"Are you in love with her?"

She terrifies me. She raves; her eyes grow coal-like, opening into a smothering, featureless starless black marred only by twin circles of pupil.

Her face contorts, and with pain and sadness she spits out purest pitch, chewing wildly before forcing the lumps past her teeth and into my awestruck ears. Her hands move in chaotic incantation, filling the room slowly with a delicately-woven fabric, scrawled with the designs of madness and terror. The system of strings is a chord which binds her heart, cutting deeply, of which she holds both the ends and will not release them. I want to weep but I'm sucked dry. I hear with horror the half-word of the window, broken-backed, an impossible continuation formed of brown feathers and blood, held in her hand and set free. I hang in the brine, a joyous transfiguration which cleaves the water from the water. Inchoate, rejoiced, obliterated by a lingering shard of syllable and song.

Art credit

Original work by Dylan Muir. Derived from a photo Heartbroke by Marian Call. Photo (cc 2.0) by-nc-sa