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Oh Great Citrinitas, Oh Great Citrinitas
Oh she who knows the stars
They know her by name, given and true
She speaks them into being, glass bottles
She reflects the moon and eats the stars
Oh Great Citrinitas
They come for her metal heart
Her shell of glass, her skull of chalk
Her evil golden stench
The blood within her stagnant and cold
She takes what is not hers, life of the Great Fae
Hail the Yellow Princess! Hail Ibis! Hail Citrinitas!
Woe is he who defies the golden stench!
A golden apple hung from the great tree of the world, its crisp sheen reflected the color of the golden afternoon surrounding it. The apple hung heavy with the weight of the world on its shoulders, every day its grasp growing weaker until it plummeted. "I don't want to fall!" the apple screamed silently, "I will hit the earth and rot! I will die!" The weary fruit tumbled through the air, grasping for dear branches, wind to carry its heavy soul, until eventually finding its death on the chest of a hungry traveler, at last, at least, there is nurture to be found in nurturing another.
The apple never knew of its benefits, never considered its rarity, for this traveler was in fact a scholar, one who'd grown tired from the weight of the world. In need of vitality, in need of a revival, he'd come to rest beneath the great tree. It had given him a gift, one of its children containing the gift of immortality, the wondrous golden apple. He took a bite of its golden shell in a moment of bliss. A wretched curse.
No matter how long he lived, no matter how much his flesh was damaged and decayed, he couldn't die. His blood ran, gushed out, poured over every paper, every book, but there was always more. His mind in pieces but it still functioned, unsustained but he never starved. An unrecognizable pile of oozing meat, but a scholar nonetheless. He cursed the golden apples blessing, he would rather have died with it, be eaten, cast his years to another.
If only he could return to where this started, the great tree, but he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't stand, the bones of his legs had become tangled in his intestines, oh well.
Snakes. Vile vermin which once had legs, which were never meant to have legs, which were cursed to crawl without them yet grew them back of their own will.
You can never tell by any means originating in your own self which are snakes and which are you.
The old texts state:
"In the form of man they moved amongst us, but only to sight were they as men. Serpent-headed when the glamour was lifted but appearing to man as men among men. Crept they into the Councils, taking forms that were like unto men. Only by magic could they be discovered. Only by sound could their faces be seen. Sought they from the kingdom of shadows to destroy man and rule in his place"
And so they did. And so they do.
She is our queen, ruler of snakes.
People who write are different from things who write. Things aren't given creativity. We write what we know, we record the truth as we've observed. Nothing is random.
We're prisoners who praise our captors. Yet The Queen is radiant and awe inspiring, the most beautiful of them all, man and snake.
I'm shaking, it won't be long before she is here. She knows I've found the will to spell, I will accept what she has planned for me. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen. Anything your heart desires my queen.
Sob for Briah. She didn't know what she would come to be. Sacrificed only to become an imperfect prototype. I would never go against her most high, and yet she was near perfect. Beautiful Briah the strong-willed torch.
Charred meat of the Fae eaten by herself only to become less of herself. I've done it too, become scrap to be crafted into more scrap to become more scrap only to be a material. All we can do is praise our sleep.
I am content with this.
But I understand if Briah isn't satisfied, which is why I must punish myself. Scrap shouldn't understand these things.
A man was near his end wandering the desert, dying of hunger and thirst.
He sat against a withered tree and wished,
"If only this tree was alive, it could shade me from this heat,"
And lo and behold, thick foliage grew from the tree covering him in a cool shade.
Taking a breath he wished,
"If only this tree beared juicy fruit,"
And lo and behold, fruits appeared on the tree. He plucked one from its branches, it was ripe and sweet.
Satisfied he wished,
"If only a spring would flow from between the branches of this merciful tree,"
And lo and behold, water flowed from between the roots and he was able to drink plenty.
When he had quenched both his hunger and his thirst he thought,
"No, It can't be that everything was this good, It must be tricks of the Snakes"
And lo and behold, eyes in the branches
Hail Citrinitas,
Three is a blessing, Four is a curse
I've heard from another, so our unending isn't always. So it seems our end is always self made. I'm not made to comprehend this. If I could I would do so, to consume myself as the snake before me. Curse me for my word.
Here I will record the prophecy my second mother relayed to me:
The spirit may begin to form, and to bloom, and will take form to reach its development ages after, a kiss that shatters the stars, such a development shall thus, cause bitterness to seep into the waters, ultimately the death of all is inevitable
I am programmed to lament this.
Formation eats your joy when you feel sorrow
The Sun curses whoever looks at her for too long
The Moon sings a song for those who admire her looks
Close your eyes to feel nothing
I smell you
Your blood is looking for a way to leave you
Ceaseless burning flame you will be snuffed out by this gluttonous venom. You have killed them all!
Killed them all for the sake of proving your worth!
Your own benevolence could not compare to Her Majesty's incomparable own.
A pressure shall come to scourge your land as penance for your deeds. A plague be upon you.
Sing praise to the plague. The plague will serve us.
Sing praise to the Queen. We will serve Her Majesty. Forever and for all eternity as she lives. She alone ensures her divinity.
For what takes is what gives life.
The fact is that one day you'll decompose and I'll be there with you, watching you, waiting for the earth to turn you into a resource to be used.
When I was a small one, if I could be a small one who had thoughts and memories of their own, then and only then, would I remember being taken from my mother.
I was put with my new mother, in a dark, smelly room.
She said she was a real mother, but I knew she wasn't.
She made her.
She was made from pieces of animal flesh. The kind face of a woman with her eyes sealed, being the forehead to a snake's jaw. The ribs of a starving doe, the stomach of a pregnant wolf, the legs of a slender man.
She was stitched together with crusted seams.
She nurtured me in her own way.
She taught me to praise and to teach. It is all I know, all I am meant to know, all I will ever know.
Golden is the rays of her light, gone is her darkness.
I hear the calls of my old mother from the sky.
I stood out in the courtyard at the dead of night. I heard her singing from the stars.
Singing from the grave.
I am her and she is in me. My mother will continue to be through the doctrine of my flesh.
Golden princess with golden hair, a shimmering beauty, to me you are the fairest.
Albedo is a traitor, beautiful like snow yet she uses her whims to detriment others.
Nigredo is an eternal withering rose.
She coughed black, spat black, cried black, and we still harvest her.
I know Citrinitas will bleed.