Some of her best work came in the eye of the storm.
And so she waited.
She rebelled against all that was safe and distant.
She pulled the violent chaos closer to her heart, just to be able to feel it.
Dark wine dripped from her lips-the color of blood, and a fury came through the tips of her fingers.
It was like lightening, not the kind that is sporadic. But the kind that builds.
It built itself from a long time of pressure, the kind that is no longer suppressed. The kind that explodes in a violent rage. It vibrates through a body like electricity of the strongest magnitude.
You see it coming for days. Weeks. Months, even.
Safety and distance only kept her hidden from the true feelings that would emerge, and she wanted them. All of them. She could wrap them up and lock them in a box, they would help to remind her of the humanity that would eventually prevail.
She could level the field with the flick of her tongue. She could level the field with her immense silence. She would choose both, in time.
But silence was no favor now.
The time was here. It was right in front of her face.
The wind blew her hair like demon snakes around the crooked and heavy halo that had been placed upon her head.
She winced as the hail beat her face, leaving scars for all to see.
The rain was cold, and the air was hot.
The best was yet to come.
For the end,
the end was nothing short of an impressive and glorious blast of colors across a dark sky.
As her green eyes gazed upon the future, she once again, took a breath and straightened her halo.
Drink wine. Write. Love. Art.
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