myth for sunpati

When the shadow had sewn itself to the serpent, the serpent was completely washed with the thoughts and desires of the all consuming shade that adhered itself to the creature. Turning eyes and animal who has lost their place, who has forgotten who they are, washed in their brain with the hooks of a silvered being, with a yellow flower in its hat. Lashing tail, the ground, upturned, come free, oozed, rough, on sweetie's skin, ashamed to be so fearful of the eyes she had come to be this familiar with, Evil was the way grassmen uplifted every bit of land they knew. But this was different. This was deeper.

No, the people of the limestone quarry had never lived in any kind of perfection. There was the night they never thought would end, the night they never spoke about now. The memory of the darkness now shaded her mind as the serpent rose above her. She, no bigger than a gnat surrounded by the crushing world. She would never be the same. She would lose all her hair, maybe.

She would forget everything that happened. Everything she could remember was pain anyway, she admonished herself, though her heart strained against the thought. How beautiful so many moments had been.

And now, looking at this serpent, rising above her eyes, wild, how could she have thought differently? How could she have thought, and even imagined, how she could have believed love or mercy had existed within this creature? After what she had seen. The serpent was larger than a mountain. The eyes rolled back, mouth pulled taut. How could she have thought she would survive this?

A body fighting against itself as it flung itself at her. She held her hands up, knicking its teeth at the right time, but she was consumed. These loosened teeth fell out as the serpent slithered away. The slivers of transparent white, blooming. As sunpati blossoms, each with one speck of blood inside.

And when the serpent was gone, the field was empty.