A/N: Written for the HPFF Arts & Crafts challenge Day 2
Prompts used: Mandatory: 1. Maybe, maybe not. 2. Blue 3. Wind. Optional: 1. was it always like this? 2. Strength. 3. Saying no. 4. Less. 5. "Rocky Spine" by Great Lake Swimmers.
Discordant Being
The tides turn and the moon rises
frequently and with such calculation,
but nothing is ever the same.
Not before;
nor during;
or after.
Still, with each pull of the cyclic rise and fall
his blood hungers for release.
His body wounded and frayed
As the strength is ripped from it in a
transfinite reformative violence.
And saying no is always futile.
Always wasted.
To beg the moon to not rise;
beg the oceans to stop;
beg the earth to stand still.
His back arching as it becomes
a rocky spine encased in less…
and less…
and less...
Until all traces of humanity are confiscated
to be replaced by feral animosity with no specific target but life itself
and everything that possesses it.
His body reels again, flexing with its new found autonomy
while his mind and magic are encased in a prison
of his own genetics and pain.
And with the Blue Moon high,
ever so high that it sways in the wind,
his body complete, an inversion
some might consider a perversion.
Was it always like this?
Was the pull always this discordant?
Remus, huddled in the dungeons of his being,
howls to the moon, that blue, Blue Moon
that has ripped his essence again, and wonders:
Maybe, maybe not.