Obscurity

Driving home in the fog. 

Ghosts everywhere. 

Trees try to point you in the right direction. 

Leftover Christmas lights spooking through the mist. 

Every light bounces haphazardly from street lights and road strips.

I hope I'm closer to home.

- on the drive home. 

Driving through dangerous conditions seems to be my forte.

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Queen Consort of Gloom

JournalWord: Storm

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The Queen Consort of Gloom is a leviathan of billowing cobalt clouds and vapor. Her face is obscured by her nebulous crown; curling over her taunt, pale cheekbones and sharp jaw.


Her shoulders are rounded, bony, blue in pallor, and hunched into her chest. They strain under the weight of her overcast headdress; neck elongated and exposed through the fog skimming over the top of her arched spine.


The mist lazily swirls over her pointed ears, crackling in the darker concentrations; building steam and smoke in its own condensed reaction. Her tracks are lazy under her skirts of dusty frost and vapor. They're unseen and soaking into the soil. She pauses her solemn trek through the mountains she towers, murky indigo lips, shaped like the clouds she reigns, sighing a puff of air that blows the snow piled on their peaks.


Like the goliath she is and with the thick air of a goddess, she freezes the landscape in a mixture of awe and horror. Successfully snatching back the breath of her spectators, she glares, her eyes dark and a storm in themselves.

::

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