I just had a bunch of tests on history, mythology and literature ... so I suppose that is why this happened. I'm not even sure it makes any sense other than being random angst again ( it's just something I naturally write, I fear ), but at least I wrote ... something? ;
something. yeah.

PTOLEMY
[ tenrose | donna ]

She'd never even told him.

Her galaxy was heliocentric, spinning in soft, small, slow circles, the light of their life or lack there of amidst all potential suitors, turning just their heads – what more was there to them – to look and then wink away again abashed, the last glimpse before night took always that single lick of fire from their far – off love they could not inch any closer to. He danced among them, though they were boring, forever only captivated by that one blazing woman they twirled 'round and 'round in a waltz where they'd not touch her, and he wondered which he was, mirrored in his golden – crowned queen he was obsessed with but could never reach again.
" Mars, " He says to her one day ( not the one who is his Sol ), his thoughts upon mythology and symbols where he has no reservations kissing she who's someone else's, the Lame, the Smith, the Useless, if she is the light – haired goddess who captivates him so.
" You a warrior, then? " The other says, head down and unconvinced like a martyr upon scaffold. " I thought you were a healer. "
He sees his world view crumble, and then calls her Copernicus, nettled, somewhat deigning, for the image of his love as Aphrodite is fixed like 72 Pompeii, and he will not orbit without her.
So he makes himself Asclepius and pope within the 13th century where her astronomy must bend for his religion of the heathen Queen, imported from the Ancient Greeks in place of where his God should be. And at night he lays and dreams in threefold, of where he passes judgment and they are reunited, where he is not her son and she hasn't been alone though he hasn't touched her, where she welcomes him with child and they are the trinity, immaculate, where his child does indeed resemble him.
" You don't think that's weird tho? " She asks him, now a cynic even past the Renaissance when he tries to talk her of immaculate conception. " Would make right more sense if they stained a mom that was her surrogate. "
And she drags Merlin to the modern age where he no longer predicts dragons but seethes like one himself, fuming of his unfound wife like the huffy blue – clad wizard Disney makes him out to be. He has lost his sun and stomps instead of tangos, chasing his own tail and hide in the convulsion of his whirring thoughts, and then calls her pagan with no sanctity - for he is Abram with no Hagar that had to sacrifice his child and then beyond for there were more, that it makes him Philemon who curls around his Baucis with no space between for middle – eastern whores of harems and her progressive technologic nature which fails to understand the joy of carrying love's children.

" They didn't have a stammer, " She answers from the grave he dug her heart into, the last glimpse she gives before the dark falls and she smothers in the earth of the geocentric system he created to have the universe revolve around his wishes.