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‘Upon a Placid Lake: XVII’ ✢
ㅤㅤㅤ There dwelt a black swan,
ㅤㅤㅤ by name of Nyx, whose midnight
ㅤㅤㅤ feathers didst set her apart.ㅤㅤ━━━━━━━━━(🔮)━━━━━━━━━
Consumed by a desire for perfection, sought to emulate the white swans, believing their alabaster hue to be the pinnacle of beauty. Day by day, she didst preen and polish, yet hers sable plumage remained.
ㅤㅤ 🝳..
“Why can I not be as they?”Nyx lamented, hers heart heavy with discontent. She spurned hers reflection, forsaking her true self into pursuit upon an impossible ideal. The lake, twixt a sanctuary, became a prison of her making. Unfortunately— in hers quest for flawlessness, Nyx didst lose the essence upon her being. Her grace, erstwhile natural furthermore unadorned, became a hollow mimicry. The white swans, observing hers plight, approached with wisdom.
ㅤ │ “Perfection lies nor in sameness,
ㅤ │ nevertheless in embracing thine
ㅤ │ own singular beauty.”
ㅤ( ... )
Awakening to their words, she beheld her reflection anew, seeing nor imperfection, but a unique prodigy.Thus, she found solace, nor in changing herself, but in celerating the dark splendor forasmuch was hers true identity. (II/XII’)
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