The Lost Islands
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Making love to a m e m o r y
Posted on February 24, 2016 at 09:35:13 PM by Macabre




"If Love himself weep, shall not lovers weep,
learning from what sad cause he pours his tears?
Love hears his ladies crying their distress,
showing forth bitter sorrow through their eyes
because villainous Death has worked its cruel
destructive art upon a gentle heart,
and laid waste all that earth can find to praise
in a gracious lady, save her chastity."

Macabre watched the worms that squirmed in the smooth soil where her belly had lay, the damp and flexible insects squirming their way back into the moist earth that had been flattened by her weight. She was reminded of the last time she'd seen them, the slimy creatures twisting this way and that among a herd of maggots in the rotting carcass of a fellow equine. While staring into the hollowed eye socket of a stranger, his limp body slowly returning to the earth from which he came.

So she focused on the distant chirps. High-pitched, tender calls streaking through the sky, the volume fading as the gang of ospreys took flight from the trees overhead. Macabre's chestnut lobes flicked forward and back, listening intently for the rustle of feathers in the birds' wide wingspan, for the blows of air that flapped back with each gentle thrust into flight. She needed her mind to stop worrying, if only for a minute. Long enough for her to get her barrings and figure out the quickest way to get home before being spotted.

Perhaps it was childish, but Macabre was convinced she was destined to lead a life surrounded by darkness. She had been a happy child, knowing only love from two parents, but their death came swiftly and prematurely. She'd seen the struck down bodies of her own kind - far too many for her short six years of life. She was never a victim of the darkness, at least directly. Instead she was forced to watch as this wretched world killed all of those around her. Eventually, she knew, the darkness would consume her too. Its strength waned at times, and Macabre, perhaps in a delusional state, would try to convince herself it was over. Whatever vile cloud that hung over her had lifted, and would leave her to live a life without misery. But it always returned, often with a vengeance. She would forever be running. And would forever be alone.

This is why she did not worry when stallion after stallion abandoned her in Paradise. And this why she kept Ailill at a distance. He was young and foolish in many ways, but he was kind. Leaf litter and moist dirt still clung to the mare's lingering winter coat. Twigs and burs stuck to the knotted tresses of her flaxen mane and tail. She looked rather homeless, though her scent gave away she lived on the other side of Atlantis. Macabre's coat blended with the earth, a bland hue of brown. Her physical appearance was equally as plain. Though petite in structure and correct in confirmation, nothing about her features made her stand out. Especially when compared to many more loudly colored mares who were natives to the isles.

So when a large stallion came her way, his eyes clearly focused on her, she briefly considered fleeing as fast as she could for the brush nearest to her. But fear kept her standing in place. It's too late. she told herself in her head. He's already spotted you. The stallion is large, clearly of draft breed. He dwarfed her in size, and because of this, Macabre was easily intimidated. "Hello." she managed to squeak out, her dark marbled eyes darting from his own high above and the ground. "The storm last night, it must have pushed me beyond the borders of Paradise. I apologize for the intrusion." She says with the gentle flick of he thin tail. "I am Macabre. I live in Paradise with Ailill."


"Hear then how Love paid homeage to this lady;
I saw him weeping there in human form,
observing the stilled image of her grace;
and more than once he raised his eyes toward Heaven,
where that sweet soul already had its home,
which once, on earth, had worn enchanting flesh."

Macabre | 6 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl





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