Joined: 20 Feb 2013
Rachelle slowly and carefully took in each word he spoke to her, the longing and sorrow in
her eyes more apparent with each syllable. This man had understood her in her worst of
times but now -- now, he was pushing her away. Just like her husband had done. Just like
she with her children. Still, he didn't know what really happened that day and if he had,
she knew he would only despise her more.
A hand raises, falls, flows with the beat of the song as a breathe leaves stained lips. A
smile, crooked, vicious, with a laugh all of her own, flowing like poison. He can watch,
helpless as she dances away, bouquets of flowers covering her tracks. She's not hard to
find, but she has a way of making you feel deflated, like a freshly popped balloon. Her
eyes cold, judging, even if her smile once held something once warm, it is frozen to the
touch now. Besmirched, unholy, like a demon with powers that outlive their mortal
counterparts. A pulse that beats frantic, echoing a once human cage. The rhythm is soft,
gentle, like a lover's caress - and then the speed dances it's way into your brain and
you're drifting aimlessly, apathetic, carefree.
After so many years of struggling, Rachelle was no longer a real girl. She couldn't bear
the sight of her hands - they were so black - but they were so tender on the neck, and his
fingers so soft on her dead cheek, and she knew she should not feel sympathy for this
killer, but she did. Who among them, after all, had clean hands?
"Oh Doctor, if only we hadn't been born in different times and different worlds,
I wouldn't sit in wait across the vast seas.
If only I could lay in your arms and listen to you read poetry as you whisper my name,
maybe I could feel fulfilled.
If only my here and now were then and there, maybe I would know what real passion is.
If only I could touch your sun kissed skin next to mine, perhaps I would not feel this
If only this forsaken love forsaken by time and distance could be brought to life, then I
could know the meaning of mine.
If only I could taste your lips and forever be quenched, my lips could speak your name.
Oh Doctor, as mysterious as a nymph singing your mer-song -
just as beautiful, just as bewitching, just as forbidden.
You're ever elusive, ethereal, shy and guarded, safe within your secret world:
always just out of sight - just out of reach - to mere mortals such as I.
Ungraspable, free and forbidden -
you are a muse now, capturing, enchanting my mortal heart-
banishing my soul to wander the desolate lands between your world and mine.
You're my muse now Doctor, because that is all I can have of you."
Rachelle Eponine Asmosia
Timorous Schizotypal | Fugue State | Selective Mutism | Insomnia | Night Terrors
Astraphobia. Automysophobia. Hypnophobia. Mnemophobia. Oneirophobia. Pyrophobia.
"You are not even an acceptable young lady yet.
Whatever dreams you have of obtaining motherhood...
is another one of your delusions."