Storm Watch Butte Melbourne

margarida, thin-boned dove, felt the pull of his promise like a rosary bead turned between teeth; each word of verapaz rolling through her ribs with the weight of incense. the husk of hunger in her belly quieted for a fleeting breath, replaced by the tremor of something else—purpose, perhaps.

her head dipped, lashes low over the dark of her eyes, a bow of maidenly consent. sim, senhor… the murmur was soft, carried half in her native tongue, half in the hush of desert wind. i accept.

the name of silence—omertà—clung foreign and fragrant on her tongue. she thought of secrets tucked like relics beneath cathedral stone, thought of her own heart, which had always been good at keeping them. good at being veiled, concealed, compliant.

thin plume of her tail shifted once, a tremble of resolve, and she stepped to follow him. the butte stretched long behind her, an empty nave abandoned; ahead lay meat, and marrow, and a family of vow.

she would not wither into nothing. not here. not under his storm-red shadow.

fade here? feel free to tag me in a new one!