The little girl spreads her wings,
But the bud to bloom swithers in the storm to wither away...
An ethereal frame in the earth,
So pristine and pure, untouched above the tips of the fingers.
Life is a poetry, of incomplete and imperfect letters,
A fighter, a daughter, a lover, a wife and a mother.
World whirls by, and we stream along...
A strumphius soul, swimming through deep.
And suddenly, a serendipity sparks the life...
The sky is azure and bright,
The daylight charming new beginnings.
The kaleidoscopic sunset sky—
Embracing the emerald marmoris sea.
The orphic breeze swirling round the two heavenly frames...
Sprinkles the angels the mystical embers.
The orange and red autumn leaves showers Binding two souls...
Neva's igniting soul to the flaming of her Mysterious man.
He stands there, so close...
And just like that,
The roots sprouts deep throughout the soul.
The floweret kind of love—blooms unhurriedly.
Reverie in their thoughts,
Smyster embraces the days...
The feathers in the wings of a newborn love,
Over you fly the clouds, carrying— Overwhelming euphoria.
A home is found...
The divine vows threads the sacred bond of two souls for eternity...
All of his is hers... And all of her is his.
Made from each other,
Made for each other...
The blessing for their everlasting love,
A seed is sown in the heart of her core.
Their little sunshine,
The bud of love is home.
The seasons of apricity,
The whiles of seatherny.
The beautiful feath of the warm little family.
How was she to abandon them?
As she stood there in a white dress, her features flickering through the see-through veil, before the man in a splendour of black tuxedo...
For he was the storm brewing in the distance,
Sparing her not a breath of enlightenment—Thrashing along mayhem of torrents.
Crumbling down her castle to debris,
Burning away the portrait of a sacramental love.
"Sam Ishmael, do you take, Neva Evara Noe for your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
The priest dressed in a white robe with golden trim over a black vestment asked, glancing at Ishmael, the Bible unveiled in his hold.
"I do." Ishmael secured the words of promise, his deep eyes soaking in her ethereal features.
A white transparent veil, drawn over her face, a precious off-shoulder, white lacy dress, with the svelte flower embroidery opera sleeve up her arms, the flares falling down, embracing palm.
The heart flooded in enchantment of her presence; his Neva; his bride looked breath-taking...
"Neva Evara Noe, do you take, Sam Ishmael for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day on forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?" The priest asked, gazing at Neva.
Ishmael had his breath gripped in his throat as the priest frowned at Neva. A long moment had passed, and she uttered not a word, standing there so cold and grim.
He squeezed, straining a little her hands held in his own.
She lifted her lowered, her soulless eyes to gaze into his, roaming over his features, the features looking-through the man she loves.
Perhaps; if she lived in the illusion of him being her husband, she could go through another day.
But she could not feel his features like she did her husband's; nor did his soul breathed her home.
She once feared those dark eyes. The coarse voice shuddering her.
His rough touch corroding her.
A cold heart, a clouded demeanour...
He could never take his place.
The pastor cleared his throat. "Neva Evara Noe, do you take—"
"Rhett," whispered out, Neva with the rosy, wavering lips.
"I beg your pardon?" The priest squinted his eyes, a deep frown between his brows. And the next moment he almost had his heart leap out the chest, for a dire looking Ishmael had harshly grabbed the bride by the hair.
"What did you say?"
"I want to go to Rhett." Neva's eyes were cold and bare.
She did not flinch in pain even as his grip on her hair hardened.
The thorny hair pins in the crown braids reamed her skull as he thrusted her close to his face, her chin lifted and forced to rivet eyes with him. His hot, minty breath fanning her face.
"Look at you so adamant. Calling out some other man while you stand here as my bride and carry my children." He seethed through gritted teeth.
But those sharp and black gaze; they failed to agonize her anymore.
His clasp on her loosening, he left her rather gently.
Her pupils did not quiver even when the priest shuddered at the cold muzzle of the gun at his head.
"Say the words. And let us be done with this marriage." Ishmael said.
He turned to the priest and signaled him with a stern grimace to continue.
The priest gulped.
He repeated the vows; hands holding the Bible shivering, praying to avert a conceivable ritual of blood on the holy altar of the Church.
He glanced at Neva.
Neva could not bear the burden of the vows; and that is why she liberated her pain, this heaviness, this hollowness through the tears streaming down her reddened cheeks.
She belonged to Rhett.
And she will forever do.
The sacred of their marriage. As he said he meant the vows, she was destined to it too. Each phrase secured with so much love and honor.
Neva felt herself trembling; the heavy chains of verity tied to her ankle, pulling, sinking her deep in the heart, in the blackness of the ocean.
A loud firing noise echoed the massive cavernous Church.
Neva flinched. The brims of her eyes expanding slightly.
The firing accompanied a shrill yelp from out the priest.
The priest fell down on his knees, hand frantially clutching the bleeding thigh, his face shrinking in torment.
The white floored altar, pooling in blood.
Ishmael aimed the pistol at his head again. He clenched his jaw, index finger curling to pull the trigger.
"Stop it!"
Ishmael glanced at Neva.
He tilted his head. "Say the words."
"I don't want to," Neva said through gritted teeth, her glaring eyes brimming with tears.
Ishmael didn't so much as blink as he shot the priest in his other thigh, making him cry out in pain.
Neva shivered.
Her throat tightened and fists clenching her dress.
"Say. The. Words."
A choked sob broke out Neva's lips.
She could not.
She could not.
She could never.
Ishmael grabbed Neva's arm and jerked her to him.
Her heavy chest rising and falling collided with his rotting body.
He gave her a sharp look.
Then he leaned in her ear and murmered: "The lifeless bodies of your aunt and uncle would be a good wedding gift?"
"Won't it?"
There was a loud shrill pain in her head.
The flaming ocean engulfed her.
And as the strained whisper of words: "I do," reached his ears and he smiled, Neva was already burned to embers, a clear tear drop flowing down her tear stained cheeks.
It was over.
She was poisoned. Shivering and confused.
Frowning and she was decaying.
But she could feel nothing inside.
"There you go. Father Matthew, go on."
Ishmael indicated one of his men standing guard inside the church.
The man nodded and came up the altar to hold the groaning, fainting priest up on his feet.
The priest, drizzled in sweat and bathing in blood barely got through the acknowledgement that the couple have declared their consent to be married.
Then he shortly prayed blessings over them—and declared: "What God put together, let no one asunder."
---
Neva laid wide awake on the bed. Bruised and naked under the duvet.
The aversive sleep, refusing to draw in her solace, the darkened ceiling, hurting the eyes.
Ishmael left for hours now, and left her alone, rotting in the grave.
She slowly slid off the bed and walked dragging her naked, wounded body to the closet.
She opened it and grabbed a dress.
And as she clothed her bare form, the emerging, four month baby bump heeded her awareness.
When she was growing her little boy, the bump appeared smaller in the similar month.
She caressed her protruding womb, her eyes softened.
In a flinch, she retracted her hands; as if her skin was burned.
She abhored them. She abhored everything of him.
Out of nowhere, a fluttering sensation in the belly made Neva purse her lips.
Her gaze remained frozen; for the bleeding heart held no warmth for the fetuses in her womb.
She walked out the door, the mansion deep in the night, dark, eerie and silent.
Each serene saunter, had her heart lightened.
As she unveiled the door to the terrace, she closed her eyes, the sweet and cool September air brushing lovingly her face.
Wearing a gentle face, she stepped forward, one step and another, closer to euphoria.
The long onyx hair, dancing with the wind, her white vintage night dress illuminating in the dark surround.
She leaned on the railing and gazed up at the sky. The moonlight shining down, adorning her face, the shimmering stars, a novalunosis to the dimming soul.
The forest allured her to wander through longingly, searching for a mystery.
She breathed out tranquiled. The thread of fate and destiny was arcane, the world was wonderful.
But her blooming flower was withering away.
She was aware of how little of the world she had experienced.
But everything she has had with her soul lover; she embraced them all.
Their beautiful little family portrait, engraved in deep—and forever in the heart.
She lived them all; she loved them all; and she was fulfilled.
So she stood on the wide rims of the railing.
A slow smile feathering on the blossoming lips.
Neva was beautiful; a loving; a kind spirit.
She had never mourned them, for she lived in the latibule of her Eden.
She was selfish and weak, for she broke promises and splitted the thread of fateful eternity.
But she had bled enough; the mortal shell has had suffered throes enough.
Neva closed her eyes; the soul was prepared to go astray; to embrace her fall from grace.
Unveiling the mirror of the soul, she breathed away every pain.
Her bare edge of leg; reaching for the air.