The Taste Of Pomegranates
His skin was pale as ivory.
Her’s was warm like the sun that shone above her mother’s fields, where she left bright new flowers in her wake.
But in the night, she would be cast in the shadow with only the moonlight to guide her.
Under the shade of a weeping willow tree he would wait for her, when her work above would finish and she could return to their kingdom, return to Him.
Her mother and nymphs watched her throughout the day, in fear of the ground washing her away beneath its earthly currents, where it had taken her through shadow and coal mines, taken her to her home beneath the world in which she had been raised. It would take her home to Him.
The man cloaked in armor and black cloth, with a dark helm tucked under one arm as he stood, waiting for his love to return to him.
6 months stretched on like a never-ending battleground, with flower petals beneath her feet, laying like corpses, withered and fading without her to keep them warm.
So, above her kingdom she would remain until it was time for her to return, longing strong in the two lovers hearts; for neither one’s soul was complete without the other.
And when she would come to the weeping willow, and see the man with the dark helm under his arm, dressed in armor to take her back, she would run to him, flowers blooming with each step.
And when she pressed her red stained lips to his, the taste of pomegranate on them, he would welcome her into his embrace and she would fall willingly into the depths of his soul, where only she could venture.
As frost spread from beneath their feet, coating the newly blossomed flowers that had become alive with the two lovers reunion, they fell onto the soil at the base of the willow tree.
With the taste of pomegranate lingering on both of their tongues and limbs tangled together, the King of death and his Queen of iron were swallowed up by the earth to return to their kingdom below the surface.