7 Deities

Occult-Based Original Cosplay & Media Production

Original Cosplay Character and Media Production 

S is for Sanctuary

As seen in Me: IN FOCUS Magazine

S is for Sanctuary

Sanc·tu·ar·y   [sangk-choo-er-ee]

–noun, plural -ar·ies.

1. a sacred or holy place.

2. immunity afforded by refuge in such a place.

3. any place of refuge; asylum.

 Illustration by Chad Edwards

Illustration by Chad Edwards

The night faded away as the sun rolled over me, a slow exhale inching across my skin. As the Earth woke, it called me to it, like a serene beckoning to another day here. It almost felt as if the elements were smiling at me, and I wanted nothing more than to explore this perfect day in beauty and solitude. I arose and stretched into the morning, so anxious for everything that was awaiting me.

Standing to my feet, my soles pressed against the hard wood floor, refreshingly cold in contrast to the summer heat. The floor boards sang soprano and gave weight to my existence for the first time that day. My fingers pulled against the heavy lace that tried its best to shield the room from the rays of the sun. The gesture gave way to a flood of light that poured unyieldingly over each surface, thrusting against my eyes in a stinging kiss. The sensation was startling and sleep was nowhere near me now. I secured the drapes open with a satin rope and turned to see all that was around me, harshly revealed in a wash of light. Its warmth and burning luminosity tugged at me in ways that transcended the comprehension of my intellect, and a force that made me feel weightless guided me outside. I walked towards the bedroom's exit, passed the golden pecan-colored dresser and the matching framed mirror that hung above it on an eggshell-colored wall, subconsciously ignoring the reflection that floated by. I walked through the kitchen and the floor tiles were slick in comparison to the solid grip I'd felt before. The screen across the front door swung open against the force of my palm, and my heart strained for the slightest moment as the overwhelming light of the sun coated and cradled all of me. I stretched my face to the sky, suddenly more aware of my empty palms, harnessing an amazed invitation for such a blessing of beauty in my chest.

I pitter-pattered down the wooden steps, its grey paint warm and sticky under me, then finally I made contact with the Earth, green blades of grass bending under my feet, stretching through my toes. I was so happy here. I belonged here. The yard was long and wide and as green as the truest, untainted envy. Trees hovered and danced for me, their rhythm slight, and perfect. Walking around the side of the house, my garden came into view, and I wanted nothing more than to taste and ingest what I was feeling. The peaches were ripening nicely, and a part of me was till in awe of my successfully growing fruit. This garden was my second, and I regretfully killed more produce than I'd like to mention last summer. My nurturing skills were still developing, and in more ways than one.

I turned on the water hose and rinsed the fuzzy fruit clean, then hydrated all of wherefrom it came just a bit. Turning the hose back off, I walked back over to the front of the house and plopped down in the grass, my legs fantastically naked and free against it, softly caressed by the breeze. Laying down in the middle of the yard I stared at the sky and bit down into the sweet fruit, my amazement still flowing. The juices ran down my chin and it felt perfect. Breakfast in the sun on a bed of grass while mundane responsibilities were the furthest from my mind. I finished the fruit and licked my fingers clean trotting up the stairs back to the kitchen. The screen swung open and slapped shut behind me as I entered the kitchen once more, tossing the fruit's remains in the compost beside the island counter. My eyes caught sight of the glowing green numbers on the stove. It was 8am and reality was setting in. The shop wasn't going to run itself.

As much as I would have loved the day to drag along and only belong to me, it pained me to realize the rarity of such occasions. This life is beauteous and robust with endless additions to myself, to this still, solid, quiet, solitude, to this sanctuary. But I guess paradise doesn't exist without an opposition, a balance, a sacrifice. My lips made a loud, kiss-like sound as I used them to clean the rest of my fingers of the peach remnants. I ran the sticky fingers through my hair and was shower bound. By 10am I'd have to be in the city, and reality-ready in front of a marble counter. I was eager to see what this day would consist of.