collage by: Yves/Mindlovemisery; wordle words by: Yves/Mindlovemisery
Her ethermetal amulet, protective warmth beneath bodice, fortune rests against breastbone. Yet she sleeps unwell. Vague memories of strange creatures murmuring; armies chanting: “All is lost. All is surrendered. All is gone.”
She then dreams “nightshade:” the colour, the intensity, the deadliness. The deadness.
She knows the etiolate powers when it’s seductive scented clouds are captured in a jar. Narcissists are baited hooks dangling from it’s lure. At the zenith, blossom’s wide orifice invites all in; none out.
She wears her slightest of dresses; thin filmy layers that slink along her skin. Her painted face and scented areolas as obsequious offerings to his Greatness. Her amulet flashes in the candled light. Inside the tiny chamber beneath her owl’s head, a puff of the hearse.