Status: Complete
Aurora
middle
The sun rises cautiously, the light gently illuminating the darkness; it chases the stars away. Slowly, the birds peer out from their places in the trees that surround the castle, hiding her away from the world. Even when the sun reaches its highest point and the sky burns an azure shade of blue she does not awaken. Instead, the squirms and thrashes in her no-longer-peaceful slumber. She shakes and twists into contorted positions as she finds herself in the everlasting nightmare that is her curse. No longer is she dreaming of that night; instead, she finds herself dreaming for the first time in a century.
Aurora watches herself in her dream, as if she is an outsider. She sees herself in a forest, in a clearing, in a spot where the sun beams down on her milky skin. She watches herself move around precariously; the girl reaches out, feeling around her as if blind, fumbling around for something to feel to make sure she is alive. But Aurora frowns as she sees herself become enshrouded in a dark mist. It snakes around her like an old enemy determined to get revenge for a crime long since committed. She watches herself scream and cry and twist in agony as she falls to the floor, her once lugubrious expression contorted into the face of one possessed, not of a princess. The ebony snake pirouettes into the air above her before it strikes down with the mercy of a tyrant and the speed of the now setting sun. As darkness falls the mist immerses itself into her body, soaking into her frail frame through her skin; almost immediately she begins to writhe on the floor and mumble incoherent little phrases that get louder and louder and louder and more rushed and then…
Tendrils of dark mist shoot out of her as she is dragged off of the floor. Hanging, she lays up in the air, just high enough that her hands cannot reach the wilted grass beneath her. The cream lace dress which she was wearing hangs low, revealing the body beneath that has wasted away. Twelve sets of ribs poke out of the material with ease; they move up and down dramatically as her breathing picks up, her voice hoarse as she continues to speak hushed phrases lowly.
It is what happens next that scares Aurora the most, that shakes her soul.
The ebony claws of the mist begin to swirl back around her and engulf her in a cloud once more. And then, as the sun drops once and for all below the cowering horizon, it disappears, leaving her unharmed; and thin, white ribbon of air replaces it instead and at once she is at ease. No longer does she feel at risk and she welcomes the beautiful porcelain mist. It wraps around her frame softly, calming her, whispering pretty little things of a future that she, unbeknown to her, will not see.
As the calming hands of unconsciousness begin to cushion her to a safer place, Aurora convulses in her dreaming state as she watches the milky ribbon run up and down her body. But this time, something is different, It is something subliminal yet oh so tangible in the air. Vermillion stains the dress as the ribbon runs up and down her frame. It is soon clear to the both of them that, as the skin splits and tears, this is she end. Without any prior warning, the tendrils of white snap out of their trance-like state and violently whip around her.
A butcher’s incision appears on her neck; a Chelsea grin appears on her face; a long, deep laceration severs her dress, and the delicate skin on her front, in two. Her eyes roll in the back of her skull. The whites turn blood red, as do her tears as they pour out of her sockets.
Everything goes calm; everything goes quiet. She slowly sinks back down to the ground, the mist gone, the moon high and the stars out. A black feather appears to have been drawn onto her shoulder, yet how this is possible is unknown to them both. Aurora watches herself sit, head low, blood coursing off of her, staining the parched ground, the once-cream dress and most starling shade of red. She laughs, harder and harder, until her whole body shakes and then up she looks, straight forward, right into Aurora’s eyes with her crimson, pupil-less own. Laughing, shrieking now, the slash on her neck widens and more of the vermillion substance streams out. Entranced, Aurora moves closer, unable to look away. She is right in front of her other self now, watching her writhe and laugh and split even further open. Falling apart, her other self stops laughing, but begins to scream in agony now, her face splitting at the jagged, open seams. She claws at her face, tearing herself apart, the perfect image of destruction and beauty hand in hand as lovers, not enemies.
Aurora holds her other self, rocking her slightly, calming her down. She watched herself fall apart; she watched as she tore herself open; she watched as she tore out her still-beating heart. She smiled as she held it close, a present from herself, the pulsating muscle a symbol of life. She didn’t cry when she watched herself die.
She always thought of death as a beautiful thing.
Aurora watches herself in her dream, as if she is an outsider. She sees herself in a forest, in a clearing, in a spot where the sun beams down on her milky skin. She watches herself move around precariously; the girl reaches out, feeling around her as if blind, fumbling around for something to feel to make sure she is alive. But Aurora frowns as she sees herself become enshrouded in a dark mist. It snakes around her like an old enemy determined to get revenge for a crime long since committed. She watches herself scream and cry and twist in agony as she falls to the floor, her once lugubrious expression contorted into the face of one possessed, not of a princess. The ebony snake pirouettes into the air above her before it strikes down with the mercy of a tyrant and the speed of the now setting sun. As darkness falls the mist immerses itself into her body, soaking into her frail frame through her skin; almost immediately she begins to writhe on the floor and mumble incoherent little phrases that get louder and louder and louder and more rushed and then…
Tendrils of dark mist shoot out of her as she is dragged off of the floor. Hanging, she lays up in the air, just high enough that her hands cannot reach the wilted grass beneath her. The cream lace dress which she was wearing hangs low, revealing the body beneath that has wasted away. Twelve sets of ribs poke out of the material with ease; they move up and down dramatically as her breathing picks up, her voice hoarse as she continues to speak hushed phrases lowly.
It is what happens next that scares Aurora the most, that shakes her soul.
The ebony claws of the mist begin to swirl back around her and engulf her in a cloud once more. And then, as the sun drops once and for all below the cowering horizon, it disappears, leaving her unharmed; and thin, white ribbon of air replaces it instead and at once she is at ease. No longer does she feel at risk and she welcomes the beautiful porcelain mist. It wraps around her frame softly, calming her, whispering pretty little things of a future that she, unbeknown to her, will not see.
As the calming hands of unconsciousness begin to cushion her to a safer place, Aurora convulses in her dreaming state as she watches the milky ribbon run up and down her body. But this time, something is different, It is something subliminal yet oh so tangible in the air. Vermillion stains the dress as the ribbon runs up and down her frame. It is soon clear to the both of them that, as the skin splits and tears, this is she end. Without any prior warning, the tendrils of white snap out of their trance-like state and violently whip around her.
A butcher’s incision appears on her neck; a Chelsea grin appears on her face; a long, deep laceration severs her dress, and the delicate skin on her front, in two. Her eyes roll in the back of her skull. The whites turn blood red, as do her tears as they pour out of her sockets.
Everything goes calm; everything goes quiet. She slowly sinks back down to the ground, the mist gone, the moon high and the stars out. A black feather appears to have been drawn onto her shoulder, yet how this is possible is unknown to them both. Aurora watches herself sit, head low, blood coursing off of her, staining the parched ground, the once-cream dress and most starling shade of red. She laughs, harder and harder, until her whole body shakes and then up she looks, straight forward, right into Aurora’s eyes with her crimson, pupil-less own. Laughing, shrieking now, the slash on her neck widens and more of the vermillion substance streams out. Entranced, Aurora moves closer, unable to look away. She is right in front of her other self now, watching her writhe and laugh and split even further open. Falling apart, her other self stops laughing, but begins to scream in agony now, her face splitting at the jagged, open seams. She claws at her face, tearing herself apart, the perfect image of destruction and beauty hand in hand as lovers, not enemies.
Aurora holds her other self, rocking her slightly, calming her down. She watched herself fall apart; she watched as she tore herself open; she watched as she tore out her still-beating heart. She smiled as she held it close, a present from herself, the pulsating muscle a symbol of life. She didn’t cry when she watched herself die.
She always thought of death as a beautiful thing.