One so Lovely
It isn't hard for me to find beauty in the human world. The crashing ferocity of an ocean storm marvels me just as much as the lazy trail of a honeybee on a spring afternoon. I find there to be little that compares to the first glimpse of a new child in the arms of a loving mother; a moment filled with so much love and hope. Centuries I have spent observing this place only to have myself taken aback by its delicate artistry.
But she ceased to being human a long time ago. The vessel she wears is a lovely one, no doubt. Dark curls cascade around her small round face. Her soft pale skin hides her power; the only things giving her away are her sharp deep eyes. I did not marvel at her vessel's beauty for that was stolen from another. No, I was awed by the blackness of her broken soul. She was an open wound that fought to heal and to protect itself only to be torn open at the seam. She put on a good face, laughed off vitriol and stomped down on those who she could. A restless flame flared in her at all times. One of passion and loyalty and devotion that even an angel could be impressed by.
And in some moments, when she thought I couldn't see, her loyalty turned to kindness softening her thorniness. How I wish I could have held her then, but I was broken and she would have brought that briar walls back up just as quickly. I got to hold her once, before the end. It was before I realized her majesty and not a day goes by that I do not regret the brevity of the moment when we came together as one. My holy clean washing into her black malice to form a delicate and delicious balance of power.
The last time I touched her, I was wrapping her wounds. Its odd how that sums us up so neatly. Us. A constant tug and push of violence and healing only to end with my own shortcomings leading to her end. Everything about her death was tragic, but, when you think about it, so was her life. The worst part for me wasn't the crippling grief or abject rage towards the world and myself. The worst was that her beauty, in all its dark and tortured elegance, had been ripped from the world. In a place where exquisiteness surrounds, the loss of that one broken down little soul left a tear that I don't believe any amount of time will heal. If I had a heart to break it would be broken; if I could scar, my skin would be raked with raw marks of her name.