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Chrysanthemums

With a distinctive scraping noise and a sudden flash,  a match roared to life in the darkness. Irem, cupped the flame delicately until it matured, and then lit the candelabra in the center of the table.   The candles were the only source of light in the room; however, there were no less than 12 of them, and their collective glow managed to lend a warm aura to the room. By the candle light, the ornate table and its inlayed marble top imparted an air of lavishness, which only served to match Irem’s suit. His features would have been far less impressive without the veneer of opulence: His face was pallid and his profile mild, having scarcely any air of forcefulness, and his figure was meager to the point that it suggested frailty. His awareness of these facts meant that he was always only a shade less than obsessive in his presentation. When he was satisfied with the lighting, Irem turned to the silver serving tray behind him and procured a small vase containing perfectly manicured flo
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éphagon

The call came again as it had countless times before; billowing forth from the forest at the onset of dusk with a cadence not unlike a heavy breath. It washed over Eyuri in the same familiar manner, giving rise at once to an equally reminiscent yearning that he was powerless to understand. He had tried a number of times to put that strange feeling into words; however, it had proven to be a somewhat fruitless effort. "A whisper of satiety carried softly on the winds of famine," he murmured raising a glass of amber colored liquid to his lips. "...no....still not quite...." His words seemed to float away on the breeze and were quickly forgotten, never to be finished or truly examined. Eyuri sat beneath the lonely sycamore behind his home, which had become a nightly ritual, and peered at the swaying woodland multitude through the twilight.  The smell of bourbon mingled with the autumn air; whispering to him of the credence of his peculiar interests, the effects of eac
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Of Seas and Sirens

Dimitri watched as the day’s final moments drained away, much like the amber colored liquid in the bottle he now held to his lips. It seemed somehow fitting that the daylight should disappear with the rum. After all, moonlight was often much kinder to a broken spirit than the warming rays of day, and there was little reason to fear the chill of nightfall when wrapped tightly in the arms of libation. A gentle breeze drifted in off the ocean, flooding over him like a relic of the past, and for a moment, he closed his eyes to dwell in it.   Dimitri could recall the character of the ocean; its volatile temper, and it voice like a chorus of endless waves. He could recall the gentle motion of his vessel, and how it had lulled him to sleep those many nights at sea. Above all, however, he could remember her; the look of unobscured terror in her eyes; and the shrillness of her pleas. He could remember the way her hand felt as it slipped from his grasp, and the moment she crashed into the chur
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