Wings

We all have wings

But some of us don’t know why

~INXS

Invisible

 

I am merely the beginning. There are so many more of me. Some of us are asleep. Some of us may as well be asleep, because they have forgotten. And most disheartening, many abandoned this mission long, long ago.

I am merely part of the Whole. The way is clear, even if I am not.

And if I have lost my wings, at least I know why.

Then again.

Perhaps it is as a beautiful soul once suggested: Our wings are in place just simply not visible to our glass-and-grit-filled, foggy, human eyes.

 

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Madam Marie

To stretch beyond our own Wild Imaginings is what we all most wish to do.

~From Tales of Non-Sense, by Intricate Knot

If you look closely you can see both the joy and the wound.

If you look closely you can see both the joy and  wound.

All the best characters are flawed. To be perfect holds no fascination. We are drawn to the imperfect, the slightly askew, the weirdly mystic.

Madam Marie is flawed and fascinating. Her story is unbelievable and completely true. In order to make it even a gasp of plausible, we must spin a faery-dark-tale.

Does it sound like I am contradicting myself? Oh no dear, I am not.

Surrounded by Thorns and Black Hearts, Madam Marie conjured a spell to make them useful. Forming them into a screen, she hung them to be televised for all to see. For if we can see the danger, it surely does follow that we can stop it. Or can we?

Because they are forever devious and adept at trickery, growing, multiplying, and changing so quickly, she had to keep her eye on them forever. Forever. Never ceasing. Constant vigilance. My, how utterly exhausting.

Wise(ass) beyond all boring expectations, she unwrapped a sticky sweet sucker of a solution and plucking out her Third Eye, Madam Marie placed it on the Winged Hand. The tireless temperate telling Winged Hand.

Now she can be ever vigilant…without having to sit in obscene obeisance.

Madam Marie is bright and wistful and naturally wanted to grow beyond her beginnings, for the place she had chosen was far darker than she’d imagined. That’s all right because this part of her tale was easier than she’d ever dreamed, though infinitely harder for her to believe.

All she had to do was sacrifice one of her hands.

With barely a hesitation she stretched out her left hand and it grew to be less of a hand and more of a vine.

Yes. It hurt. The hurt of it pierced her heart. Marking it evermore.

But to let Thorns and Black Hearts overrun the Land cannot be allowed. And to stay small and forever un-witnessed?

That would be unbearably sad.

 

Princess Muertos and The King’s Head

Princess Muertas

Drawn together completely by accident
And that isn’t a pun.
He wasn’t her father
Just tyrannical scum.
Princess of another land
She drew her hypothetical sword
And soon he was dead.
Off with his head
Then she went straight to bed.
It isn’t that hard to sleep like a baby
When you’re a fierce lady
Who is not afraid to be terse
From one end of your heart
And weep from the other.