Charcoal is such a perfect color for this week - the week angling into darkness, when the veil between the worlds thins. I've been sinking into the podcast of a dear friend, the Burnham Society, and it suits the uneven texture of the night - particularly Talafiera's story - the Winter Queen telling the tale of how she became the Winter Queen. It's a time of fear and wonder both - and I have to admit I tend much more toward Dia de los Muertos than Slasher Flick in my tastes. Give me actual death far before screams and bloodpacks. It's always an odd offset, navigating a world where contrived horror has become normal, even expected, when one wishes to avoid it as much as possible. The fires are being tamped down, though, and the horrors the world holds are far more compelling and powerful than those of any fevered imagination. Imagining New York City, dark from 42nd street down, the terrible toll of the sea and the sand over homes, the hungry licking of fire above sea water - the combination of fire and water not tempering each other, as they normally do, but instead only expanding the damage done. In coming days it will be the time of coals, of mold, of the dull gray of hopelessness facing an uncertain future, only the faintest ember remaining in the dust.
last ember fades, though't clung valiantly to life,
glowing whitish-gold in deep'ning twilight strife
the logs are but half burnt, and still the ember fades;
a building broken down was built with just-born logs,
but still there is a rafter cracked, wrapped well within the fogs
that curl around its dying bones like new-born, healthy skin;
some seedlings pass away within a violent frost
claiming their slim lives to join all other's lost
instead of gaining bloom to continue on with life;
in spring a tree lies dead, bereft of all its bloom,
locked within a cycle that brought it naught but doom
as slowly half-dead leaves are blown by bitter winds;
within the earth there is a grave of a babe who knew no breath;
the mother, weeping, lies above, for she has nothing left;
last remnants of a well-loved man followed him to death;
the light is fading fast, leaving me with night,
around my shoulders he has curled, removing all my light
as last ember falls away, and is covered up with ash,
and on my back, like bite of snake, I feel my heart-ache's lash.
Stillbirth, by Deoridhe Grimsdottir
( More pictures here. )
Credits:
Skin: De La Soul, Aestali - cream Rose
Eyes: De La Soul, RooMee Eyes - Rainbow
Ears: Illusions, Seelie Ears
Eyeshadow: De La Soul, Inked
Lipstick 1: L.Fauna, Black
Lipstick 2: Mock, Vitrail Lip Glass - black
Mask: Spyralle, Fractal Mask "Rage"
Hair: Magika, The - Charcoal
Hairflower: G Field, Rose Hairpin - gray
Wings: Fancy Fairy, Azarelle
Hands: SLink, Mesh Hands
Dress: Wicked Dollies, Pretty Pleats - Charcoal
Shrug: Elymode, Facil Shrug - black
Lace: Silent Sparrow, Vertnoir lace shirt
Jewelry: Eclectica, Vintage Glass Series
Stockings: G Field, Button Socks - ash
Shoes: Bliesen + MaiTai, Morticia
Poses: Glitterati
Location: Netherfield - Eclectic Desires Hunt
Light Settings: Places Wiccan
Water Settings: Mirror Water
Photographed by Deoridhe Quandry
Post processing: Cropping, only
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