∗ ∗ ∗
Days, and months, years and decades crawled along spent with Yaya; in the meadow lost to time; in the magical home filled with ancient tomes long since lost to the world, unknowable enumerations of rooms, treasures and trinkets from every era and realm, plenty of educational, anatomically liberal, picture books…yet all Aoi wanted was a greenhouse. A greenhouse of his own creation, more than just Yaya's vineyard, and field of potatoes.
Prepubescent; the divine child of everlasting Spring was no heavier than fifty pounds soaking wet, one hundred and twenty-one centimeters tall, both blessed and cursed with the deepest of curiosity and a ravenous, undying hunger for learning, and love.
Aoi was laughing, draped in the purest of whites, gilded flora adorned his feet as sandals, vining themselves around his calves and coruscating in the sunlight. A living wreath in constant, ever-changing, bloom adorned his crown of pearlescent locks.
His Mother, draped in the same pure white as he, though she was extravagant, exuded light. Her platinum hair fell natural and waved, parted in the center where a golden jewel lay atop her radiant deep chestnut forehead. The chiton wrapped her figure like bashful arms hiding her breasts, her hips and the sacred mystery between them.
The trailing sheer moved a specter as she swayed in dance. Yaya's incandescent adornments boasted; a full body harness in thin gold metal, obscured by her dress. The banding on her forearms grew of flowers and were transmuted into a living gold. A crown of laurels atop her head, alive, breathing, living, photosynthesizing, aureate.
The summer had been hot and filled with the loud buzz of cicadas, but it was showing signs of coming to an end. The dryads came as the sun set, dancing from the surrounding forest, ghostly figures among the filtered canopy light; suggestions of wild, gorgeous women. As they stepped out of their groves and onto the meadow; flowers and ferns grew beneath each footstep. Their ethereal bodies gaining more form and shape, it seemed, the more flora they summoned beneath their feet.
Miraculous.
Gorgeous, long wild tresses, weaved with the blessing of the wood. Eyes the green of a fresh bud, the scent of roses and of daisies and wildflowers drifted through the air while humming birds and bees, butterflies and the like gathered to feast upon the magically conjured garden.
The sky bled, as Yaya screamed.
"AHHHHH YOU FUCKING WHOOOOORES!!!!!!!!"
The spirits of the wood danced and laughed, each summoning a fabulous dress of woven vines, flowers, and ferns more beautiful than the last. A delicate bird roosted in the hair of one of the nymphs, while glass wing butterflies adorned another's dress. It was woven of blood red poppies, and the butterflies read as crystal embellishments with the addition of one small striking blue poppy resting in her hair, she was radiant.
"Excuse me bitches, tonight is all about my baby's new Hothouse!"
Not to be outdone. Ever.
B tilted her head from the dryads, lifted one arm and rested the back of her hand at her forehead. Aoi, and the mythical women of the wood, brushed her dramatic preamble aside and sat in awe of the spectacle; drooling at the mouth to bear witness..
Pure. Warm. Unadulterated sunlight, the golden chains that lay upon her skin underneath the suggestion of a dress illuminated sunlight as they writhed and snaked their way to form around her extremities, her neck, snaking through her hair, sculpting her platinum waves into a fabulous chignon with a faux fringe and angled ringlets around her face, the dusty lavender of her roots now highlighted from the styles' partings.
Her dress pulled strings from itself. Fabric was resewn to tie itself as sheer ribbons and hanging silken strings from her elbows, her head, and ankles. The dress, once semi sheer, now essentially a loose gauze, danced in the wind and sparkled from the gleaming sunlight emanating from her chains. She slowly spun herself around revealing most of her backside as the gown wrapped at her waist with sheer fabric barely covering her–
SHRIIIIIEKKKK!!
They danced and sang, and with them new Spring raced to grow under their feet; the magical ferns and vines creeping and growing eternal. The coolness of night fell around them yet the dark was fought off by the nymph conjured flora shining brilliantly as lanterns. The meadow Aoi had known to be grass and wildflowers and weeds, lit up with ancient primordial, indecipherable –for now!– magic; grown of the earth and of arbor.
They sang of ancient times passed, and terrifying times that have yet to come. The loss of many trees, and many sisters of the wood. Their song, their confession, their lament rang through the meadow and, Aoi imagined, reached the stars.
Gossamer, they danced and swayed. Their movements hypnotic, and the glass of wine Yaya suggested was not helping him stay awake enough to watch the wildlings perform. The nymphs' skin and floral ensembles indistinct from one another as they wound and crawled up Yaya's moonlit skin, their tendrils swirling lace, their harrowing song echoing the remnants of ancient wars and horrors, victories and wild passions..
The jetstream explosive in his ears, his curls pulled straight this way and that, he was a grown man here up above the clouds. The emerald feathered shoulders, and muscular back, wings outstretched further than his peripheral vision could capture, he had to turn his head left and right to find gorgeous plumes fitted with iris coloration, a hypnotic pool of violet surrounded in teals and gold tinsel. The rumbling in its vast ribs, a roar like any other, harrowing, diminishing, a guardian speaks.
The strength of its heavy coiled steel cable spine flexes and compresses, massive front talons splash salt water and deep wine in the air as they glide through a vast sea following an ever expanding horizon.
He could breathe in the ocean of wine…
He awoke to Yaya's wine stained kisses and mumblings about his divine lineage, how he was pure magic, and all her other drunken musings. She must've carried him.
"I love you Mamoraoi, that asshole is coming tomorrow night baby do try and be watermelon…"
Mamoru was coming tonight!
Was the only thing on his mind as he gingerly pushed off the dead limbs of his gorgeous, flawless, innocent sleeping Mother.
Burp. Farrrrrrrt.
An angel..
"DOnt swipe you idiot, it's tap now..!"
Snore…
Tonight was the Harvest Moon Festival! The dawn light gleamed over the sea of amber stalks, rustling in the warm breeze. They were ready. Tiny Bait swimming in the leftover flooded paddy, the lucky ducklings much too large to fit in his mouth. B stood knee-deep, sunlight trapped in the water around her, wearing a sun-bleached conical hat, presumably made of palm leaves, and watching as the not-so-hungry caterpillars were crawling to higher destinations searching for safety while they slept, and transformed.
Swish.
The curved blade glides through the crisp stalk. The heavy seed-heads fell against his forearm, great fallen golden trees smelling of hay and dust. His developing muscles stretch and ache, though the hypnotic movement, feeling and sound brought levity and agility to his work, in no time leaving a trail of cleaved grains in his wake. He stopped to loop a supple strand of straw around the sun warmed bundle against his body
"As tradition demands.." Her voice called the attention of every living thing in the greenhouse, sentient or not. Yaya was wrapped in an indigo dyed tunic, open at the shoulders with cropped sleeves. She was comfortable. A woven sash in muted lavender, plum and gold, the colors of ripe rice and dusk. Her undyed linen pants, gathered to just below the knee and muddied with paddy water, and rich loam. All of this - this casual elegance - was striking.
"Yaya, your hair!"
Hundreds of platinum braids spiraled upward and outward into the shape of a brimless conical hat, woven through with rice flowers and little golden chime bells that rang tranquil notes as she moved. The construction kept the sun off of her face while she, presumably…collected vegetables?
"Oh honey, your little sack looks fierce too!"
In the air above his expert and neatly bundled rice stalks a brilliant silver array raced itself, angular, to completion, if Aoi hadn't already been intensely familiar with that particular magic circles' construction, he never would've known what was coming, but alas he was well studied, and so…
Aoi covered his eyes.
"Stralendrenne"
The warmth from her brilliant conjured suns broke through Aoi's linen shirt, and fingers to bless the skin all over his juvenile body. Yaya looked at him and gestured a finger in a circuitous motion…
"Very Kanye…"
And when night fell, and the Moon was full and bright and high in the sky; Mamoru came.
Red paper lanterns! The prickly guru brought gifts from an empire in the East. They ate the rice and mooncakes he and Yaya spent the remnants of the afternoon making while Mamoru magically suspended each of the many dozen lanterns. They slowly spun in place as Salamander hopped in between each to lick a flame into their wicks in the center.
I love magic!
The dazzling twinkle of the orbiting lanterns danced in praise around the great pale circle in the deep night sky. Lunar and stellar light coalesced to phosphoresce against Yaya's pale lavender and bone, sheer, silks. The fabric, translucent and tight against her curves, revealed her dark chestnut skin, embroidered with gold and ivory rice stalks, and constellations around her breast and hips; she was drenched in moon stone, pearl and opal. Tiny bells adorned her ankles, her dainty feet painted in silver and gold harvest motif up to her knees.
A similar conical hat made of braids was to be this evening's look, though the circumference of this rim was almost comically large, Yaya added golden chains suspending moon stone, and magically the addition of an entire other head of her hair draping under silks and strands of starlight.
Osmanthus blossoms and iced tea filled the air while lotus seed and bean paste filled the mooncakes. Bitter tea cleansed their palates as a dark shadow of great wings descended upon the moon..
That's not how this happened
Neither Mamoru, nor Yaya seemed to notice, and frighteningly his own body seemed to dismiss the ominous figure.
"Hey kid, let's go."
The spirits danced from his lips, awkward and much less confident than Aoi knew of this stumbling man. He watched to catch his teacher's gaze where something he hadn't ever seen dwelled.
"Watch yourself with my fucking baby Mamo. He's my…If you hurt him…" Her voice broke off.
Aoi was confused and giddy with excitement.
"Yaya, the moon? Me? Go?"
"Will you come?"
Yaya's eyes flamed at Mamoru, then softened to meet Aoi's.
"My love; you've been to one moon, you've been to them all or something. Have fun."
Her gaze flickered back to the increasingly more giantesque man who had laid his massive bandaged paw on Aoi's shoulder.
"He's just a boy…I'm sure you remember how delicate special little boys can be?"
"FUCK, Beelz! Shut the hell up, what do you think I'm gunna drop the kid."
"Beelz?"
The ground trembled beneath his Mother. The flames in the lanterns flickered, and the moon itself seemed to dim as the curse left her lips, her generous mouth in preparation to bless Mamoru with the flames of the underworld. "You know exactly what I meant, dick, how could…that poor fucking boy…" She turned to Aoi. "Mary my love, he's an asshole. Do kick him in his cock for me. I pray it will be a painful reminder of who holds claim to the biggest dick in this stretch of the wood." She called after them though her words were eons away as they had soared into the night sky.
The Moon gained mass the higher they flew. Aoi knew he was in space as Mamoru slowed their ascent and trailed his hand through a cloud which then became solid, flying, theoretical, magically conjured cotton. They landed, to rest at the friggin Moon in the friggin sky.
"Kid, I fucking love magic." He exhaled much more than just a night of debauchery.
"There's a whole world –hiccup– worlds out there and I want it. The thing is they want us– ahh the fuck am I saying. Aoi, you're a bright kid. The world would be ours– hiccup– yours if it weren't so cruel."
There was no cigarette waiting in his mouth, nor was there a smile when the beast leaned his face to settle his lips on the crown of Aoi's head. The soft patter of tears danced through his lambent locks.
"Don't ever let them take you –hiccup- from you kid. And when you need someone –hiccup– I'm right–"
∗ ∗ ∗
He saw only a mass of feathers, great dark wings in between the involuntary opening of his eyelids from the ferocious winds. Black except for an emerald iridescence, a reflection which looked like magic, felt like magic; Magic he knew…he allowed his head to fall.
The ocean swirled beneath him.
Ku–
Violent the ocean thrashed beneath him though…he was no longer descending.
∗ ∗ ∗
They wore the colors of autumn.
Pomegranates, nuts, sweets and rosewater decorated a mirrored table, an altar of stone among the swaying grass of the meadow that was their home. Blood red, and dripping, staining the stone was concentrated red pigment mixed with the fresh juice of the pomegranates they had spent the day harvesting; olives too!
The Queen's head was a twisted crown of harvested earth; dyed silks in wine and mulberry. A symbol of abundance carried high. Save the pomegranate and crimson kohl markings she donned no makeup yet her lips were as deep garnet as the robe she wore, embroidered with golden doors; the symbol of growth and thresholds. She wore a crimson woven sash with flaxen detailing, binding and honoring the earth's yield. Laying over the entire ensemble; a diaphanous cloud of silk tulle, weightless as breath, catching light and transforming every movement into prayer.
"We cover ourselves not to be hidden but to be worthy of the light, Aoi." The crimson sky broken with golden rays of the last of the day's sun behind her, a cool breeze blew through guiding the newly awoken butterflies to their mate.
The sun broke through a heavy mist in the greenhouse, illuminating a tangled paradise. The Three Sisters grew in a chaotic beautiful embrace. The air, rich and intoxicating with damp warmth, bruised mint and the sweet milky promise of maize. The stalks were tall but Aoi had grown in height. The treasure was buried deep in golden green rough fibrous husks, but he was a very seasoned prospector.
Crack.
The twisting of the heavy ears echoed in the expanse of the greenhouse. Bait, who was now the size of a–
BARK! YOURE GUNNA WAKE FAT FUCK! BARK!
Twisting tightly and scaling the maize like living emerald lace were the beans. He traced the slender papery pods delicately plucking each with grace. He filled his basket and glared at the mouthy parrot. His hands felt cool under the mass of prickly leaves as he reached for deep greens and brilliant oranges, severing the thick fibrous vines with a swift tug.
These are pretty phalli–
Pain.
His leg was in Bait's jaw. His sweet little budding baby teeth had accidentally caught Aoi's flesh. Bait, who is usually stoic and extremely unbothered, looked horrified as he pulled open his mouth to reveal the gash in his best friend's leg.
"Oh honey, sweetie my poor baby!"
Her bright loose curls flowing in the wind as she sprinted toward her baby, her only son. Her hair fell natural and was decorated in squash blossoms, bean vines and corn silk, the work of the day her stylist it seemed. A cream blouse that hung around her bosom, off the shoulder, obviously. A layered sash system; a deep green wrap, rust orange cords, purple beaded strands, dried bean pods, corn kernels and tiny silver bells. Loose cream trousers spotless, but wrinkled and cropped at the bulk of her strong, delicate calves. Barefoot in the gardens, always, her various golden anklets covered in mud. The harvest in corporeal form; Mother Earth, and she was pissed.
"YOU! Look at me!" She thundered.
Bait had refused to meet her gaze, he had grown rapidly over the past several decades of Aoi's youth, and hadn't learned to control his new impulses or his new body for that matter, and it sometimes caused, well…
"LOOK AT ME!" Aoi could swear flames flickered and danced around her, her voice was dark and terrifying, the warmth and light seemed to leave the area as she pointed her finger at the terrified frog.
"NO!"
Aoi looked to Bait with a pleading look, hoping to convey how sorry he was for getting him into trouble, knowing he was just excited. The hippopotamus calf sized amphibian descended into the murk of the pool not to be seen again that day. Or the next. Or..the next.
He's mad at me
"Honey, sweetie, my love bug."
"Oh my love bug, sweet honey beautiful it's going to be okay my darling."
wayyyyyyysted
"Eiligilthelit"
She spoke and the words rang as cursive melodies in the air, dancing and coalescing above his injured leg, glowing gold and obfuscated. The delicate and intensely fascinating enchantment fell warm to his skin, radiating and sparkling.
"Feel better, baby?"
He did.
"Mary, don't you think magic is just so fucking spectacular?"
He did…
∗ ∗ ∗
A woman pulled him to the shore, he was coughing up the ocean, the salty air, warm and the Sun high above him, exactly as it should be. He never got to quite make out his savior's face before..
∗ ∗ ∗
Yaya's feet were still bloodied with the mashed insides and torn skin of the day's hunt as she stood next to him offering a harrowing chant to some unseen forces in the darkness of the night. His fingers filthy as he buried the sealed casket containing the amalgamation of the mashed, desiccated flesh he and his Mother had viciously stomped underfoot from daybreak to dusk. His mother was quite possibly ensorcelled by the ritual drinking of fermented flesh she had so enjoyed, so when the final Qvevri itself was covered and buried deep into the earth, she conjured a mighty wind which brought him to his feet, a crystal stemware chalice filled with a deep crimson trailing along the sides of the glass.
"To the vine that climbed." Aoi raised his glass and broke the uncanny silence of the moonless night.
"To the rain that came." His mother draped in a simple walnut and pomegranate dyed linen dress, bare shoulder, as was customary. Living gold grape leaves worked into earrings, the stems trailing as golden chains across her collar bones, tiny bronze bells hidden in her hair, which silk pressed straight, her platinum only interrupted by the faintest of lavender at her roots and the stain of murder at her ends. Her fingers stained blood red with white clawed fingernails detailed with fine silver jewelry. Her fanged smile reflecting the lambent glowing conjured mini moons, a spell Aoi worked so hard to perfect.
"To the hands that harvested." He called, tears ran down Aoi's face as he was confounded by her beauty.
"To those who've drank before us." Yaya's face bejeweled in luminescent pearls, as her voice broke.
"To those who drank before us."
"And to those who shall drink after."
They both poured their goblets into the earth below and both spoke in unison:
"May the earth remember our names kindly."
The dryads who had been knelt in solemnity rose in a frenzy, the meadow lit up as it once had centuries ago when he was but a boy. Infinite, as he rose into the air…
I am weightless, a petal in the wind.
I am unbound, shackles round my ankles fall.
With birds I soar. I am weightless.
The golden light of the array looped itself into existence on his chest and illuminated the hand he held before it.
"Irta'afa."
He was weightless, really. Aoi willed himself, carrying his basket, to the very highest, very ripest patch of crimson musgravite jewels, hidden and climbing far from the gorgeous fruit below them. Finally his hands grasped the clutches of the most stunning, sun warmed treasures.
COFFEA ARABICA!
Aoi, a grown man now, squeezed his quarry within his dirtied fingers.
"CATURRA!" He cried into the ever expanding greenhouse of his childhood home, which he had painstakingly cultivated to this level of mystique over centuries. A massive shadow stirred in a deep dark pond below. His friend was watching. Countless butterflies were making their journey, somewhere overseas in hopes of a new life, new love and a new world..
Tied around his waist, a hand woven wicker basket, the same basket that had so lovingly appraised his collections over the years, as his fingers sought only perfectly ripe crimson cherries, ignoring the greens. His thumb wrapped around the cluster of red fruits as he deftly twisted and nabbed them clean from the branch. Plump tight polished rubies wet with morning rain.
Pop. Clack.
The hollow sound became a heavy satisfying thud as his bamboo receptacle filled, building up a mountain of beautiful glossy fruit. The work had a frantic, beautiful rhythm that carried him through hours and pounds of cherries.
That should do it
∗ ∗ ∗
Irta'afa (eer tah ah fah) a spell to temporarily negotiate gravity's effect, or: a standard levitation spell.
∗ ∗ ∗