a beast of dreams | true radiance
She circles all around me.
I speak with the ecstasy of passion, for great things are in the working for this Act. As if a curtain has been drawn— a crimson drape swaying under the lights into a dome of petals and leaves — and a subterranean jungle grows and grows. Filled with all the new and the wonderful. Hear the laves whispering of hidden springs and nooks and crannies, where streams rupture out of hidden wellsprings between the cracks of the floorboards. So far way from the smell and clamour of civilisation, and so deep that when you look closer, you see an uncharted sky.
Out from the depths of the velvet jungle, a great beast rears and leaps forth. Serpentine with grace and feathered in a glace, her coat was spangled with iridescent and blooming patches of night and navy-blue where the ink had spilt and bled across the page. I follow her form as she glides across the stage. She circles all around me. A stitched monster, filled with something so bright and lonely — for I catch glimpses of a warm kind of light emanating outward as that leonine face unfurls and blossoms into layers and layers of paper and silk. So difficult to grasp —no, not even — but even to admire, and to understand.
