A spritz of acrid aconite, two drops of beguiling belladonna, a dollop of dittany, rounded off with a dusting of mellifluous mandrake teethes through the umbra condensed universe within the bone-beaten cross roads of his lacerated ribs. The gravel wrought growl combs through dust and ice of his dying body; destruction mixing with creation mixing with destruction. He's Romulus and Remes reincarnated, rage and betrayal strewn into the chasms of his caving chest. Muscles breaking, tendons snapping, body relapsing into a ruination ridden rumba. He's foxtrotting the line between diaphanous death and lethargic life, until his goddess tucks him between her fingers and saves him.
Death is his birthright and the deceased specatral fingers fetter him to the veil. Necromancy thrums beneath his ever-shifting bones, damning him to an eternity spanned between realities of sanity and revelation. Hecate roams the cosmos of hearts ringed with inky inscriptions of crumpling odes and lyrics the Halcyon infused harp of his rusted vocal cords no longer play. Her fingers inject antonyms for relief and synonyms for pain and they press their ivy infested lips together, eclipsing his waning Sun.
As he sits there, bleeding dead blood into the greedy Earth, he ponders over his goddesses' divinity. The curse bred ichor that streams readily into the cracking canals of her bloodstream. She's Anima Mundi, a celestial cartography of event horizons and singularities - transcending mortal comprehension and residing with the divine. How lonely and desolate is must be to hold the keys to the infinite universe - sitting on the garden of stars and mourning life. Her divine light seed stitched into the past, present, and future. Grasping Olympus and toeing Tartarus.
âWe're all immortal till we die,â but until the stars drip their molten blood into the trenches of the universe and the dead galaxies tear the ground in half and Kronos dies a second time, he's frozen living out the gods' sentence. A servant is no better than his master, and when Apollo set him free to tumble in the heavens where screams don't reach the gods, Hecate chains him to her starry cage. The stars don't weep for him for nature isn't concerned.