Literature
Femuary - Feathers on Her Breath
Feathers.
Deep inside.
Not choking, not suffocating.
Somehow… giving life.
They enter and spread, like a meadow of wildflower—but made of black grace. They travel through the throat, break through bones—to latch to rib cage and enter even deeper, slowly, fluttering with a non existent heartbeat. They embrace your heart—like a poultice made of soft, pulsating wings. Their touch heals and devours, all at once. Your heart grows and inhales like it had lungs, once dead, once a flesh devoid of spark, now starts to pump blood— again, and again, until your veins fill, your skin loses pale shade.
They spread in your organs, like a wave of twilight. Gathering, swelling in you—but offering something that you would not discard even if you knew the price.
Life.
The one you lost.
But also the one, which you could lead—if death wasn’t at your bed’s feet tonight.
You feel your body pulse and shiver, under the weight of soft and intruding raven wings.
When you open your eyes, you see her
