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Darcy stepped through the heavy wooden doors on quiet feet, crossing through into the majestic halls of the castle. Something seemed different, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Shrugging away the nagging feeling that whispered in her ear, she kept moving, wandering down the maze of halls until she found the stairwell to the ball room. For some reason, she didn't think anything of the plush carpet beneath the soles of her feet, or of the smell of roasting pig.
Thinking back on it, she wished she had payed more attention to her surroundings. Instead, she was distracted by the discomfort of her heels and how the leather dug into the back of her foot, how the skin beneath the mask she wore begged to be scratched. She didn't realize as she made her way down the stairs that there was no music or waltzing couples, nothing but the snapping and crackles of fire flaring within the mantle.
She didn't realize the differences within the castle until she reached the bottom of the steps and saw
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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