by Grima
Nyx’s veil
What does it mean to be The Night?
Some may think it is lonely
But certainly, it is not
Longing for this moment
Lying in each other’s arms
loving, living, kissing
Looking into the mirrors of the soul
seeing an ocean of emotions
Soft touches
So tenderly
shyly whispering three words
gentle
full
The universe is spinning around
The stars are like a blanket
Night
A never-ending one
Nyx crawled from her bed, weary despite a day spent in slumber. She surveyed her room: the candles she had lit were burned down to stubs, leaving only her trusted friend, the moon, to light the space. Tracing her cool skin, she felt the silken sheets embrace her figure. “It is time.” With tired eyes, the goddess gazed at her reflection in a bowl of water, collected under the last full moon. Its surface shimmered, a glittering contrast to her dark, fathomless eyes. “I’m out of Hypnos’s potions…the gods test me with these dreams,” she muttered, her gaze hardening with resolve. There was no time to waste; mortals awaited her. Grabbing a small pouch, she glided to the window, breathing in deeply, then exhaling slowly. “I am the Mother of the Night, the goddess who brings order to the dark,” she whispered to herself. The night wind brushed her face, bringing a curl to her lips. She took a pinch of golden dust from her pouch, blowing it off the balcony. It danced skyward, spiraling toward the moon, branching out to fill the black canvas with a scatter of golden stars. “There, there, my children,” she murmured, admiring her creations in all their brilliance. Her slender fingers gripped the balcony railing as she rose into the sky, leaving behind a cluster of crow feathers. It was time to watch over humanity, to remind them that in the night, they too were seen and understood. Why should they fear her? It warmed her heart that some humans still remembered her, offering thanks for the night. The world retained its beauty, unchanged by day or night—the same trees, the same ocean, the same breeze. Yet, under her watchful darkness, humans seemed more vulnerable, more tender, more in need of a gentle, loving presence. Night was her favorite time to watch them, to see how they whispered to one another, drawing close, becoming one. If love was something she could not have herself, then she wished it to be felt deeply by all of Chaos’s creation. Seated on her favorite dark cloud, she watched the world unfold below, a tapestry woven of beauty and pain. With a delicate twist of her fingers, she shifted the wind’s direction, coaxed the moon to shine a bit brighter, and sent down a touch of her guidance. “Mother Nyx… I miss my Endymion again. My heart aches for him. Have his nights grown restless like mine?” Her prayers echoed again. Each night, Serenity pleaded and wept, longing for the soulmate she had been forced to leave behind. Nyx wished she could tell this lost soul that even now, he sat on his balcony, gazing at the stars, whispering to her of his longing for his dandelion—his Serenity.
The duality of being the Night.
© Grima 2024-10-26