this scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin
disclaimer: ffix is not mine.
Her skin burns against a sky of violet.
Cracks of red clay ripple against her blush, crevices widening as the wind scatters sediments of autumnal rocks into the pits of the briny sea, swirling and whirling and clashing the dissolving cliffs, scorned with scarlet and faded wounds.
Salt surrounds her perception, tangible in the air she breathes and touches with distant links.
Irises dilate, speckled with hues of amethyst and emerald and sapphire; she's observing the sky bleed into a vast array of colours.
Finding her balance, she stands up, swaying in the old boat, still unused to the moving currents of the saline water. Her world never used to be filled with movement, only stillness and silence lathered in sheets of solitude.
This world is such a curious place.
Rocks destroy each other, constantly bashing the disintegrating surface before diffusing completely in water. Sand buries the scattered remains in meagre life forms that barely matter, dust in liquid's eyes.
Flaxen hair lifts, above her delicate shoulders, above her ears, plucked separately by the teasing wind. She has discarded her Terran ornaments, a tribute to her new life, slowly adjusting to change.
Strangers that hover behind the shadows of red; quiet creatures that whisper and peek through her thick black eyelashes, forgotten in remnants of black. She ignores them, the words failing to come to mind, thus there is a distance between them, one she is not able to cross.
There are far more interesting phenomena than talking to strangers, be it winged creatures of the fay, or red haired patchwork dolls that drift into the shore in a curious shade of red.
The sky continues unaffected, eternal in transience, and blue fission seeps into strands of tawny elegance.
Her sun burns against the crimson cracks and crevices in the rural place, envisioned in hues of smeared roses and auburn hedges set aflame in flickers of white and pale, pale ochre.
A breeze ruffles her hair, soft against her indifferent face, lifting it in the sky that threatens to fall away in hues of autumn and burnt sienna, falling as easily as leafs from a tree, lost in its daydream.
She whispers, voice soft against the dying colours of light, like strangers have done before her. "Hello, hello."
The boat rocks, the waves murmur to and fro, and the cave behind her echoes her words, quieter than death that fades into evanescence.
Her skin glows against the sunset.
… hello, hello.