Guess what? Yep, I'm back early! I hope you like the interlude. It's pretty…messed up. XD But I'm good at that shizz. Review, please.


Your fingers run footsteps through open seas
sometimes catching in spider webs. (spun by fishermen)
You freed the kin of Poseidon
and soaked yourself in mother earth.

Your joyful feet made a collage of sand,
teardrops planted seeds in the richest soil.
But it's the light in your irises
that strung the sky together. (like a laundry line)

Every dream is a new cloud
to disguise the blemishes of 'the heavens'.
Angel wings fall from your bony shoulders
reminding us we're not in control.

And your voice made merfolk weep
as you sang a broken hallelujah.
The oppressed singers join in vain
to burn in every field of warm breath.

Your hair is every periwinkle,
waltzing to a storm melody.
The wind is your skin, like
sheets of untouchable pleasure.

You are our tyrant.

Interlude: In the Beginning

Mangled bodies lined the deep, kaki grass. Some were twisted on spears, bleeding profusely from their abdomens; others lay with their skin torn open, organs spilling out as fast as a waterfall.

Among these bodies a little girl, sitting and coughing up blood into her pale and clenched fist. She was bald. Her hair had been shaved off with dull knives that damaged her underdeveloped scalp. Life and pupils were absent in her eyes like something had drained them.

The girl just stared on, ignoring a cough now and then and clutching at her arm, torn so you could see the milky white bone directly underneath. That part of her arm was numb but it was a piercing numb that racked her body like silent sobs.

One wouldn't believe the damage dream-people could cast upon entire civilizations. It was horrifying to think of, the kind of thought that brought people out of the land of fairies and into the shell-shocked minds of veterans and the like. The kind of thought that no one dared talk about, for fear of being sent to an insanity ward.

"What sort of pain should we inflict now?" A cold voice spoke not too far off in the quiet.

"Something terrible, I suppose." Came the cold, icy yet amused reply from another corner of the dark. A smirk was clear in the tone.

"We've already done terrible, tragic and all of that. We need to do something…something that she will never forget. Even awake, the vacuous doll."

Laughter rung about in the air that reminded most people of dead bodies falling to the ground.

A shriveled, misty hand shot into view, waving as if to instruct an orchestra of tiny particles that tore beings limb from limb. It curled in the direction of the small girl with its dirty, chipped nails pointed upward in a witch-like fashion.

The girl felt invisible fingers tighten around her throat, forming around the circular shape. A sharp pain shot through her spine, as they got tighter and tighter, blocking air from escaping her tiny pink mouth. Restrained breaths came out of her nose in short bursts and she shook as the pain, rocking back and forth, back and forth.

Strangled, whiny sounds came from the back of her throat, like a softly crying baby. She parted her lips to let out high-pitched "ahs" and shuddered at the cold feeling that swept over her as she fell unconscious.

Hands unraveled from around her neck, almost as if forced.

"That was fun." Pointy teeth flashed.

"But we can do even better."

Silence. Then, "Yes, far, far better."

"And here I thought you were going to disagree with me."

That same cold laughter. "Deception, my friend, is the best form of torture. Like killing two birds with the same stone it'll be."


FINIS interlude one.