VenoM, Artwork, Characters and Concepts © Olivia Brookes
Under no circumstances may you use these pieces in any way without the express permission of =Owlivia
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Whenever my mind flits to her, I see her as I left her that night.. How could I forget?
The forest wept for her, vines dripping with dewy tears, branches bowed in respect. Still was the air, it had no reason to sing; but there echoed a low whistle, a lone voice, though whether it was a breeze through the leaves or my own song I couldn't be sure.
I could feel those golden eyes, peering from branches above, watching, waiting. They called for her, like lost children after their mother, and together we listened for her reply.
So quiet was her answer. So fragile she was, glass in that new world, and I questionned again, why I was not there to guide her, protect her from shattering.
It was habit, the way I reached for her. It wasn't habit to not feel the warmth of her cheek under my hand, see that faint blush spread from my touch, that smile play across her lips.
No, she didn't smile. Smiles are for the living, the spirits that are never alone, always with Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka. The lost souls have nothing to smile about, for they have nobody to share it with.
Those droning calls still rang, trying to pry her attention, steal her from that moment, but she was trapped as I was. We couldn't part, couldn't look away even though we couldn't see each other, at least not with eyes but perhaps with heart; I could sense her spirit, so strong over the earth where her soul lay, and my memory shaped her form from the light. I saw those eyes I'd always loved, as bright after life as they had been during it..oh, how beautiful she will always be.
But so sad. And that desperation, that aching need that tore my heart in two when I left, is what I see every time I close my eyes.
Close my eyes, and dream.
For a glorious moment we are together again; but the desire grows in me, though I know what will happen if I try to take her in my arms, so many times I have been through this before. Sometimes she calls me to hold her hand, others to kiss her lips, but every time it ends the same; with bitter cold air biting at my lips, freezing where her breath should warm.
How beautiful she will always be.
And how I will never hold her again.
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