Tutelary_pages

Black Flowers

In the wake of the night, the moon waxed to it's last crescent before its monthly darkness, Darius-Mayne sliced his finger on the edge of his page. He watched with unphased admiration as the crimson flowers blossomed across the dramatics of his true crime novel, the page cinching and curling as it damped with his blood. He let his non-sliced fingers skate their ways across the page, dancing alongside the deltas and estuaries that had started to divide this page.