• Vol. 10
  • Chapter 11


Flying was always a fantasy
With or without wings
I wanted to soar high
I wanted to see how good my vision
Was from above
Would they recognize me from afar
Would I be attacked by creatures of the air
I was in their space
The darkest night I ever witnessed
But light soon came in the hue of red
It was the moon
It looked bloody and cold
My coverings were a fit of perfection
But not for the air
A chariot of fingers escorted me
Back to earth
Like a parasite mysteriously
Her amber limb exhibits the white harshness of desert sand
They too were cold
All  the blood she had in her hands
Was taken mercilessly
By the vacuum of fabric
Adorned in red
Covering me in crimson
The sky was lacking the twinkle of stars
The howls of the werewolf
Strengthens the moon
And she stood alone boldly
on the blanket of the sky