The dark crescent shadows over the terrain; the cast is the source of tall rolling mountains. The two suns rise, one Red and the other Blue. The sky is mixing into a purple cast with frays of velvet, indigo, scarlet, and sapphiric neptune haze. At the other pole, an ocean shore crystallizes with shimmers of refraction, sparkling. The tides foam white, up and onto the sand they run through.
Between the poles, there is a man and a woman. Both stand in the dark of dusk, where the light bleeds over the skies. The man is a crimson rose of dark and bloody red. The woman is a trumpet gentian flower of deep and rich blue.
Where the suns set together, they walk towards one another. The woman named Blue stretches her arms up in a bend forward while moving, and a mirage of rain follows with her, the arcane of her hue hazed into it with a heel-raised glide. She blurs like dissolve amid the sight, but the fog and light carry her essence just as well.
The aspect of the air levitates with a drifting impression of form, implying itself in any part through streaks of glow that reveal her outline within.
The man is named Red, and he follows after the whirling dewdrops spewing, chasing with a golden chalice, trying to catch her water. He drinks up as often as he can, so as to make more room in the cusp before the brim overflows. He cries her Blue back out and catches them with the cup, finding himself pursuing every last drop of her. Suddenly, during the enchanting occasion, the air feels sucked away, as if it was pulled out…
Red is taken aback for one moment, still in the warmth of night falling over the firmament, and then the wind fills itself into every in-between. The man blinks for one instant, and then the woman is carried away, pulled off into the distance from a puff of breeze.
He is left alone again. He savors every sip that is left of her. The suns fall down, and he falls the same, crying in the dirt. He catches the tears of his that remind him of her, cherishing them as well. The clouds are nowhere to be seen above, every star unhindered, the absence of which reminds Red of Blue.
The lushful breeze of the warm starry night is now empty. After drinking from all his tears and chalice, all that is left of her is the smell of her rain that she spilled and mixed into the soil. He is jealous of the ground he lies on.
Red asks of everything, “Why?”