literature in the eyes of sacrilege.
sua was a poet.
and mizi was a character she influenced,
embellishing her with these deep—rooted feelings of adoration;
she might as well have been written by the other to be a devoted follower.
sua was a temple.
beneath her feet,
a figure of rosettes and corruption kneels—whispering reverence for her belief.
praising the god in which she worships.
reciting hymns of her love, the versification of her passion,
to the figure of solace.
in the anakt, the replication of grass,
the touch of melancholy painting the sky of falsity—mizi never cared for such things,
only ever looking at sua's smile.
yearning for the honeyed gaze reflecting starlight
and ruby lips etched into a smile—the sound of her voice was mellifluous,
a touch of elysium gracing her ears.
sua was her god.
she was divine, the magnum opus of her eye.
in a world of godlessness,
the ebony tresses that splayed on the floor whenever they rested on plains of viridity,
the hues of violet that smiled with every look of tenderness directed to her,
and every word that slipped past rose—laden lips—this was her religion.