PAPERCUT

Above her the stars masqueraded, dancing in their celestial dance. Perhaps if she were a poet Medusa would sing praises of their beauty, but she was no such thing. No, she was simply a woman who could admire beauty, although she could find beauty in most everything. She found scars on a warrior beautiful, she found bland colors beautiful, she found the dull and broken beautiful, but that was all they were to her. She could not profess adjectives such as stunning and breath-taking, for there was nothing in her life deserving of such titles. She found many things beautiful, but that did not mean they were unique to her.
Tonight she found herself an insomniac, too consumed by her own thoughts to even begin having the capability to sleep. Rest was not something she mourned over, however. No, the serpent was alright with a few sleepless nights. Her dreams were confusing, anyways; in them she saw glimpses of herself, glimpses of memories that she did not think were hers but had to be due to her presence. Perhaps they were the locked away memories of her youth, the void of time that was so foreign to her. In them she could see many things, and perhaps the most vivid ones involved the way she?d been torn from her mother and the way she?d been raised in her harem.
Shaking her head, the serpent refocused on the stars. They were growing boring, and soon she would need to seek other entertainment, but for now she was content to note their beauty.