part five: favorite pantheon (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
the most glorious of the goddesses
the most glorious of the gods
part four: favorite mythological siblings (prompt via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
waves lap at robes redder than the paper lanterns hanging from the eaves of her village. they blow, candles in a howling wind, trying to guide ships back to shore and men to their homes. the sky is a dark gray.
she does not turn from the tide, not even as her hair whips about her and the sea sprays her face. she beckons sailors home, whispering, i will not lose another. hundreds of years it has been and hundreds of years more will come to pass, but she will never fail. Not again. Pain runs white in memories as she calms the waves to aid the ships. She is on the bow, leading the way. She is in the sea, coaxing it to sleep.
she was lin mo, a light of goodwill in the gray anger of a raging tempest.
now she is a goddess. she will make the sea obey.
hollow back sways like the bark of a sapling but she is no spring tree. with golden hair and cherub’s lips, she dances, a cow’s tail under her skirt. she smiles and beckons. ‘i am your ruin,’ she warns as they near, but they all go willingly, ignorant of the tears and the terrors their deaths will bring. when the deed is done, she steps out into the forest once more, swaying in time to music only she can hear. men still come for her. none notice the stains of tears shed before.
prompt: female mythological figure (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
artemis sits around the campfire, knees pulled close to her chest as she looks up at the stars unpolluted by man-made lights. her lungs breathe air almost as old as she is and she wonders how much longer she’ll be able to visit and not inhale the thick smog that covers whole cities in some places. how much longer will the moon shine down on the big blue planet creatures call home? how much longer until life finally drains out like water through a sieve? the pads of her fingers press into mud-soaked jeans. thoughts like this are better left for tomorrow, she tells herself, for the latest march against governments who care too little about the people and places they were meant to protect. they will know what a true goddess is, but not tonight. artemis sits back, flannel and thick socks keeping her warm as she listens to the far-off yipping of the coyote and the quiet rumble of deer lying to rest. the wilderness is too beautiful to spoil with rage.
modern-day goddesses (prompt via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
in white-columned halls sit girls wrapped in gossamer. light streams through sheer curtains. laughter hangs in the air. with deft fingers, they braid each other’s hair and the soft sound of a lyre can be heard. paper is strewn about covered in sketches, poems, and prose, the beginnings of a history that has yet to begin, and a star chart beautifully rendered. a girl is dancing, hymns on her tongue and a song in her heart.
they wait for bright minds to bestow the gift of divine inspiration in white-columned halls.
part three: favorite platonic pairings (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
i. white lady iztaccíhuatl waits for her lover in her empire home, but jealousy is a snake in the grass and deaths are too easy to lie about. war is hell, they say. it has taken him. her heart ceases in grief and the white lady turns whiter in death.
ii. when popocatépetl comes home, he cradles her to his chest. only cold air can revive her, he thinks, so he climbs to the tops of the mountains and waits for her to wake. she does not. limbs grown leaden as his heart sinks and the cold takes him.
iii. the gods look down on two lovers, hearts broken with grief and chilled with death. pity moves in them. with godly hands, they take human forms and make them mountains, looming over the valley below. iztaccíhuatl does not wake, snow covering her form. she is a white lady once more. popocatépetl thaws and his grief turns to anger that spews forth and lays waste to the land. he is molten earth. a heart wrent open that shall never close.
iv. in the valley below, eyes turn to the pair of mountains and whisper a tale of two lovers. when the volcano erupts, it is his broken heart filled with rage at losing his lover. nearby, his lady slumbers. and the gods watch over them.
part two: favorite romantic pairing (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
she spins gossamer in the night
a punishment, a testament
foolish girl who dared
challenge a goddess,
now a spider
you have become
part one: favorite myth (via femmefatalenet.tumblr.com)
the last breath of a year exhausted
turns to ephemeral fog when it touches the cold