12-10-2019, 02:47 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cormorant Garamond|Stalemate" rel="stylesheet"><style>.ruth_container {position: relative;width:480px;background:#1D8770; border:2px solid #FFF;padding: 100;border-radius:0px 60px 0px 0px;}.ruth_image {position:relative;z-index:1;width:404px;height:404px;background-image:url('https://i.ibb.co/5xVkb1Q/971c110163ad757ed3a1e8c36cd3ded9.jpg');background-size:contain;border: 0px solid #A06D33;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #FFF;border-radius:0px 50px 0px 0px; margin-top: 40px;}.ruth_message {position: relative; width: 400px; background-color:#E1474A; margin-top: -270px; padding: 10px; border: 1px solid #FFF; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #FFF;font: 12px 'Times New Roman';color: #FFF; text-align: left;}.ruth_name {z-index:1;text-align: centre;font: 80px 'Stalemate', open-sans;position: relative; bottom: 150px; color:#E1474A; padding:7px;text-shadow: 2px 2px #51F1DD;}</style><center><div class="ruth_container"><div class="ruth_image"></div><p class="ruth_name">Ruthless</p><p class="ruth_message"></centre> They sit there momentarily--the air a heavy weighted cold with a bone chilling sheet--only silence bestowing the space between them. A gift surely, when only seconds ago the screams of fear and desperation rang through the air.
“Thank you,” the ebony mare is able to choke out two words, her breathing heavy and lungs still desperate for oxygen. Ruthless doesn’t look to her, she continues to stare at her throbbing right knee and the stream of blood pooling between forearms where her wounded lip hangs.
A breeze lifts the thin mane Ruthless had started to grow only months prior, a silky pearl-white with a subtle hint of cream. Her once clean golden coat now tainted with dust, blood, and a white foam lathered sweat. Picturesque to terrifying, as if the black monster had taken her beauty and her innocence all in one glance.
“I want to go home,” Ruth nuzzles her on knee, a failed attempt to clean her lip leaking the vibrant red liquid. “I want my mom. I thought you were my mom.”
“I am Anatomy, and I am not your mom,” the mare responds hastily, rising to her legs with frantic energy as sudden realization sets in. <I>Aida</i>.
Ruthless watches in disbelief as the mare begins to trot into the distance, the length of her tail nearly sweeping the sandy dunned floor. Her high pitched whiny carries out into the barren desert landscape, lost in the breeze hardly making it yards from her mouth. Her neck paraded high, eyes searching for any form of life.
“Wait!” Ruthless trembles, attempting to rise just as poised and elegant as the mare had only moments prior. Of course, it’s a failed attempt. The throbbing in her right knee triggers a wincing cringe over the right half of her fragile body, and as she tries to leap into a forward trot her legs sprawl every which direction. Adrenaline had shot through and shock had already settled in, leaving her a vibrating mess of energy and exhaustion all rolled into one.
And her trot, oh dear God her trot. An Entanglement of four legs trying to find rhythm in the deep sand holding her like molasses, with an awkward limp perfecting the overall look. Though, her appearance does not dawn on our little golden world. All she is focused on is the disappearing shadow seemingly farther and farther away, and her little legs burning in agony to give up.
“Stop!” A shrill, desperate cry nearly as panicked as minutes before dying over the dunes and cravesses of the desert.
Her mind begins to fizz like a beckoning explosion of carbonation, a familiar feeling that Ruthless had begun to grow accustomed to ever since the mist had stolen her innocence, and carried her to this unruly land. And it is with this mind-numbing buzz, that she sees the beautiful silhouette of gold intertwined with black, their necks linked in comfort and support.
Anatomy knew her?
As the mare continues to slowly disappear into the foreign distance, Ruthless is becoming increasingly flustered. With every stride, her leg cries in anguish.
Her little wings fluff, as if saying <i>pick me</i>.
Skepticism follows, her wings had never took flight. Fear falls, there is a reason she hasn’t.
<I>Baby Ruth, stay here. Stay grounded. You do not know what lurks in the air</i>
<I>My child, your wings are not a gift. They are a danger. You shouldn’t see them as toys.</i>
The soft voice of her mother floats around her ears as if she is here now, apart of the suffocatingly hot air.
Ruth turns to see her wings flutter, a small offer. As if to say, <i>just take a chance</i>. What more does she have to lose, her mom?
Ha.
It takes a second, a little trot and a big push against gravity before her feet suddenly lift from the desert floor and take off into the distance. She is fast, uncontrolled, and more than unstable. Like a pigeon with a broken wing, attempting to navigate through strong winds. A pitiful attempt, but successful and almost.. Relieving?
Her eyes are dead set on the black ebony mare moving at a brisk pace below her, the sound of her cry out for Aida barely legible from the clouds. Ruth feels her heart pull to the mare, imagining Brine wandering lost and alone, but the determination to save her daughter carrying her across the land.
“Wait!” The landing of course did not go smoothly, a few tumbles and somersaults and an odd squeak before she peers up to see Anatomy looking down at her with confusion. “Just wait, listen to me.”
And then… Nothing. Nothing follows. What could she say? What is Anatomy supposed to wait for?
<I>Bring her back. Reunite her. Reunite them</i>
“Well, go on then,” Anatomy’s body language quickly turns from confused to irritated.
“You have to follow me. I know where to go. I came in this mist, and it transported me here. I am not from here. And I saw this golden mare and this black stallion, and then I saw you and here. And I don’t know what it is but something is telling me I can bring you back. I can bring you to Aida, or the golden mare, or something.
“Please. You have to believe me. You are all I have.”
Seconds… Minutes… It almost feels like an hour as the shadowed mare contemplates the insanity before her. The child, out of breath and on her last stitch of effort to find home peering up hopeful.
She has been honest. That’s all she could do. <i>We reward honesty</i>, the voice of her mother easing her worry.
“I am sorry, but I… I cannot go off the fantasy of a child. Aida is missing. Craft is dead. And you are in my way.”
“But please, you have to believe me! I need you. I am alone. I am scared. Please!”
“I am sorry, but go away. Every second I waste here is a second further from finding Aida. I cannot be a mother to you when I cannot even find her… You must understand. Please, go find your mom. Go,” she is short, the tone of annoyance clinging to every letter of every word before dismissing the yearling. And off she continued at a faster pace, as if to run away from a forest fire too far gone to save.
And our little light stays stationary, a spec of flesh in the middle of the heated desert. Alone. And more than a little lost.
She wanders, slowly. A drag in her step, dryness clinging to her throat. A body so ready to give up and become apart of the sand, like the golden queen only hours before.
And it is here, in her final moments before disappearing into the sand, that the small rotating golden portal sits before her in the side of a dune hidden by shadows. It’s rotating door spiralling.
Attempt after attempt, our golden child tries pounding through the portal every which way. Running, walking, head first, hind first… Anything to appease it’s demands, though every time falling short.
“You think this will take me to her? To them?” A familiar voice reaches the ears of baby Ruth. Hazel eyes whip around to see the ebony mare, Anatomy, looking into the golden portal.
“I don’t know… But I wouldn’t lie.”
“Alright then, lead the way…” The softest of smiles creeps into the inner corner of Anatomy’s eyes, curiosity lining the inside of her eyes awaiting for Ruth to take the first step.
The portal changes to a warmer gold, hints of reds and oranges lining the inside. The soft sound of nature whistling through the other end.
She wiggles her wings, touching one feather ever so softly to the portal that only seconds before had felt like stone.
It gives to her touch, the feather softening into the portal like quicksand.
And with her wings leading her confidence, Ruthless takes her first steps through. Breathing a sigh of relief, praying Anatomy’s trust is not broken.
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“Thank you,” the ebony mare is able to choke out two words, her breathing heavy and lungs still desperate for oxygen. Ruthless doesn’t look to her, she continues to stare at her throbbing right knee and the stream of blood pooling between forearms where her wounded lip hangs.
A breeze lifts the thin mane Ruthless had started to grow only months prior, a silky pearl-white with a subtle hint of cream. Her once clean golden coat now tainted with dust, blood, and a white foam lathered sweat. Picturesque to terrifying, as if the black monster had taken her beauty and her innocence all in one glance.
“I want to go home,” Ruth nuzzles her on knee, a failed attempt to clean her lip leaking the vibrant red liquid. “I want my mom. I thought you were my mom.”
“I am Anatomy, and I am not your mom,” the mare responds hastily, rising to her legs with frantic energy as sudden realization sets in. <I>Aida</i>.
Ruthless watches in disbelief as the mare begins to trot into the distance, the length of her tail nearly sweeping the sandy dunned floor. Her high pitched whiny carries out into the barren desert landscape, lost in the breeze hardly making it yards from her mouth. Her neck paraded high, eyes searching for any form of life.
“Wait!” Ruthless trembles, attempting to rise just as poised and elegant as the mare had only moments prior. Of course, it’s a failed attempt. The throbbing in her right knee triggers a wincing cringe over the right half of her fragile body, and as she tries to leap into a forward trot her legs sprawl every which direction. Adrenaline had shot through and shock had already settled in, leaving her a vibrating mess of energy and exhaustion all rolled into one.
And her trot, oh dear God her trot. An Entanglement of four legs trying to find rhythm in the deep sand holding her like molasses, with an awkward limp perfecting the overall look. Though, her appearance does not dawn on our little golden world. All she is focused on is the disappearing shadow seemingly farther and farther away, and her little legs burning in agony to give up.
“Stop!” A shrill, desperate cry nearly as panicked as minutes before dying over the dunes and cravesses of the desert.
Her mind begins to fizz like a beckoning explosion of carbonation, a familiar feeling that Ruthless had begun to grow accustomed to ever since the mist had stolen her innocence, and carried her to this unruly land. And it is with this mind-numbing buzz, that she sees the beautiful silhouette of gold intertwined with black, their necks linked in comfort and support.
Anatomy knew her?
As the mare continues to slowly disappear into the foreign distance, Ruthless is becoming increasingly flustered. With every stride, her leg cries in anguish.
Her little wings fluff, as if saying <i>pick me</i>.
Skepticism follows, her wings had never took flight. Fear falls, there is a reason she hasn’t.
<I>Baby Ruth, stay here. Stay grounded. You do not know what lurks in the air</i>
<I>My child, your wings are not a gift. They are a danger. You shouldn’t see them as toys.</i>
The soft voice of her mother floats around her ears as if she is here now, apart of the suffocatingly hot air.
Ruth turns to see her wings flutter, a small offer. As if to say, <i>just take a chance</i>. What more does she have to lose, her mom?
Ha.
It takes a second, a little trot and a big push against gravity before her feet suddenly lift from the desert floor and take off into the distance. She is fast, uncontrolled, and more than unstable. Like a pigeon with a broken wing, attempting to navigate through strong winds. A pitiful attempt, but successful and almost.. Relieving?
Her eyes are dead set on the black ebony mare moving at a brisk pace below her, the sound of her cry out for Aida barely legible from the clouds. Ruth feels her heart pull to the mare, imagining Brine wandering lost and alone, but the determination to save her daughter carrying her across the land.
“Wait!” The landing of course did not go smoothly, a few tumbles and somersaults and an odd squeak before she peers up to see Anatomy looking down at her with confusion. “Just wait, listen to me.”
And then… Nothing. Nothing follows. What could she say? What is Anatomy supposed to wait for?
<I>Bring her back. Reunite her. Reunite them</i>
“Well, go on then,” Anatomy’s body language quickly turns from confused to irritated.
“You have to follow me. I know where to go. I came in this mist, and it transported me here. I am not from here. And I saw this golden mare and this black stallion, and then I saw you and here. And I don’t know what it is but something is telling me I can bring you back. I can bring you to Aida, or the golden mare, or something.
“Please. You have to believe me. You are all I have.”
Seconds… Minutes… It almost feels like an hour as the shadowed mare contemplates the insanity before her. The child, out of breath and on her last stitch of effort to find home peering up hopeful.
She has been honest. That’s all she could do. <i>We reward honesty</i>, the voice of her mother easing her worry.
“I am sorry, but I… I cannot go off the fantasy of a child. Aida is missing. Craft is dead. And you are in my way.”
“But please, you have to believe me! I need you. I am alone. I am scared. Please!”
“I am sorry, but go away. Every second I waste here is a second further from finding Aida. I cannot be a mother to you when I cannot even find her… You must understand. Please, go find your mom. Go,” she is short, the tone of annoyance clinging to every letter of every word before dismissing the yearling. And off she continued at a faster pace, as if to run away from a forest fire too far gone to save.
And our little light stays stationary, a spec of flesh in the middle of the heated desert. Alone. And more than a little lost.
She wanders, slowly. A drag in her step, dryness clinging to her throat. A body so ready to give up and become apart of the sand, like the golden queen only hours before.
And it is here, in her final moments before disappearing into the sand, that the small rotating golden portal sits before her in the side of a dune hidden by shadows. It’s rotating door spiralling.
Attempt after attempt, our golden child tries pounding through the portal every which way. Running, walking, head first, hind first… Anything to appease it’s demands, though every time falling short.
“You think this will take me to her? To them?” A familiar voice reaches the ears of baby Ruth. Hazel eyes whip around to see the ebony mare, Anatomy, looking into the golden portal.
“I don’t know… But I wouldn’t lie.”
“Alright then, lead the way…” The softest of smiles creeps into the inner corner of Anatomy’s eyes, curiosity lining the inside of her eyes awaiting for Ruth to take the first step.
The portal changes to a warmer gold, hints of reds and oranges lining the inside. The soft sound of nature whistling through the other end.
She wiggles her wings, touching one feather ever so softly to the portal that only seconds before had felt like stone.
It gives to her touch, the feather softening into the portal like quicksand.
And with her wings leading her confidence, Ruthless takes her first steps through. Breathing a sigh of relief, praying Anatomy’s trust is not broken.
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