Her name is Sapling, a tree with calm and quiet chirpy personality She lives her life the way it is.
When one a day comes, Zephyr, the wind, suddenly caress her soul moderately Sapling can do nothing Nothing, to stop it from coming and devouring itself.
Why can't Sapling do anything?
A choice to fight over oblivious Zephyr from hurting her, from how Zephyr slaps her leaves and sometimes even letting it fall to the ground like an ordinary *******, from how Zephyr swung Sapling's stems, making it dance like it had just agreed to but it never did.
Sapling stays calm in every idyllic second of her life but that was before Zephyr came, now, she was fuming for Zephyr had caused great downfall to Sapling's life Every little thing Zephyr had done to her meant a lot to her.
Yet, there is only one thing Sapling had not known: Zephyr had no choice either.
Violet is a temporary queen on an ephemeral throne She draws each breath as if her glass slippers might crack With her silent mousemen guards all lurking And her pumpkin coach dreams proved fugitive Violet waits for someone romantic and volatile She casts desideratas and figs from her balcony each morning While a sad painter endeavours to capture her essence Violet wears her daily masks with panache Underneath, she is restless and bored
Violet knows the cutlers’ secrets and the dressmakers’ fears She hears all their whispers as clearly as chiming bells Her futile talents sometimes overwhelm her But her faux nonchalance carries her onwards Violet knows they are planning her wedded demise She dreams of a man bold enough to just come and get her Passionate enough to rip off her garters and corset But disappointment advises she compromise Violet really just wants to be cherished
Zephyr is bringing change
He appears like an impossible ship in the middle of Winter Promising sunstorms and jonquil flavoured ice fountains He carries love in a phial and freedom in a sail Violet sees him and loses all trace of herself She throws parties and funerals for the end of her sorrow While Zephyr watches on with desire in his elegant fingers She is quite unlike anything he’d bargained for He watches the way she summons her rainbows And determines to make her smile
Demelza is waiting behind screens
When her position as Spare to her sister was first declared Demelza found a seer whose hands were magnetic Predicting a blemish in her doe eyed ascension Gifting her a once and singular use artifact Now she sees Zephyr’s gaze linger on Violet’s choice pillows Feels the abyss in her soul let loose its dancing revenants Laces the surrogate’s absinthe with treasured oleander Jealous eyes smirking at royal flesh doomed Temporary queens are bound for the grave
Violet enters a chamber of mermaids, treachery and kittens Feels the ephemeral crown dissolving on her unicorn horn Knows she should have packed her seasonal suitcase Smiles at the fairy godmother come to fetch her There are days a girl ought to stay in bed and forget about politics Let the Pope play badminton with the unpopular treasurer Let the jester determine their questionable futures Let nettle soup invade the whole kingdom Let them all go to hell while she dies
Violet exits, curtains drawn
Demelza sits, a faux queen on a papier-mâché glass throne Blind to how her husband sees her as a spoilt soiled dove Unknowing that her sister’s corpse comes between them Usurpers and children are rarely welcome at court Zephyr has pre paid her funeral, bought her dress pre-poisoned Three ladies in waiting hastily lace up her unpretty fate Served with a bitter almond tea cake for one Zephyr rolls his eyes at her brief yet histrionic death Sails his widower’s treasure ship into the sun
Sirens are singing up storms
Out at sea, strange gales are raising kaleidoscopic mythologies Sirens circle the ship, gothic faces all greenly shimmering Seeking ******* plunder for their white fields of bone Zephyr plugs his ears with flowers, but to no avail Voices of honeyblood ruin wrap themselves round his throat Circumstances are demanding his acquiescence This is quite unlike anything he’d bargained for Yielding to the knowledge he will never go home His desiderata falls overboard, he is gone
Beneath the waves, glass crowns perch wistfully on white bone skulls Baby sirens play with gold coins and conquistadores knuckles Rainbow fish swim fancifully between missionary ribs Through Zephyr’s laced fingers a lone uncanny violet grows Rare treasure springing from the devotion of a temporary Queen Sensing love, the lissom Siren spies it with inky black eyes Soft in her terror, she hones in on the violet’s mourning aura Plucks the bloom, threads it into her seaweed hair Waltzes off into the colder depths, oblivious