The course of
electricity that rushes, burning, yet cool; startling yet mild and
comforting...
As the ancient beckons at you over the semi-lunar
glasses.
You are translocated to an ocean, cool and caressing:
like your bed under you on a cool morning, only softer. The sensation embraces,
making way as you slice your way through, yet providing that resistance that
inspires to move on.
On a warm, beachy day.
The ever soothing virtue of the lapis-lazuli.
Soothing, yet as depressants in some.
The dark night that cradles the moon and dons the
stars like jewels nestling in her royal-ascending velvet... regal, yet
possessing that lightness and swiftness of movement that the royal does not.
They who find themselves able to lure to sleep softer
than the softest lullaby, and yet reveal their presence in the icy cold splash
that wakes as no other to startling reality, all while stifling a laugh behind
their liquid, supple fingers.
Warm she can be as well as cool, burning brightest in
those stars. The calmest though never the weakest of the elements. In her rage
and destruction, she still possesses that serenity.
She, who represents the house of wit and intelligence
in a school of magic.
The majestic neck of the peacock, the emanating scales
of Saphira, as in the Firesword of the rider. The last female of a fading race,
battling to uphold the immense majesty in serene ferocity.
As the skin of the preserver of peace, an eternal
smile on his lips. The shade of the voice of the protector who consumed the
poison to save his universe from its wrath.
Of one, liquid syllable.
