Even from a distance, you know that she must be a goddess. Where she walks, shadows contrive to fall anywhere else than upon her figure. The flowers woven in a crown upon her head, tattooed on her skin, and stitched into her dress remain as lively as though freshly picked.
What does it mean for you to have caught her eye, then?
She approaches you, and you simply stand, waiting patiently for her to arrive like your whole life was always meant to lead you here and now to this meeting with her.
Up close, the illusion of humanity dissolves.
Her face is subtly bestial in a way you cannot quite name. You know in your bones that she is more at home in the wilds than in the city, but she forgives you for drawing her here to find you.
The flowers are of unknown types but are more beautiful than any you’ve ever seen.
Up close you see just how alive those flowers are.
They don’t move, not really, but something about how the light falls upon those stems and petals lends them the illusion of wriggling or writhing. How do they feel, you wonder, about being made her eternal accessories?
But her big, dark, cervid eyes pull your gaze to meet hers, and thought melts into a green and swaying silence.
Those eyes devour you; they become your entire world. Her regard charges your whole body from head to toe in an apotheosis of her pleasure.
When she plucks you, it’s pride you feel, and you nestle in her hand, protected and safe, for the time it takes her to decide where she will keep you.
She weaves you into her skirt, and at last you are home.