What would you want, if you could have anything?
A seductive question, perhaps the most enticing combination of word or thought that could be conjured. Once asked, it captivated; either by focus and endless longing, or through purposeful, eternal avoidance through fear of what may, or may not be possible.
The weakness of hunger erodes my drained limbs
Moonlight pierces my eyes through glaring prisms
Through the pungent smell of a sweetness most loathsome
I find my path towards the Nightshade Blossoms
The words whispered through the lanes, rounded corners, and whistled through the leaves of the Shrine Tree.
Words of all languages, from all lands. From tongues long lost, their syllables faded from all worlds but this. Cries of pure sound, filled with meaning even before understanding speech. The murmured, the whispered, the silence of words only thought, or communicated by gesture, by touch. Their soft breeze gently nudged the lanterns hanging from every bough. Shouts, yells and screams shook the ground, sending showers of petals down from branches high above.