A/N: NOT MY IDEA! The idea belongs to Miki, assigned to me by Jenn (Circus on here). All credit, flowers, fruit baskets, keggers…. Change the address on the envelop.
Some how I find ; - stone, mortar, locked inside – an animal emerging from a man, but not a person, not a beast. There are voices that echo, whispers that tear themselves apart and seal the concrete. I found them once. Said they rang a lovely tune. Infatuation with feathers and wax brought me to a perfectly awful place. Closer to the sky than I'd ever been. And not.
I find that Crete dissolves in shades that melt too easily, but burn beyond comprehension, down my hands, across my fate lines. Too fast, the prophet may utter. Too fast are your decisions made. But then in all rashness lies a certain knack for discovery. Injuries foretell the periods of my life. Entrapment begets his own. And then when she reaches my heart line, stretching across her crystal ball, I can feel her eyes grow heavy with the placement of shame. Something left to fester. A friendship trapped within stone. I feel a strange kinship with a entity not of regular status…
My lines, my hands, grow cold.
The Minotaur is a strange creature, more trapped in between than I am. I let the sores fester. He clops through out these corridors in a familiar, dazed expression, eyes cast between strange carvings of nothing, bagatelle… Is it experience? Pray that he tells me so. His teeth are lined with yellow, eyes falling closed, and I know that the beast inside of him is quelled of its hunger of fresh, the marrow of bones scraped clean. The sores become calluses.
I run through the halls, knocking on stone, the sounds of familiar hooves clattering through my ears, for once I am sure. Not my head. The labyrinth sings it with giant, tombstone lungs, and I know…
An old friend, somewhere between. My fate line is a chicken scratch but my heart line is calligraphy.