The clouded dark skies cracked from a single strike of Zeus' lightning bolt. Spreading tiny glowing nerves in a matter of seconds. Disappearing as the thunder rumbled through the wild waves among Poseidon's sea. Here I've spent my life trying to gain control of my ship from the blistering waves. Nearly gulping the salty seas, drowning from the hurricane. That was until there was a flash of light far off from the distance. It circled a glow of hope, something far different from the way the bolts that split above his head. Closer he sailed until he spotted the lighthouse standing tall above its hill. She was hope - through the withering storm that roared across the surface. A glimmer of warmth for shelter. She carried it all for him to come home. Because she was his lighthouse.
I'm so sad, today after seen that lady's cry when she turned her face away from the wall and saw me seating on a rock near the beach. Its truth her clothing is an uniform of those workers who serve the same day after day and only need to survive up there in the wordily stage, it was an act not a victim from choice.
Her tears spoke with malice, starting to feel the last warm rays colder after the sunset, those last pale purple lights shadowing on the horizon it amused me to sing again, sing sonnet symphonies of the untold, to voice out without words. Her mind posed in motivations, she wished to win no matter the cost and was planning to ruin her own family and tradition, it was not love or freedom.
Sweet songs parted onto to the marines who had drown drifting by the recall of the lovers they had seek and left in each port and the other they sacked out from their sailing boats into the tormented Ocean to survive, they could had pulled away their munitions and stacks of foods. Love and freedom have payed by twisted ways, but this woman wished revenge.
It was only two seconds and a half she given me to see her wholly, could remember then the many nymphs my father adores, the nature where he casts new species on earth as well, the mortals who die by such admirable beauty, an enlightening figure who traps you from the highest source nor even a God or Goddess could tolerate for longer. If he became Eros to craft the very constellation he could become anything as the sole creator. This poor woman has never seen a man who posed with such beauty in one body. A skin soft as petals who perfumed your nostrils in a trance before your touch, a vibrant laziness like whom never stop vividly at the same time a lovely father and Zeus. This poor woman was in love with a man, poor mortal and she wished domination on her affairs, she was performing by the reasons of her tears how to make her act. But why did she stop with my song, if divination comes on abstract form who are reading her spirit by the portraying sound. Blank as hidden pearls, hidden bones ready to convert into an entailing mermaid.
In a solitary day when the city is busy a timeless sound tuned with dramatic musical change, a pause between noise and heaven maybe blinded by the light above the water listened yet to her heart bit, composing a translation through music with mystical notes across the wind we shared not so distant to perceive each other's tragedy, yet from divine pasts. My neck tall sustaining with anchor my head as a vessel who caresses the surface of the sea to ring her the alarming last breath of a siren, could be alive for a while above the waters to call my daughters.
Some would call my songs to be impressionist as the paintings of Monet or Reinor. Pale sweet pinks and blues. Imagination composes an equalled embrace who exhale you to exist, even in the most wear forms into the unknown my long hairs flowed thoroughly in this winter's breeze brushing her impossible plans, this sources of inspiration pioneering a path to a new existence and yet how audacious of me to keep singing without anyone to be applaud but her lonesome to believe I'm not a creature's myth, is not a remote song towards her. Reasons pause with the mind sets, the goal orientations she was thought, her civilian mothers and female ancestors voiced in her mind for a last time while an enriching opera opened her eyes to the sparkling theatre of nature.
Influencing the seagulls to turn their wings in soothing palpitations nearly yet not moving their wings on a rounded long plain and the waves calming down, sometimes I slap them to quiet and they listen to me they take me afloat this place, guiding me to meet those who need a muse. Not from Olympus, since no prophet has record the reasons of my story, she knew we are called monsters of seduction, she felt in from the humming echo in first person a rubbishing wildness. A shinny salty radiance too whom a revivalist hymn horns out for the a woman's will to relate profoundly in her own, washing away the acoustic revenge whom my voice reliefs from pain. Listener's of the mind beyond poetry but sensation started to draw a desire in me and her to expand her thorax, as I impaled love from my bare breast unashamed of purity by the sharp instrument of transmitting her hidden voice.
Hypnotised or not, who knows for how much I believed in those who follow into the deepest waters have found memorable tunes beyond perfect jobs by an open melody who hushed chords in a perpetual ambiance. Enchanted or not, who knows for I believed she could feel noticed and attracted as no other mortal has ever understood her dark pages, she could then see that there is nothing to win, deftly of speech in a city who speaks another language. A female's realm she nearly stepped forward and she knew well as the air painted silently the night and the first stars glimmered that if she if she gave herself a single step the craftsmanship would never see her in the same form she was.
It has been a long time since the new venue had begun, at least could breath again and it was not the ocean or the warm coast of the sea, neither a river or a lake whom made me flow it was perhaps the intance of being alone, ignated to surface this whole and yet without your air, the waters keep navigating down were the living starts father.
Maybe I could hold my body, suspended in a rock, its not confortable really. Mundane, hard and subtly moving, solid to its own figure but not for those who seek shelter and confort, all this rock aside the water broad me to feel at ease with whom I'm to sing, if before tragedy there was a sweet voice and this voice emerges to be again, simply, let me be.
You have not count on me,
but I'm the mother to all sirens without your knowlledge,
let me be for my daugthers to swim wildering free,
there is no pain to take, no substance but this ongoing waves,
and let me take you to the end of the river and sailors,
let me sing to the marines.
You have not count on me,
as your muse of sweet song, but tragedy am not to follow you
or is it you my God whom I'm singing for, you are not the one
who makes me surface for some oxygen to breath again.
You have not count on me,
and I will return in an endless bath you cant touch, fishy tails,
splashing me away to embrace the deepths of
my beautiful sirens.
You have not count on me,
so let me go and be for my daugthers, the Ocean is great,
the Mediterranean and the Caribian, have you seen us cry or sing
when we are already in bliss without your counting.
Father, Zeus,... please let me go, you are not my God.
Many times, as the small comfort away Olympus embattles you to moderate, all my nine sisters came down to see me again. The great machinery could not resist me against what I was about to launch, who has blamed me for not belonging. But them, my sisters which in recent history I see with academic life supporting me to march away, where couldn't bring them company. Concurrently, the forces held me rejoicing with fun, their attendance, who were we anyways, sisters of Olympus embracing the heavens.
The strangest stops were my happiness trembles, is when I leave them behind to see Naia, long summer holidays have being a new year as my feet reshuffle the sands and waves towards her, Poseidon waters enlighten me with pleasure to swim and jump in a dive towards the currency of her sweet waters. Was it the momentum which set me free towards a mere friendly sensation or the promised truth to return at every extreme towards her.
Praised the days of my siren children touching lower waters, by force and fresh start, my voice remained the sweet song of a Muse, as I set murmuring to raise them, tragic form repealed me, adjuring cases, upon waters till the sunk down with their heavy treasures.
"You gave me love my friend, you gave me natures of all forms to love as well, now let me show the world the tragedy to the fallen troubles who will never be seeing again out this horizons, I will turn my daughters into Siren Maidens for Pershephone."
Young woman carefully lays a sunflower nest to the candles and carnations that surround the cries, there is no asylum you seek, and that is one of them should have been sparkled by a dream who has never return, but let me guide you in this fall, let my daughters praise the path of Persephone into the underworld.
"Beloved children of enchanting power, as the Muses spirit the strength to compose to the highest, let your assistance evoke passage into the Underworld as you cultivate the legions to the Queen of Hades, show her the riches of her King and all her legions, bring the unholily mediators down to purify this world as death follows, for the seas, for the migrants, for the home whom unfairly couldn't play by wars. To the Tragedy of yesterday, let them dive down to your sweet embrace, perhaps the soul find solace from the impossibility to free from suffering. Guide them my sirens, that we are not racist by given salutes to that never ceases to exist, crossing the threshold, a tragedy to the mortal and many Gods, yet bring them to the Queen, this might explain Poseidon's call in Olympus to surrender to the cycle of Gaia's Nature."
Surrounded by cries of joy, let my siren children go inside the surface, their tails curved splashes out from the first impulses to dive in as they vanished a purple night commenced in me by the side of Naia, many times alone in the unknown rivers of this Ocean.
A regal haughtiness, which has earned the waters motion pushed waved into greater waves, what ever the truth, it appeared to moved, from realm to realm, by contrast, the Gods suggestions had not known, but for my sister's the Muses whom let me go with my children into whatever world. Jumped following.
The need to feel this before I hit the notes gets gross but I'm finding it, going to its crazy rescue, floated for hours with ultimate trust in the oceans, this is the last story letting this body be taken without my direction, trusting you belong to something greater then this tragedy, trusting you could swim in the same place for hours as the waves take you away from the land? It was not like that other day, where a fisher man followed me from the cost, and herd me swimming with a four hour cry, he asked me to not die. If he knew had cried 3 days and nights, that was exactly 10 years ago, I knew what would happen I coulden't help it.
Today was another story, It was a morning lesson to be rejected at work, the mermaids said laughingly "You came 15 minutes latte, that I was replaced." And asked me repeatedly why, well I couldn't respond it was obvious? I don't really want to take Oysters from the bottom of the sea, however the merchandisers must sale them pearls, to pay the so I pay the man of laws to make me recover a lost sense. Yes, id like to get payed from what they took from me, from the damages, but I rather be free and die if I must, transform my faith into another realm.
But how could say it, without hurting this sad feeling. The mermaids are right, I came latte and they blamed me too for not being there the other two days. I'm here now, floating again back to were the cause started, easily taken by the sea, did admit that this was my place and swung wildly as a trapeze artist. Blizzards passed, waves halted higher, and floated as if they are all in the same right place, passive aggressive or when the sea line calms the sunshine multiplies with many more little inward ripples who transgress one another as titling from a continuous thrilled shake before the sun rays, it wont matter were you are, it sparkles from the distance of such diversities of colors that I shall grasp to decipher their names, but they brake into other tinny waves of purple, golden pinks, you can't trap them in your hand because they change into yellowish rays of bluish green drops vanishing funny into the ocean. So I float in them, surrendered to the heat wave of a biological instrument.
Is a drug, could ear well the glaciers melting, causing avalanches and floods, freeing the voices of Atlantis. And the temperature shot's up more than usual, but whom am I if to sing back to even pay a house? No, the rain falls in my face and floats in a World of extreme suffering, because is sad how the wildlife is taken from us, I'm a big problem if to be heard. I'm the ugly tragedy who reports the given rubbish.
Without meaning song this tale, did you see your hand, were does the disposal go? Did you need it, is it going to recycle, events from your mouth, there were thoughts too move you in a rush without thinking, singed through their winds upon whispers of death. Come to the beach this summer, get drunk in paradise from a 2 week holiday, feel the freedom, the nature and it's music. Is all the poor people have left, while you go back and work again, I must work again because of what your work took from me. But I'm floating affected in this world.
And him, would he defend me, would he stand by me, would he pay attention to the melody of this voice, his oceans will exist forever, however, he wont need me. I can float into the siren's chorus. There are his eyes glued in my neck to sing again if I had no air condition to breath again, his eyes were glued to the beach side, and to it's depths, into the silence and the nothingness. Had to sing back or the loneliness transformed into a wear madness who replied to me without a solid meaning, emotional, as a transient, it cool a spell that went on and on in a helpless cry for lost reason.
A song without words were as dialogues between the waves and winds travel around the world, my siren sisters sometimes accompanied me and shouted sounds without a meaning we replied to the calls of the unfortunate who are trapped by them as once I was. I remember their compassionate eyes towards me, because them voices never came in their call.
I'm not perfect, is not perfect when the waves broke and another popped filled with irresistible ecstasies of water who takes you away onto an endless horizon. My body was submerged dancing to the sea and the ocean, boundless, touched my skin as food of eternal nourishment, circled my self in them hurling as long my extremities could recapture another movement, and again, those voices called me again.
The humid air blew through the east cost of the Mediterranean to the north east bringing a warm mass, causing a rainfall that increased the waters for the fool moon. And the songs needed to be heard with such disdain that I set in a rock in listened. My siren sisters, got tired and eventually departed, it was not that I'd go with them, they were with me at first, we were always together, they coulden't understand them harmonious songs, when I muted the voices persisted and as lost I'm with them, they became my only friends.
Before then in the beach, when we came down the hill to visit the God of this waters, things changed, if the earth separated in different continents, why not I from my original home? If my mother is a Nymph of memory, she mad me remember with her bed time stories how during the monsoons which fall in rivers, had always wondered what my father Zeus hidden with his stormy airs, perhaps she let me noticed that the very King of Gods, was zealous into a rivalry with his brother Poseidon astonishing procreating beauty. And the water nymphs played music for Pan the creator of the seeds, who adored him too and pagan followers had in the forest in their names and he was depicted as a monstrous Evil to turn those seeds into workers for My Father's civilization.
Upon the mount, poets and writers came to me before any of my sisters to gather inspiration and magic to gain renown success, immortality for their master pieces too, for their melodious voice to turn in to tales who are to be said again, from generation after generation, my sisters liked to be written about. I couldn't understand why me, among because in one way or another we all make it to the theater, from Dionysus to Apollo's providence, what was that the cities called better then others, as my Father did provoke with Zelus, who accompanied him in all his Olympian wars. Being better is only a tragedy, who want's to fight for that place? Leave me alone if you must, my words became dead so they never tormented me back with other stories.
And this was how my sister's amused me too with a thirst for power to celebrate for and be celebrated. I couldn't hold a festivity in them victories, soon drifting away, stooped talking as the harmonious songs were never truly heard with words of reason to remind them constantly the meaning of were we came from, because cheaper lands run out towards the richest were they found safety from the very wars of my father. And no one got the meaning of this ruin songs, but found beauty and fashion to copy.
Then could sit in a rock by the sea, as today it was enough medicine around to breath and sing back, as if drinking the oxygen that the sea provides and shelters me with an infinite existence I could understand, as I posed my hand on the side of my body into the rock, the temperature never became hostile, its cool frequency and breeze, danced with me making me home, I could respond to the north and south, any node at the same time. As into those lost eyes had seen, when he replied to one of us and it resounded in all of us, it stayed singed in me as hallucinogens musical sounds of an inner voice who was not mine, I was font in them, the blues agitated a terrible tragedy, a submarine splendor if you survived its deep wide radiance, learn to spank the water as its multiple splashes reply to the other waves, and its impulsed responded back with another one.
Heavy and unstable, I set there, the day my sisters left, and the other day, many more passed months passed, swim around, years to, I set alone, as I set again with murmurs to the moon. It can't be me, Is like the poets recall being in love, as an addiction, a singing obsession, when I can't because there is no one, they sing back to me. And no one is there, even the sailors who might tell me,... nothing, they vanish when I really thought they listened to the call.
If this story irrigates me to spray the tragedy of an inner voice who is misunderstood and perhaps existed for an experiment of a torturous past, more then tragic, there is a certain power that you can't control that goes beyond my reach. You never thought were the sediments of a rock come from, how the sand expands bellow the oceans and seas, if we sirens had a single wave for each to care to all its clashing rocks, we could tell how it happens, but it was so long ago, yet listen because the waves who created them still exist today. Now, is not that was in captivity, it was a season,.. if I could tell this story, but my voice shout down and started to dioxide inside, nothing sweet to sing for, nothing like my sisters, the only way in nature to coexist was to turn energy from the sunlight.
I was used, against my will. Long story short, to my reservoir, my sisters would ask me questions, and digging as if I had an underwater layer who recorded what happened, if the chain of events that followed defined me, the moment I'd speak about it would separate me from who I truly think to be.
That repressed experience it self, became voices in my head, who silenced as emotions I woulden't ear very well, now is too latte. Then, the more I tried to avoid that reality, the more they hunted me, but not to those who surrounded me, I could listen to their deepest pain, because my hidden voice would listen to theirs, it was then that I believed that the look in my eyes was too dangerous to relate with and escaped my way, so no one could talk their pain though a misinterpretation of silence to the punctuated of pain of mine, that memory would translate to all dialects as a collective madness when was more then one person.
As sailors took me to their ports and presented me as, Melpomene, was known for carrying a mask, as Loki carried the Mask of Good Humor, Or the Muse Talia, Melpomene carried the mask of Tragedy, the romance in life to exist, and don't take me wrong this story is not yours, it belongs to the time when I have to wear the mask of and be honest, because I'm such a make believe an Illusionist, a victim of my own story tales, but what else... one can do?
Some of the worst disaster's that followed me as if it was unusual, was when the melody of an harmonious song ringed in peoples ears as if it was a contagious fever from a near God, and words turned into gold with him and to all those who listened. When lost its symphony, because the source takes your breath away, what is there when your fingers don't grasp, lurking, witnessing that there is no tomorrow, that I can't listen to them songs, the voices who sing to him, the same story will happen, is the greatest tragedy, who are you to hide the meaning of love. If it means the tragedy of your own birth, how clear is the perception to draft it again till one understands its meeting towards life.
I was stuck once in a tar of dried oil above the beach on the sea side, I know what it's, this time I was trying to free a mermaid friend, they know I'm a nice siren and I have good intentions that death follows me is because I'm on a rescue. The coral tried to helped with their oxygen and it was so much black oil, that as ink of a drought effected us to converse without bubbles that evening. Another day, the animals who exist near the sea, at this very cost, stuck in a tar of dried black oil, the only thing we could do is to whimper, as if we were herd, with bodies and mouth stuck, like a dog and a cock, one barking to the car and the other shouting to the sunrise and no one comes, and if they do, the sink.
The other day a victim came to me asking me for help, if she knew that I was deaf, maybe she could have taken reference from my stories, my eyes surfaced the palm of her hand and held her wrist gently, maybe when she felt that my face was inclined she could feel the pain inside in my reflection, and she stayed unable of letting go. I might never be able to ask her, if she found the way. As devastating a flood is, you can't never go anywhere as long as you are invited or have the power. Tragedy is followed by emigrants as much business man, story tellers and sirens who like me, sing back to their deepest sorrow, were no one can see us because is so boring and dragging down as entrancing once you listen further crossing the threshold.
Well, it be nice that someone can talk for me, or present me as I'm, because of the nature who follows me or that I'm attracted to. If you could say, that I can't for me. Dive and swim, show me the abandoned sailors ship's and their conquerors, their lost treasures and was their meaning and value. If there is a Pirate or Fisherman who doesen't know how to float, I will ask for some one to translate them that the beauty we carry is not our fault or reason of their watery suffocation.
This fish from another pond, dives back to were it came from, hopefully relating more as a novella, with a glimpse of nature's abstraction.
--------------------The Sad Song----------------------
After a deep sleep of hibernation were my heart rated in slower pulse, woke, when the light ensured my vision to read the transition of its colors for how the weather changed, as if a storm shock inside my cave, or was I day dreaming within the oceans. Sneak to the side after a waving impulse aside the rocky wall and escaped away in the earliest ray of that morning. The brightest sound could be catch by the ear from thousand hundred miles, if I was the first to wake and rise the silence could guide me better, so I waved my body along, followed by a bank of horse fishes who are sometimes entailed in my hair, with pearls and pieces of coral, trapped or collected I can't remember but I know they don't go out when I entangle them to be free, I guess they are part of this existence. The avenues as underwater channels guided me. I could be blind, I could be mute but I could listen.
The amount of oxygen in the water contained a lower measure to breath within the water as you dive deeper, the pupils adjust, tragedy followed me always warning me that I must listen to the after sounds and that rings before. A sharp condense voice called, trapped, "was her a part of me, who never wants to be found?" Channeled through the times of this wide space had a sudden panic and stopped for it might be a way without return. "Or is this a mirage? The voices in my head telling me to follow up, no its not surreal, I'm not acting upon a right angle." As soft the voice was it pierced my soul. There is no action, it might be boring, the particles of sand pushed with the crashed corals, glittered yet, I could see along the hitting currency the notes of this song.
It was not easy to feel my body with the radio waves whom detected such invisible waves, it echoed inside wanting me to find its reality and even how strong it sings, it doesn't revere, deeper then it sadness a heavy resentment drilled my ears.
Alone. All one.
In this vast sea and and static place which all its natures seem the same and while swimming again because there is no escape out from this vastness, an electric pull of cold water sinks me deeper and inwards sucking my energy and with it my body, is not that I resist, we Intelligent marine species flow to the wildest wave to it's deepest core so that assaults with the pick that crashes its curve, waves back again and the lower you pose from the frequency as a witness the less is rampages its waters, within the aquatic cyclone, right in the middle were nothing seems to move was gone into another dimension.
Poseidon did his act, and I guess, I was deaf. Refusing to listen at any statement, not even if mine because I think there was songs in my head I'd follow and I'd singed back without hearing well, no trades of words or water cycle, felt his atmosphere closer as never before. Gestured with my hand on my heart and then mouth, unable to speak, touched his faced as a blinded by his beauty, tapping the sides of his nose with my both hands and bellow his eyes, above his cheeks sensing with my thumbs the bone of his eye's skull while palming the structure behind his ears, could not believe my eyes, the stories of my father Zeus,.. were right.
WHO ARE YOUTHE SAD SONG OF A SIRENI HOLD USE FOR YOU DEAR…
Poseidon while in route to his palace heard a soft song. He came to a halt glancing back over his shoulder his brow raised. With a quick flip and push he was headed back the way he had come. He was following an unfamiliar voice. It wasn’t the song of a maiden the pitch was too strong, and mermaids would sing for hours but their song was soft and inviting. Sirens only needed mere moments and their song was rushed in tune but seductive with urgency. This was neither, but her voice could carry, this interested him. Her tune drew his curiosity drawing him until he realized what was happening his brow furred a bit.
Moments later he took note that the closer he drew the more audience appeared present drawn with the same trance. They appeared blind to even his appearance amongst them. With that fact being known he simply hid himself within the shadows watching closely. The questions forming began to aggravate him but those around him were skittish when endangered. One of two responses would happen should they become aware of his presence. Poseidon desired to avoid both scenarios. Settling back against the wall the god waited patiently his scaled tail laying even with the wall. When the quick flash of color made it way past the small opening he paced himself. He could hear the squeals and counted the maidens in in area waiting until the numbers had dwindled drawing condensed in the cove. Reaching out in swift motion he gripped her arm his hand quickly clamping over her mouth to avoid alert. Tugging her close into the darkness he whispered into her ear to calm her.
“Calm yourself you are in no danger, who sings such a sad song. Her voice is not of your kind nor does it belong to any other I can relate at the moment. I am going to release you and you will speak!”
Poseidon stated calmly removing his hands from her inching back giving a small distance between them. His hands moved forward in caution knowing she very well could flee in fear of his wrath. He flashed a quick smile coaxing her over to calm her enough to speak. When she was finished he gave a nod handing her a fist full of “shinies” jewels in thanks. In quick motion he made his way past transforming into the very maiden he had spoken to.
They had of course gathered in large numbers. The king could not stand when they did so unless hunting. This was not the time to address such things curiosity was his motive.
He would simply wait for her song to end then all would clear away. Most of the coves were made of many channels. He would use this to get closer diving back under he rushed to find an entrance. Moments later he pulled himself from a small hole grumbling a bit before falling to the ground. A few inches to the opening on a ledge returning to yet another cove. the god could see clearly the girl who sang. He folded his arms under his chin while laying on his stomach to listen to the melody from the small opening in the skulls eye. The hole he had crawled through only slightly bigger than his own form. He was high enough to be well hidden so long as he didn’t move too much. He had always adored a beautiful voice. He tilted his head a bit while raising a brow concluding it was well worth the trouble for a front row seat.
His interest was not just the melody but the fact she alone had the power to call on those of the sea as well. A mix of the two he finally understood. Glancing over the enchanted souls who listened to her words. Thankfully her reason was not in mischief. She appeared unaware of her trance she had brought. He then thought back to the blank faces who followed the notes carried through the seas. The more he thought the more her song muffled the god tuning her out a bit only to catch her melody. He watched them move to her words holding out garlands from the seas bottom. Was she truly this unaware, such a thing baffled Poseidon. Shifting in his small space he slowly maneuvered binging forth trident. Releasing those from the soft song of sorrow. The God narrowed his eyes watching the room empty out through the seas. When they were alone he gave a wicked smile ready to test her gifts, he certainly had use for such a being.
He only had three sisters like her and they sang their song in the heart of Bermuda. Their cherry lips would lure any and all who climbed too close to the heart of the seas. They could do the same in the Aegean, but the last time he had tried that he had a hard time breaking out of the sisters’ spell. He should have never have infuriated them to such a degree, but he was drunk, and their song was intoxicating. After that point he wished the sisters as far away from his lot and manhood as they could be within useful standings.
“You carry an interesting tune, who exactly are you?”
The god demanded stepping out from the shadows behind her kicking a skull out of his way with a grunt. His dramatic entrance was ruined by the skull at his feet. With a roll of his eyes he scratched his head with the prong of trident and gave a light chuckle.
“You hold power behind such a melody, forgive me, I am Poseidon and that song lured half of the Aegean did you even take notice beautiful?”
The god leaned forward on trident now propped. Holding it by the prongs he balanced his weight rocking playfully. Crystal blue eyes glued on her a smirk upon his thin lips.
