softly wading through your poison
In a desire to feel, in a disillusionment to be human, Sonia finds herself drinking herself dry each and every hour of each and every day. She wakes herself up in the dusty sunlit morning, breathing heavily, heart (not) beating against her throat, Brendan's arms trying desperately to love her.
And she'll bite herself out of Brendan's embrace, kicking and screaming and batting her pretty little eyes. She'll call a pretty little servant boy, voice echoing shrilly in the empty halls of their deteriorating castle, to aid her in today's debauchery.
Sonia will drink herself till nightfall, dry martini (surprise, surprise) not dry enough, as today's fantasies take over in the frames of the pretty head resting on her shoulders. Today, the liquid is the blood of a virgin, sacrificed to the gods in a bitter, sparse, full moon. The olives floating, swimming, gracefully in the liquid blood are the castrated testicles of a fallen Brendan Reed.
Oh, how'll she'll lick her lips and bathe in the intoxicating scent of his blood when the time comes.
An open curtain, red stain morning, calls in the crystal light that she just despises, as she lays seductively on a couch, red and black leather poised in enticement. But she plays along as the pretty servant boy, blond blue-eyed and a façade of Zephiel's innocence, brings in a tray of toxic goodies.
She takes a glass of wine (blood, [menstrual] blood, blood) while she entices the pretty boy to sit on her lap. A lump on the bottom of his crotch, and he regrets it when Sonia bites one of his ears off.
Little Nino thinks that Sonia should not drink as much, but, then, when has Sonia ever cared about little Nino's thoughts?
The girl is in Sonia's decaying parlor, red satin evening, prying and peering and nagging at Sonia's health. There's the neck of a crystal glass tucked in between two of Sonia's painted red talons. The concoction kissed by the glass is sweet, fruity; not at all as bitter as how she usually enjoys it.
Nino is singing soliloquies to her mother, reciting poems about love and redemption. Sniveling and crying, happy because she thinks it's affecting her mother. Strumming Sonia's heart strings, creating notes that everyone will love.
Sonia finishes the concoction in one gulp as she suddenly realizes of Nino's presence standing near her couch, destroying her eardrums with a rap sheet of foul music.
Her throat, itself not a stranger to the requiem of her arias, sings obscenities to her daughter, and when Nino (slow child) finally gets the hint and leaves, does she scream for a refill.
When the new replacement enters with a tray full of toxic goodies, hazel hair, eyes filled with the brown water of innocence, does she smile at her reflection softly wading over red liquid.
She had a new name for the virgin in her fantasies.
A martyr, and won't Nino be happy?
disclaimer
and
concrit greatly appreciated