If victory had a literal taste, it would taste like cake, A sweet consumption in which many adore and yet most despise every inch.
If victory had a literal taste, it would taste like cake, It could be a simple paste, nothing more, nothing less However most wish it to be above all, outstanding beside all other pastries.
If victory had a literal taste, it would taste like cake, Ones goal was never the outcome, but rather it living up to its taste Although others saw these as a need for perfection, demanding all knew of their capabilities.
The wind blew her hair as she stood on the edge again.
"Why again," she questioned, ginger hair flowing in the blissful winds. "Why me?" she questioned once again, brushing her finger tips together. Distant waves smashed alongside one another, tearing at their masses of water, leaving an uproar of water shooting into the skies. Iris stared, turquoise eyes locked onto the very tides beneath her. Liquids of sapphire slammed against rocks below, as if they were attempting to over throw its glory.
The girl took a step forward, gaining views of what lies further down, "I should've done something.."-she averted her glance-"if I had, maybe he wouldn't have done that." Trembling fingers caressed the girls face in slow motions as tears streamed from her shimmering eyes, ones bearing the beauty of an underground lagoon. In horrific seconds, the images flashed past her sights.
A taken soul A man with goals A forgotten home A potential father
Gleaming chandeliers stormed above the running woman as she dragged her long-azure blue dress after her. Charging through the ball room, eventually reaching the very steps to the outside. Behind her ran a man, calling out her name again and again.
“Cinderella!” He yelled. “Cinerella! Please wait!” Desparation bloomed within his tone, doing all he could to reach Cinderella.
In all efforts, Cinerella took not another look back before rushing down the steps. In heels, such a task should’ve been difficult but she had her sights set straight. Straight out of the ball room, straight out of anyones views. In hopes nobody would see who she truly was.
With swift moves, Cinerella fled the building, leaving not a trace of herself behind. Seconds after she fled, stood a tall figure at the top of the steps. Brown eyes watched as he stood still, pondering where she’s going. Why she left. If he’ll see her ever again.
“Cinderella…Please wait for me..” he said weakly, faintly lifting his hand towards the distant woods. In which were engulfed in darkness and twisted tales, ones he wouldn’t dare traverse within. His glance took to the grounds nearby, searching for a clue, anything. Anything to find the woman again. Anything…
Days past, no sign of the girl. It confused the Prince heavily. How could one person disappear? One as beautiful as she. He couldn’t explain the perplexed state he found himself in. It just didn’t make sense.
It was...Peculiar. Every passing moment felt distant. Every beloved memory felt forgotton. Every feeling felt unfamiliar. Everyone seemed new... And all saw disgust towards him.
A simple glance at his own hands set disturbance upon him. It was as if he were looking at anothers' palms. Once full of visible life and prosperity, now engulfed in independent desires. It perplexed the man. The limb he saw was his, obviously attached to his body and yet why did it feel so far. Why did it not feel like his?
Every day felt draining. Each night and day seemed emptier, as if his life held no further need. His body, admittedly, did not feel like his own anymore.
"I don't know..." he said, mumbling under his breath. Clutching his arms -if it could be called his- tightly against his head. The grasp tightening. The hand began to dig deeper into his skull.
A week later. The house yelled in silence, allowing small organisms to crawl along its mighty form. Traversing further into the structure, sat a man. Frozen with a widended gaze, staring off as if caught in a trance. Trembling hands met the skin, twitching with deep anticipation. It traced the smooth surfaces in gentle waves. Bringing the man an euphoric smile, a smile he had never thought to feel again. In short moments of glee, fingers dug into the skin. Trails of crimson fell in quick flows, pouring over the man's figure. Minimal grunts escaped his gasps while fingers stabbed further. Puddles of blood slowly formed beneath the human's weight. Beautiful scarlet shades reflecting the lack of light in the room.
