Kingdom of Shadow and Light

darkdream


You were my town now I m in exile seeing you out

Dublin, Ireland.


After the war to end all wars, my city is perfection.

Flanked by princes, the full complement of the Light Court marching behind me, I glide through the streets of Temple Bar.

Looming beyond the rooftops of shops and pubs, a blood-­rimmed moon hangs so round and low it nearly obliterates the night sky, reminding me of another planet where ­a thousand lifetimes ago ­I stood between Cruce and the Unseelie king and felt I might ascend to the edge of night, hop a pineboard fence and bridge planet to moon in a single leap.

Earth continues to change, becoming more like Faery with each passing day, growing lusher, more opulent and fantastical, befitting a species of jaded palates and hungers extreme. We who rule this planet alter the very fabric of the universe. Mortal physics do not apply. We shape reality; it cedes to our will.

Hunters fly overhead, gonging deep in their chests. I glance up as they glide past the moon, and their obsidian wings against the scarlet-­ringed orb causes an unwelcome lightning flash of memory to explode, briefly illuminating my mind ­a gaze of midnight stained with crimson, a man s hard, challenging, measuring stare: Who the f*** are you?

Demented laughter might bubble up inside me, but there is ash where once embers burned, and laughter doesn t bubble.

Nothing does. I am a bottomless, still abyss.

The clarity granted by the memory fragment fades. I turn from the sky and back to the street.

Phosphorescent fog, driven by an azure ocean lapping at Ireland s shore, drifts in lacy skeins across cobblestones shiny from yet another rain, draping streetlamps and storefronts in pearlescent webs. As we continue our parade through the district, canopies of velvety blooms explode in our wake, tumbling from window boxes, erupting from rooftop gardens, while a thick carpet of sea-­foam and cerulean grasses push up through

Karen Marie Moning