Moonsong Glacier be the moth to my flame

@Dutch

the brewing of aspiration reached a boil as she felt the chill of a glacier’s kiss upon her spine.

the scents here were fresh, changing, and few. a stirring in the pit, the coil unwound. the aroma of a lone ruler invaded her with feverish desire, and she thought then that he must be lonely on his throne of ice.

she could keep him company. she could warm his bed with pretty promises.

crown tipped skyward, her voice spun of bewitching tunes and unassuming motives as she called for the chieftain.

come — make your bed with a serpent concealed amongst the grass.