The silence breaks into smithereens. Heavy rain has fallen from the sky and thousands of silver drops hit the thirsty land. They hurt my delicate body like poisonous daggers, reaching into my veins through the skin. But their embrace is magnificent and magical. Seductive.
I love storms. Primordial. When every bit of civilization gone and everything true coming out. Now I'm able to see it behind the flap of a raven's wing. To feel this bitter taste of my own curses, which became the mist, falling as a mourning veil. They drain me incredibly. Being bound by my every excruciating instinct to preserve such a heart as I have left, I was so reflective. So distant. Pagan. I'm Thetis, fascinated by amethyst treasures on the protruding arm of Scorpius. Among these flickering stars I'm encircled with an astounding music of the cello. And I let it posses me until I'll transfigured.