GYPSY FIRES - MARIKA RETURNS

Sliver of light splits the night sky like some force in agony of birthing.
Then is still, to hang there, as stars one by one come to worship it re-birthing.
She moves, black silk as fine as the air shivers slight, hushed, over porcelain pure.
Below her, a paw black, sleek, so dark its ebony fur of satin shimmers most surely.
Eyes now raise in unison, answering that ancient call of her re-birth, gold eyes slanted as a pair, find each other in that moment of resurrection and she smiles as the one below growls out a purr. Deep within her it is as if a spark has been struck, she answers him with a low purr, pure and luring.
Raising now a leg, clad in that silk, she lifts it up straight from her waist, the ankle bells chime. Oh how they twinkle, and as if in reply to their call another begins to rise, as if the chimes mark the time.

Shoulder rolls to shoulder, black silk only covers the barest parts o them as she lowers her leg and in a motion of perfect syncopation with the one below she winds her body to a sitting position to come to full power.
Watching she smiles, golden hair falls slightly past her shoulders, a braid in the back eternally remains, decorated with dull silver beads of reason of memories of greatest suffering, and greater brought by her retribution. Gold eyes lined with the kohl of the ancient queens of the east focus on the motion of the furred lover,oh how she adores this eternally loyal beast, Talamaur, blue eyes slanted as hers.
Now she moves, one leg winds around the tree trunk and she lets her hips guide her down the already predestined path of Talamaur, great god of the southern islands, hers to command, hers to love and she is his as well. Soft feminine foot touches the ground, the Black Panther is already in his submission, “Neyt” comes as her first spoken word, intonation that equals in sensation of whisper to that finest of silk she is adorned in.

Leggings adorn her from hip to ankle, her feet are bare, one ankle rings with each alternate step, as the silk vibrates with each gyration of her hips.
She moves through the Shadows this night with a God at her side, to a circle;a fire ring, standing at it she lifts her right arm, all that is heard is the spark cracking
as the flames come at her command, she turns; her back is imprinted whole with the colors of the tattoo of the Phoenix for that is she, The Queen of the Kalderash, The One that the Holy Ones have taught all to. Flames climb as she watches; her gold lined eyes dipping into a deeper bronze, smiling she lifts her hand and they leap into the sky to make the imprint of the Phoenix above the camp of her people that now come one by one out of the Shadows.

As they do, the Phoenix burns above in the sky, the flames burn below, as one by one they come, Children of Marika Anastasia Romanski, Romany Kalderash, The true Gypsies of the Clans, for she has protected them all as she alone can.
Furs surround the fire, now visible in the rising fire; she stretches out full on hers,
watching as her Children move to celebrate her awakening, Talamaur is stretched full along her, her hand moves over him as if he is some desired lover, softly she caresses his coat, purring to him in the language only a gypsy could understand.
Blue eyes meet gold and he rolls over as a kitten in her hands.


The night splits, a tambourine rings out, a violin strikes a chord, her spirit she has kept through Romany magic, is lit, one hand caresses Talamaur as she raises the other and shakes the chimes on her wrist. Her hand rises as do the flames, twisting in such a way that is as if she is one with all motion. Soon her shoulders follow that hand, a roll of her left shoulder brings her up to sit beside Talamaur, a knee is bent, and she bends forward her head to rest for a second upon it. Then both arms are in the air, gold hair flies backwards as her head is thrown, and she rolls both her shoulders, rising with them from the bended knee to full tall length. On leg, adorned with timbres shaking steps ore the God, the music swells now as violin after violin are raised in the passion she is creating. Free of the furs she begins to let her soul fly free, bending backwards from her waist she lays her head almost backwards on the ground, covering herself with winding and intertwining arms that move in their course to the stars that bow to them. She raises up, gold eyes deepest bronze, the flames are drawn to them and flicker in their irises, as she moves one leg forward with a sway of those oh so delicately shaped to perfection hips, then the other follows, the chains around her waist sing.
Gyrations then a full arm lifted twirl as silk flies revealing Marika  almost in all her perfection. The Phoenix on her back has one wing tattooed ore her left shoulder, but yet it there does not remain for as she dances the magic becomes an enchantment of her making and the wing flutters in desire.

She moves from Child to Child, bending back to the men, showing them she is not
But one o them, forward to the women with one leg straight and her head on her knee, as on hand sweeps across the ground, round and round now she twirls, soon she is joined by the rest of the dancers, a myriad of silk flies in colors made unique of silks joining silks as dancers blend with the Magic in black. The fire flares and she smiles, once more the new moon has heard her call, She has sung her song and life reigns in the world of Shadows. Long will the Phoenix burn in that sky, as a signal for other Shadow walkers to come and join the Magic of The Romany Kalderash. And as her children take over, and find such wild desires and release, she seeks out that one hidden in the shadows, a tall dark man, his dark hair to his shoulders, the one that enchanted her, her maker, her king, her passion, her desire fulfillment. Steps she now takes are as silent as the panther that follows, a God protecting his Goddess, as she walks only with that every other slight tangle of bells into his arms. Lips find lips, fingers play upon flesh, he smiles, she just looks into his eyes, dark are they, yet hers burn such a bronze that the very flames inhabit her whole. He takes her into his arms, Marika yields, and with one kiss, a kiss of such sharp ecstasy the wine flows, the nectar of life fills the air with the scent of jasmine and cinnabar. Sweet, the potent vitae of the Kalderash, and he drinks of her, till she raises her head back and howls as does the panther, letting the whole of the night know she is now the hunter and so she goes forward letting her kiss go deep, deep into the courses of his soul, drinking into herself the life that fires her spirit to burn. Fingers pull at his hair,  her body presses to his, she becomes as he is curve to curve, indent to indent they are now one, as they both find again that ancient wine of life, and together the heads roll back and howl to the night of the supremacy of their cravings of passion beyond even mortal imaginings. Talamaur echos their joy, and then slowly they caress, a lick, a kiss and no marks show, hand in hand Marika and the Stranger of Desire, walk back to where her children are lost now in the passion they have sprung. Lowering to her furs, they intertwine, leg over leg, Talamaur rests down, a hand stretches out to him, caressing him, speaking to him in his language, and as she does, the language becomes real. Three black panthers inhabit the furs, two huge one slightly smaller, one with gold eyes, one with blue eyes, one with eyes as dark as the night. Enchantment fills the night – welcome my friends, welcome Shadow Walkers to the Gypsy Fires.