Winner of ❝Poetic Fragments❞ contest

by Bee_forever_

As the dark serpent engulfs the heavens, the moon withers, and the stars feel but like faerie dust, a warm breath is felt which puts to shame the icy North wind that darest make the tender bud shudder; and yet runs she not, for her soul is in shackles, one which could be broken by naught but willpower.But alas! Who shall save a willing Persephone?Thou pourest thy burning kisses on this slender vine. Must thee be so merciless? Flint-hearted and barbaric; and make the glittering crown, sitting atop the supple vine, that ever beheld His throne, kneel to glance at thine.A quite murmur and a gasp shatter the holy silence of the witching hour. Thou tracest thy impious fingers down the supple vine onto this fair valley and trace it back by thy infernal breath, as the innocent bud blushes, resembling the inferno gushing through her veins.The woodlands and the very stones of the antediluvian castle tremble at the acquiescent prey's predicament, as the fiend curls his iniquitous lips; for his nature shall put even Sade to shame.But the naught maiden!She forsakes her Saviour! All for a moment of heavenly bliss, that only thee can provide, thou Hadean wretch!And thus the moth is tempted by the fire, only to be engulfed by its passionate flames.But the first streaks of His Holy Light emerges from behind the distant hills, as the fae dust wanes and the serpent is forced to bid adieu.The rosy bud blossoms and the night appears to be a distant nightmarish fantasy; a precious memory built on mere phantasmagoria.And yet her wounded vine and the delicate sepals scattered across the cold, harsh stones speak of a different tale.And thus, the darling bud awaits the great serpent.