Author Archives: victoriaflair

Viam Veritatis

Her fingers lightly glided along the covers. Some tattered, some tape-bound. A few, here and there, slick and uncreased from non-use. Like braille, she could tell each apart from a single touch.

Her library ensconsed her, filling rooms to the height she could reach. No piles, no stacks, everything neatly shelved, perfectly categorized to her preference.

Eyes closed, she hummed to herself, letting her fingers guide her. Past stories of romance, thrilling sea tales, down towards the far reaches of her collection. Frayed bindings tickled her fingertips, like the softest of feathers, pure down. Those were her favorites.

She performed a sort of dance, reaching up , trailing down to the floor. From the floor back up to her toes. A delicate ballet, led by the music of grand stories, fantasies, tall tales and sky-bound knights. Each case of books was a symphony in her mind, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Through several rooms she wandered, letting her senses guide her. The smell of books, old and new, surrounded her like the finest of incense. Sun warmed wood softly creaked beneath her bare feet as dust motes danced around her.

Coming to a shaded room, where her darker fantasies lay sleeping in their oak-encased thrones, she paused. Her fingers trailed among them, then paused, lingering on a pebbled leather find. She knew her books like a mother knows her children, and this, this was not one of hers.

Soft grey-green eyes fluttered open. Her hand had stopped just above her sight, on a shelf barely within reach. Tightly wedged between paperbacks of a well loved author of science, the tall book put up a fight as she tried to pull it out. Finally, with a less than feminine  grunt, she yanked, ducking her head as a cascade of stories fell down around her. Her green paisley sundress did little to protect her shoulders from the cascade of heavy books.

Peeking through a veil of walnut colored locks, she listened to the rustling of pages settling, anxious of another avalanche. Hearing only leaves settling, her gaze was caught by the book she held cradled against her chest.

“Viam Veritatis,” the title read, in glistening red letters on fawn colored leather. The pages were gold-leafed, she noted, turning the slim tome in her hands. No other writing could be found. No publisher’s stamp, nothing on the spine.

The book felt warm to the touch, though the room was dim and cool. Glancing around, she realized she was nervous, anxious. Never in her years here had she felt anything but calm and comfortable. Suddenly, an icy shiver gripped her. She clutched the book to her breast, backing up against the shelving. She could see the rooms beyond subtly dimming, as if clouds were passing outside. But the gloom remained, and deepened, growing closer till she felt swallowed by it.

Long moments passed in nearly pitch black. Her back ached from the shelves jammed into her back. The only sound now was a soft percussion of panting. Slowly, the shadows lifted. As the light grew brighter, her breathing slowed, recognizing her familiar surroundings. Covered in cold sweat, she glanced down at the book in her hands.

With trembling fingers, she opened the cover.

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Testing

Haven’t done this in years, and posting from my phone (with a ‘lil USB thingy that connects my phone to my keyboard, but also means I can’t charge). Not sure if this will post to Twitter? The dashboard here is weird too.  Goddamn I miss my computer!

But, I suppose if I had my computer, I’d probably be playing games and not thinking of writing, so there’s that. Meh, guess we’ll see.

@Cruitionix is streaming now, so that’s the end of this test.  =P


Do you know?

Do you know what it’s like to despise your own existence, to loathe it, to feel your mind, your soul, dripping with the ichor of self-hatred? To be completely covered and filthied by it?

But yet to live a daily life of smiles and laughter, to love it and revel in it, to wear that false face for so long that it almost feels real? Almost. Except when the lights dim, and you find yourself alone, smothered by self-realization… Realizing what a worthless and awful person you are. What a drain you are on those around you, those you love, those you SHOULD do better by. Should. Should Should.

It’s self-entrapment. Should. When you know you should, when you should be able, when you should do better… And just fucking can’t. When you’re so tied up, tied down, throttled by your own failings and inadequacies. By your mind’s very fucked-up-ness… ‘Should’ becomes the deadliest of words.  It carries so much weight, so much guilt.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have family.  My mother, my nieces and nephew.  Without them, I … It’d be so much easier, y’know? For them I wear the smiles. For them I can almost believe. Most of the time, I can forget myself, for them. I can forget…

Almost.

 

Y’know?


I should write something

And I will. Eventually. Probably. Maybe?


Color Me #SpeakPoetry

[audio https://audioboo.fm/boos/2329345-color-me.mp3]

 

I gave you

A silhouette

A shadow of

A drawing of

The heart

That beats

Within me

To fill

Freely

To rend me

As you see me

And you

You

You color

Me deadly

In blacks

And greys

With no shade

Entirely

Abject

Of light

You paint me

As you see me

But you paint

Yourself

As well

For all I gave

Was a silhouette

An abstract

Portrait

For you

To fill

As you

And only you

Will


Lantern Light #fieryverse

[audio https://audioboo.fm/boos/2329299-lantern-light.mp3]

 

A lost child

Enters his forest

Drawn on

By lantern light

By hope of warmth

She encounters

The devil himself

A beastly form

Worn and torn

Snarling

Alone

Timidly

She approaches

Extends a small

Soft hand

He twitches

Turns

His eyes flare

And burn

But the child

Does not shy away

She instead

Caresses

His pelt

Meets his gaze

Selflessly

Welcoming

Her death

In the

Lantern light

Of his eyes

 


Emerald Mystery #fieryverse

[audio https://audioboo.fm/boos/2300049-emerald-mystery.mp3]

 

Kings and queens

Of the mounds

A mighty race

Lost underground

Shifting

Through

The history

Of the vast green

Velds of the Éire

The people

Of the Sidhe

Live on

Unfaded

From history

Forever sheathed

In emerald fire

In mystery

On the

Emerald Isle


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