Page 3 - Malachite

Malachite does not believe in the end of the fragile Earth. She is a shade
with verdure eyes, running wild in the forest. The flow of her being
resembles the leaves born by branches of Elm.

Every night, Malachite destroys a city. She has crushed each one to
dust. Breathing curses, her voice is the poison of dead poetry. So swift
is her violence, that even the spectre of revenge falls unto Malachite.

The crystal dawn reveals a vision of an attacker. dreaming in distant
wrath. Her fury pours forth. Regret is an oblivion. One day, it will not
mean anything. The emptiness wraps around herself. Nothingness
comes after.

Her footsteps are delicate, carving a line. The reality is that she walks in
circles, crying out in coarse language.

Her history is written in smoke.

She would couple with any living man. The day came when god
discovered the scent of Malachite hunting his incarnate son. Malachite
crawls with the fragrance of orchids.

Her remoteness is the trigger of a primitive fear which mortal men
crave to annihilate. God is no different. The birds will tell you as much.
God began to stalk Malachite. Silently, his sleek azure form leads her
to the final moment of time. He watches the stars transformed into
embers by her breath. God confronts her in the City with No Bridges.

When Malachite turns, he is standing there. And in that place, trees
have never grown.

DEEP

GREEN

NOISE