The Valkyrie women sit primed for the union ahead, raising their shields up high.
A grey day fades from afternoon to evening.
The night’s cold shoulders hinder lingering light, the sunset mutes herself accordingly.
Uniform and indistinguishable, his shades of black line up: each one slightly deeper than the next, entering on time, for the night follows no clock but his own.
His moon rose slowly and cold, looming over them as a master’s pet.
A thick, oil slick coat sweeps the sky from darkest of greys away.
Though beneath the veil of darkness he hides the stolen stars – prisoners of war in the battle for light, the last remnants of her traces captured and seized after the swirling storm of sundown; some beacons just bright and blazing enough to bleed through.
He orders his associate to compete, provoking envy upon his lone celestial companion.
A dull, scarce moon beam shines weakly upon them.
Their shields reflect only wonder.
Nacre plated platforms liberate rays of violets, azures and emerald – each collide with another, dancing in darkness with no regard for his wishes of solidarity.
Intertwining in fantastic fashions, the streaks emboss themselves on him
As captivating as the lightened locks of Vikings, gifted upon them by the sun’s touch.
His eclipsed likeness, no longer a vortex of dismalness, now momentarily entangled with flashes of brilliance and blues – he is taken aback.
Swirling on his stage, they glisten in their iridescence, unlinked orbital twirls mark his sky.
“We gift you the Northern Lights. Their beauty is timeless, their spark is effortless, and their glow is endless. A companion for life, for without a place for the grandest to blaze, how can anyone know how dark and diligent you truly are."