ground out. 

The sounds of Itachi’s footsteps were muffled by all the murmurs rippling around the room. A set of gasps rose when he moved around the crowd, making a line straight for the focus of everyone’s attention.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, but I’d like to ask that you release that lovely hand.”

Sasuke’s head jerked up. He glowered at the man towering over him. And then his head whipped around when he felt Sakura jerk her hand free from his. Sakura pitied his neck.

“I was going to wait until the end of the night to cause a stir, but apparently I have to do this now. Although, one can hardly blame an insect for finding the most lovely flower in the room,” Itachi said. 

Sasuke’s face went bright red. “You were cast aside by the Crown Prince. And now you’ve been seducing a foreign monarch for your own gains?” he spat.

Sakura and Itachi exchanged a look. “Have I seduced you, Your Majesty?” she queried. He dipped his head, hand over his heart.

“I’m quite seduced, My Lady.”

She could see him trying his best not to laugh. After a moment, he spoke again.

“I’m well-aware that this started off as purely political, but I’ve been enchanted by your wit and your beauty. I’m convinced that if I had to live the rest of my days without you, it would be a dull and meaningless life.”

Because Itachi was an emperor, he didn’t bow to her. But, pushing Sasuke aside, he did take her hand. Lifting it to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. 

“And I’m also certain that you wouldn’t be against becoming an empress. Or am I wrong?” Itachi added. Sakura bit her lip to keep from smiling too hard. 

Then, just to add insult to injury, Sakura glanced over her shoulder at Sasuke. “Perhaps if your apology hadn’t taken two years, Your Highness, I might have been more inclined to accept it. But rest easy. It appears that while I may not be marrying you, I will be marrying an Uchiha,” she chirruped. 

As the Queen turned to the King to demand “What is she talking about?”, Sakura giggled. But as she opened her mouth to congratulate Itachi on his supreme acting, something in his eyes made the sound die halfway up her throat.

The Queen, who had worked herself up into a frenzy, suddenly fainted. As the nobles rushed forward to attend to her, Itachi’s hand tightened around Sakura’s. 

“Come with me,” he whispered before he pulled them through the crowd and out of the ballroom. They ran down the steps, their shoes clattering against the tile. And then they were hurrying along the halls, Sakura half-thrilled and half-baffled. When it became clear that Itachi had no idea where he was going, she took the lead instead. She guided them through a narrow passage and out through a side door usually meant for servants. 

They leaned against the cool castle walls, huffing and puffing. 

“Well.... that’s a mess. Good improvisation though, Your Majesty,” she remarked, her hands on her knees. Itachi stood with his back to her, his arm resting against the stone. 

“I wonder how we’ll fix this mess. We just made up a huge lie in front of the entire court,” Sakura sighed.

“It wasn’t a lie.”

“What?”

Itachi looked over his shoulder at her. And then he slowly turned to face her. 

“It wasn’t a lie. Either I marry you, or I marry no one,” Itachi declared. 

Sakura, for probably the first time in her life, found herself unable to come up with a good response for that. She opened her mouth. No sound came out. She shut it. Opened it again. All she could do was stare as Itachi reached out to take both her hands this time. 

“I.... we.... What if... The King will say no,” she finally managed to say. 

“Then I’ll wage war and annex your lands,” he responded.

She fumbled with words again. “H-how do you even know I want to marry you anyway, Your Majesty?”

“You do. Next question,” he responded. And the ease with which he answered made her laugh. She sagged against him, her forehead touching his shoulder. And she kept it pressed there, afraid to look at his face as she asked her final question.

“There has to be a catch? What do I need to do?”

“There’s an extensive list of demands, actually,” he responded. “I’ll need you to deal with all the nobles. You’ll have to boss around all the servants, and occasionally boss me around, which I already know that you’re good at.”

She laughed even harder. But that stopped when she felt his arms wrap around her waist, holding her close to his chest. His chin resting on top of her head. 

“But the most important thing is, I need you to stay by my side for the rest of our lives,” he added. 

There was a long pause. And then he heard a sniffle. “Are you crying?” he asked.

“No,” she replied in a voice thick with tears. 

The morning after the Queen’s ball that had ended in disaster, Sakura sat in the parlor of the Haruno mansion. Mebuki and Kizashi seemed quite content as they sipped their tea.

“Mama, Papa, I’m sorry. I didn’t stop to think of what would happen to our House if I get married,” Sakura sighed, her hand on her cheek. Beside her, Itachi didn’t exactly look guilty. But he looked about as contrite as an emperor could.

Kizashi arched a grey eyebrow. “Is that what this meeting was about? That’s simple.” He turned around to look at the guards flanking the door.

“Sir Sai,” he called.

Sai stepped forward. “My Lord,” Sai responded, bowing his head. 

“I’d like to adopt you, Sir Sai,” Kizashi declared. Sai blinked slowly. And then he gave a long-suffering sigh, touching his gloved hand to his temple.

“I’m twenty, My Lord,” Sai reminded him.

“And?” Kizashi replied. 

Sai had been in service to the Duke for long enough to know that there was no point in arguing. “.....And nothing, My Lord. I would be honored.”

Kizashi turned back to his daughter with a grin. “There. Anything else?”

Itachi blinked slowly. And then he looked over at Sakura. “Ah. I see where you get that from,” he told her.

Cian threatened war against the Bermellon Empire for the insult against the royal family. Twice. 

The first time, the Bermellon Empire answered with diplomacy. The second time, troops flooded the border between the two countries and annexed the Haruno family’s lands. It was a largely bloodless conflict. Later, people reported that the soldiers of the Haruno family simply waved the Bermellon forces through as they swept through the land.

When all the negotiations had ended and borders were re-drawn, the Cian Kingdom found that it had lost a large portion of its arable lands. With not enough food stored for the coming winter, they were forced to arrange a trade negotiation with the Bermellon Empire. Which the empire agreed to. The only stipulation was the implementation of heavy tariffs at the border. 

The Emperor and Empress traveled up to the border to sign the peace treaty. The Uchiha family glowered from across the table as the Emperor and his advisors took their time reading over the treaty. When Sakura looked up and caught their glares, she beamed at them. 

“I guess you were right, Prince Sasuke. I really wasn’t meant to be a queen. Being an empress suits me so much better,” she declared. 

Itachi chuckled as he signed his name in large, swooping letters.

[rhotdornn]

Fennel: For a drabble about my muse being strong in a way that they usually aren’t. (Ahtun-Swars)

Long had the day grown, and longingly so did it stretch into the evening… For even as the crown of the honeyed sun spilled across the horizon, streaks of light would not be permitted passage; nay, the thick, obscuring, hallowed waft of smog and ash crept up from the riled tide, crawling its ghastly path across the hull of a battered vessel, now rolling upon the seething current. Torn sails snapped harshly against the furling gale, as it harrowed the blackened heavens above–the crackle of aetherial tension swelling with thunder within the rolling blanket of clouds. The waters portended naught but death, for beyond their surface lurked an eerie, unbecoming, inky coat–swallowing any and all trace of turquoise and emerald that oft sloshed vibrantly through Aerslaent’s crystalline Seas. It had always been the same, sonorous song that flirted with the wind, and carried low upon its brow, across every nook and cranny it could flit through. 

“Undulávë ilyë…Tier lomé…Ar caita mornië…”

The bark of the ship once shone with the splendour of ivory, of a great bark of gray make, now tarnished and consumed by dust and smolder as the plumes of hearty flames gnawed away upon its beauty, leaving behind naught but debris and ash to honour its lost memory. At the very front of the vessel’s bow, a majestic figurehead still stood to endure, fashioned in the likeness of a queenly swan with folded, pristine wings of white.

“Sindanóriello…I falmalinnar imbë met…Oialë…” 

Despite the calamitous winds that ailed the waters on low and skies on high, only but one voice lulled throughout the catastrophe, lingering with a harmonic drift of the mirth it incurred. Upon the very shipdeck, a sight that rivaled such tranquility had danced between each flick of ember, and every breath of fire that scorned the planks around it. A male, crimson-crowned Sea Wolf knelt at the mercy of the elements, both of his wrists snared within the malicious grip of two ropes. The light within his infernal hues had long since dissipated, and the breath once filling his leonine breast had long since departed, robbed by the crestfallen Wolf’s own, waning hope. Upon his brow sat naught but dismay–dismay, and a welling fount of anguish and agitation, festering all the deeper as his irises strove upwards, offering little more than seething daggers towards the culprit of the song.

Long, pale legs moved to sweep noiselessly across the charred trail, tactfully slow, and woefully bright. In the heart of this surreal darkness, the figure before him shimmered with an ephemeral gleam. A gown fitted with an opalescent plumage rolled past its shoulders, its waist and knees–yet further than it fell the specter’s keen, twin-blades–light, Elven blades fastened with a disciplined grip within each palm. The glint of their razors saw them tipped low, and their approach tantalized him further, for it had been slow, drawn out and scathing upon his mind. A searing, incandescent spectral luminosity swept across their metal, bathing them in the silvery sheen of the Moon–despite its presence on that eve.

“At the edge of darknessHope is whispering still…Tender, unerringGently stirring…”

Where the lips of the feminine voice bespoke hope, his own brows would feel the encroaching twitch of irritation spur them lower, his own voice bellowing out in a resentful concession of victory.

“…Aye. AYE. I may not remember your ilk, or the song–but by now, Althyk knows I may recite it by heart. Ever the same… Withered song… Upon the same, blackened waters… Lulling the same, demolished ship…” Try as he might, further focus would ill avail him–for the radiance of her cloaked garments dazzled with the glint of stars, sewn within each strand and thread of her armaments. “Always the same withered song. Always the same ending… Yet both of us know how this dance closes… How this nightmare, like so many afore it, meets its end.” Long were the nights of robbed sleep, and numerous inbetween–for in the realm of reality, nary a wink of sleep could he at certain nights obtain–and on such nights, the full Moon would strike out across the celestial stardom, spreading its enthralling shimmer across all creation it touched.

“Memories unfurling in the mindWarm wind from a far, forgotten country…”

The star-embellished mistress would see her step come to a halt, as her blades stilled but a few ilms before the Sea Wolf; the edge of the right razor slipping beneath his sweat-addled neck–as if to beckon his attention upwards in a twisted fashion.

“…Long left behind.”

Those last few sentiments… This haunting dreamscape would, unlike those that preceded it, stand apart from the rest. The harmonic song… For a miracle, he finally understood it–for he lingered in a dream, and now only did his mind grow aware of it. And as he came to, so too would a spark of memories ignite his spirit–where he once felt resentment’s sting and guilt’s pang, now he saw far more clearly; as if the fog grew thinner between her and him, and the ash fell back in disarray at the first tuft of the zephyr that rose to greet the vessel.

“Wandering the empty roadIn twilight’s silver shade…”

The twin blade of the blinding shade rose in tandem, yet with a promise far more malicious–akin to every dream, it meant to struck as the last verse dispersed from her lips, in an effort to strike the bound Rainlander low, and cast him away from the reprieve of sleep’s hold, once more. And again. And again.Until no more sanity remained, and he wholly surrendered to his grief.Until his days were fully spent, and his mind lost to madness, spurred by the decree of insomnia.Yet, at last, he finally saw clear.This had never been a song wholly about him.

“Following the hidden paths…Lonely and afraid.”

And as her merciful blade fell in a swift, traverse cut, ribbons of sanguine would splatter from the Wolf’s husk…

…Yet not from his throat, into which the specter sought to sink her steel.

The binds that held his wrists at bay just now fell to the wasted floorboards, with a dull, lifeless ‘thump.’ Within his left palm would he clutch her moonlit blade, and within his eyes would he brandish a mounting, volcanic flare. The moment she sought to assert her other blade fully into his neck, it would find no purchase–for his right hand had already laid claim to the wrist which commanded it, driving it ever so further away.

Her last verse–the last hint of the song she’d always torment him with ere finishing his voyage within sleep’s embrace prematurely, had now been sung… Yet the only bleeding fell in rivulets from the palm which clung to her weapon.

For now it had been his turn. And his booming, proud bass would thrum away with a quiet, low in volume yet poised in the notes it carried across the four, scattered winds. The dread that once swam before his eyesight now rolled back akin to a fragile curtain, and dead in her eye would he strike out his stare.

“…Let the sunlight free the heartForever bound to roam.”

The hand which gripped her wrist offered a far shorter kindness in turn-for in the aftermath of its toppling strength, the specter would gasp at her own palm twisting–and him commanding her own blade into her abdomen in no more than one seamless motion–and clean cut.

In the aftermath of it all, only a single twinkle flirted with his attention–a bright, illuminated trinket that shone with an auburn light, fading away as she did–in a swarm of depleting, cascading starlight, rolling away along the shipdeck–and plunging peacefully back into the calming waves beneath. Their slosh and tossing would cease, for the waters once more flourished with a pristine clarity, drawing unto their surface more vibrant hues of aquatic green and blue.

As he perched his glare upon the cloud-veiled sky, the pallor of starlight would answer his gaze; for the skies began to drive back the tides of blackened clouds, and before him, under the muster of the zephyr, a wholly familiar, once-forgotten star would become known. Perched upon the highest vault of the heavenly abode, it shone with only four tails, and vied with none for dominance of the skies; for its light blazed ardently, and its radiance shone the brightest.

The Nortyrstyr. The Northern Star of Hyrthyml, rumored to make itself known to those that sought it out without malice seducing their intent, or rotting away their hearts.

And under its hallowed gaze would his nightmare-turned-dream come to a close–and when he arose, his limbs would not betray him to fatigue, nor would his mind be addled with a longing for succor and reprieve. No, hurriedly would he disembark from the safety of his bedside, sorting through his armaments–yet as he browsed his wardrobe, he’d briefly cease, as his palm wound up against his aged, weather-worn leather jacket–only to harshly shove it aside, despite the small wrinkle of a frown it instilled his sweat-laden visage with–and retrieve his blade, tucked away within a hidden compartment in the closet.

He had finally claimed that which he clung to–which he sought after without knowing it all along.

He had finally come to make peace with himself, and drew upon enough strength in a way he never could on his own, once upon a time.

He had finally forgiven himself.

And for that, the spoils of his rewards counted his resurfacing, mending memory once-fractured… As well as the true, final verse of the song.

“…And let the waking morning findThe weary traveller returning home.”

[A-spicy drabble prompts, mama mia!]

[melodeegoodwin-blog]

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[lunarfae714]

guatemaya & mecksiko

12.29 Atop Yaxha Pyramid

when we can measure our journey

in love shared,

found, exchanged?

instead of in fear of disease

hijack eyes of mania

panic

feeding-off-conflict

the beauty is known no ego

only offerings

can the love always be

charged like the Sun,

infinite, and changing

in each hour-

when does it become a service,

the exchange?

when can it be fully free

undrained, exuberant?

for yourself & for all

for the earth

for the wind

for all that is—

changing form

a leminascate

can it all be

selfless 

words & actions,

are they enough?

like the rocks that love the water which kisses them,

the eternal dance 

of stability & moving union.

***

after noon

soft dreams

downstream

count backwards

from twenty

& forth

until the numbers dissolve

facts turn to feeling

& the border boxes break free

natural & unseen

patterns yet changing

each non-moment still

like pre-dawn’s cirrus

the dance like curtain

unfold away lights

strong-

the elements

burnt sun

ice water

really

feeling it all

full

heart

full

mind

full

of

nothing

as it should BE

always still

&  moving

seed to harvest

sow

in to morrow

with Love’s light

blasting

*

1.17.16

amethyst

charged

emerald & selentine

dreams directed

by the mind’s wind

candlewax drip

fixed on fingers

the torch lights

our nightcrawl

naked under the quarter moon

& the river runs high

poison toads

& branches that split,

graze under the soles

night becomes dawn

time told by Sky

the visions change in Ember’s logs

consume gadgets not necessary

almighty mother fire force

acts, destroys, creates

our womb ignite

as we place hot stones on our sacral chakras,

active the living unacknowledged children

the family of us

&

the natural

All living as one.

water pulleys from the creek,

the new flow.

the same water near passes

over our feet twice

our collective feeling,

on solid foundations.

***

when I’m alone

& write poems

of travelers notes

how real addictions can be

to communication

sugar from the parasite

all the world addicted to the white mans crystal

ancient ruins of conquest

how to get away

from conquerer mentality?

can we remove ourselves from history?

why do we capture another?

separate, control, dominate

trapped in the material system

material hunger

we are spiritual beings

meant to live like plants

will it disappear as the bombs go

the few who print the papers

the chemicals & vaccines

police and sex tourists

drag us where?

the north and south pole

on the same earth.

*

morning meditation on the river dock

silver smokerings oscillate

tubes of ashes fall

the air moves east

& the river rolls west—

wind & water

frankincense & appelblauwzeegroen

their dance

smooth & constant

like thoughts dancing along the rivers

(background noise is all)

no use to anticipate

the next moment

or dwell

the past moment

who you were

what you said

what you thought

what you felt

meaningless

when we live in the mind

in our fears, pain, or planning

we will miss the sweet kiss

of wind on our lips,

the first sip of coffee, bitter

the way the monkeypod shines crimson

gleams bark in the noon sun,

the glory in taking a inhale deep

in tune with the sway of the trees,

you may not see

the makeshift fishingrod

of sticks & shells

the bearded fishermans tailored pants

beside me on the dock

what are we trying to catch?

how simple to speak in silence

when we are at peace,

knowing we swim through these bodies

beyond our crown

beneath our feet

complete

in the profound simplicity

of stillness.

***

day mares

1.7.16

cold breeze & hard nips

a woman sings go ask alice 

and the naked children shushing me

under fallen ladders ex-lovers

with newfound company locked

out of the room of togetherness

outside, the observer watches

the time

a stolen wristwatch

a sun blistered lip,

salty like sea waves

& bad barganing

what golden melancholy brings

an even pace a meditation

a clearing of nebulous brain lobes

rotten with acid washed

down gopher holes

bruised & fallen tangerines

which do we shape shift into

focus our energy our hearts

we can be the potted plant

or are we already,

and who is the gardener?

****

san marcos sound wave

lights across the lake, starry

dogfights in the calle

endless & ghastly

cries of infants constant

like crickets

& fireworks

thrown reckless

like the piles of shit

scattered on cement

trumpets & flutes

balancing cop cars on fire

across the lake

peace in the balance

of turquoise caldera

the mother lake

has waves.

*

*

when i heard pretchel speak of

the navel—

bellybutton of the earth

blood sacrificed from the

hard hits

deep fingered

dirty regrets

just to sleep in a bed

away from the nightmares shadow/work

9-5 & 5-9

what a way to pass the time

we jump off the piers onto boats

trembling volcanos make our circles as we

kiss on the mouth

bless the food

break the blender

pull the Devil

karma

as orange the Sun understand

could twist that way

pure BLISS the goddess

we are all a part of

perfect nothingness

nonetheless

i am you

are me

what i do to you

i do to me

when i pour out my mind

like lemonade

the sun shines through

shitshow brigade

body ecstasy

outside the body

we were born as two

we were born without shoes

without the navel of the earth

that keeps

pulling us back.

***

friends with scorpions

the all-knowing scorpion

aliens

why do they return

to the same places

same beds like

second-time lovers

who think they can get by

hiding beneath your pillow

while you wonder in silence

what it will take to be strong

amid Surprise

**

5.18

sleep paralysis

& dead drunks on the sidewalk

brains hanging loose over

puddle of blood sangria

faerira any excuse

to drink to death

feel the pain in my kidneys

free the beating heart parasite

pulse in my body

pulse in my pulse

in my despair,

mary oliver’s wild geese sing,

tell me of yours

i will tell you mine

tell me why the shadow man

comes at the coldest part of night

sun rise before

we rise too

pretend these bodies

will keep us going

and the wind will carry us

in the way she pleases

living to die noble

or living humbly?

***

6.20

sweetwater

the little pleasures-

to graze my tongue along a frozen mango

perfectly ripe

deep orange, unique & so sensual,

craving union with the mouth

to remain nude all day in the jungle

to dance wildly to a drumbeat capable of visioning

to hear ruiz shout the problems of the mind

to think of life outside misery

to cook granola on the fire

to free the lice eggs from my head

to view problems as roadblocks

water-filled potholes choose

how to get through and admire the turtle.

reptilian overload

to see the birth of the day—

the fresh black baby chick

bounce under mamas wing

to roam freely & pick cactus spikes

to prepare dinner

all when the negativity has stepped out. 

***

jellyfish regenerate, they are the aliens of the sea. 

how to live naturally, harmoniously

here i am, meant to

reflect the fucked up system i am from,

to encourage others to return to the land.

wake up & work together

return to simplicity

not selfishness, pleasure & comfort

we meet the right people at the right time.

truth comes in action & awakening

not the the illusion of movement

or perception deception.

thank you iyke

***

*

not feeling

vs. feeling it all

meant to ascend

& experience nothing

do you love rollercoasters

or are we?

*

poems hidden in moleskins

in a sugar-addicted consumer country

malnutrition consciousness

school teachers in system to know the enemy

there’s a reason why the madmen cooped up in the jungle

away from us all

& there’s a reason why the city folk stay cooped up in concrete,

swarm like fish, absorbed in screens & button

virtual reality, where Gaia Mama

shows her pubes in remote rooftops

the belief in the debt coins & papers

manifest by three generations of puppeteers.

And yet-

who feels more alive?

i see the frustrated alien bacteria control the game

war mentality,

beheading kittens 

craves community-

yet blows them away with the word vomit violence.

hate the system, know the system

to use the system,let the system

control how much can we control?

how much will outside stimuli satisfy?

busy consume interweb-reliant

instantly gratified

forget what is really gratification, blessings

how many systems

no different species

we are infinite,

nonlinear time

no reptiles control

don’t get caught up in the spiderweb of the world

who weaves your dreams?

the spiders body, lemniscate

forever expanding

intend, manifest, unchain, let be.

you  hate poetry because it doesn’t move fast enough

& paints a portrait too pretty

unknowing that scenery

& the white spaces

speak and move in in ways

the human body could never.

spinning in the cycle of earthly life

creatures on the wheel, darwin

hired to tell us dog-eat-dog

& win not work together

lets separate for power & call it evolution.

but we eat too. we eat chemicals in candy

the white man’s crack, let memory be a hard drive

in the computers of our minds.

backpacker dilemma

live in love

live to get high

live in fear

live to die

live to live

***

morning coffee with crazed

one way to wake up.

irony of sitting & talking

the real parasite the defeat of pessimism

when truth speaks

don’t be insulted

swimming in sweat

in the mexican sun

caked dirt

being in isolation

makes one angrier?

lonelier?

working together

the real solution

instead of believing

in the money go-round

that separates us in our boxes

our safe.

*

in a meat-excessive society

to fight, kill, invade

poison the food

control the water

damage the sea

leak nuclear waste

when free energy

could fix it all?

ets walk, step by step,

mindful

in our place

in the evolution

of being, aware

of control, corruption

of our ripple, on ourselves

into the universe and under the stars.

remember what hicks said,

we are all expressions of the same ocean

6.16

each day i’m asked by a mexican man

why I’m traveling alone

they don’t understand

im not alone

last weeks companion

a parasite in my gut

and now i have a family of lice on my head.

eggs waiting to watch

you see

i attract the finest suitors to share myself with

you wouldn’t think they wouldn’t want to join me

as i walk for hours in vernal Mexican sun

eating only fruit

living away from traditional travelers

caught in the system

on vacation oil their money runs out

drinking their way along the hostel road

sightseeing the hits of their tourist books

you are your surroundings

you are your environment

express the unique wave

you image yourself to be

all your beliefs

shaped by stimuli, external

reflections

pregnant in the dreamscape.

*

fast-paced taqueria tales

i find it silly to spend much money on myself

pay the price of locals

& sit at the tamale stand

on the street corner

with teens and papas

& saucy mujer server

(always love that central american women are not afraid to laugh at you)

behind the counter like a dealer

in the casino of the calle.

bright lights

of the coke machine behind her

& bad television, sports that fuel the town

in the sugar-addicted novella.

division as entertainment.

hit me.

another tamale strikes the bar

with swift hands,

the 40 peso workday

soft camote sleeps in a bed of corn

under a blanket of hot sauce.

hit me.

*

a week of accidental fruitarianism.

can’t stand the heat

reptilian land

a far walk to the village

flesh-eating bacteria going around

the one who passes gives me a ride

with shotguns in the backseat

he eyes it & grins,

“are you scared?”

*

today a gang member

tattooed tears under his eye

in an iron blue shirt

large bodyguard

working the tourist turtle beach

like a chessboard

eyescans

hustling at the entrance

to watch all who come & go

like prey. he lent me

his nephew’s jacket

from his swanky rick roller

family car

and thought about

the slice of cheesecake in the dumpster

you can find sweet things hiding

in all corners of the earth.

*

pat watches as papayas

do the reverse-rainbow dance

satisfied, self-reliant

as the green parrots pass

& a new pair of eyes

hatch from the egg.

meanwhile, the masses dive

in binary systems

of separation, run the wheel of the money-go-round

chew on the potent chemicals,

live inside cement boxes,

domesticated mice working for money-driven madmen

but

since time isn’t linear

& the seeds have been planted

what you seek

is seeking you

in the karmic cycle

of non-attachment

non-aversion

true action.

with steady hands,

a quiet mind,

patience

you’ll watch the earth

return to tribe or die.

*

flora teaches us

to honor what’s growing

follow new life

all realities created

*

christmas eve in the mayan jungle

mules do the pleasure bankroll not he dirt

as the rainbow scale turkeys peek aimlessly from the forest

the jaguar stalks the deer behind us

& the howler monkeys do the tree-top tango.

their call like a lion

i practice the guitarita

watch makeshift football

& lazing hammock brothers sway

blistered soles from miles of dirt deep

treks through mosquito village

i miss my blood family

yet present with my tree family.

my ancestors in their mysteries

corn & snake gods

modern looters & night guards

body full like the moon,

blood sacrifices and love rituals on the jaguar pyramid,

solstice of the waves of this recycled life

of forgiveness.

*

[sabrinadesignz]

I spy some of our favorite furniture!

Polin got rid of Mama's ghastly curtains, too!