Altered In Hail

The blizzard has yet to pass; it will.

Quarters of Hail scratched through my cheeks amid the torment. My eyes narrowed as the wind blew white crystals, obscuring excitement.

" I fear not death but that which destroys my spirit." I boldly reminded myself.

Speedy white fragments with flashes of pale ice needles sunder the skin over my bones. My pallid white knuckles leak warm crimson fluid, freezing as the green spider webs under my skin shrink against the cold. " Is my blood blue? No, my fingers are. " I gaze passively.

"Endure the consequences of folly and look toward the arctic willows." The remnants of hope call out as my legs lengthen far beyond my eyes, though the freezing rain pours over me. Hairy nightshades assault my tibias, drinking my life through its bristles.

My feet drag my body, marching naked; the desire for aconites sears my skin, taking crimson to the snow that traces over my tread, leaking my vitality to go beyond the veil of agony that dares to suppress joy.

I will obtain in my refrain the peace I always hoped for, once had, and by the familiarity of apathy disdained.

Plaintive ovals look upon a blanket of blackened carbon sludge, pushing a circular vermillion platform upward and wrapping itself around a thin frost coating atop ash-grey links.

Held within the links, a large sphered socket centers on a rusted triangular lock, and a vermillion cone throbs vivaciously within the lock.

Transform Hailstorm to Human.