Her touch is a flare, leaving a searing trail of blood-red flowers, blooming beneath the spaces of her fingers. A girl revelled for her star-studded tresses, in a dreary universe of ebony colours.
Her rose-dusted skin bled honey-sweet ichor; for she is the daughter of a god,
and the ruler of the skies.
❝ THEY SPEAK HER NAME IN ENVIED SHRILLS, THE BEAUTIFUL BELL, WHOSE EVERY BREATH GAVE LIFE TO DULLED PETALS. ❞
YOU ARE READING
WICKED HEARTS
Poetry❝ WE ARE ALL THE BAD IN SOMEONE'S STORY. ❞ do not copy. all rights reserved ⓒ 𑁍 blue rose awards | first place in poetry & second place in unknown story
