07-23-2018, 12:12 PM
Now I'm quite sure that I don't look my best today. How disappointing.
The gleam of my golden coat is muted with a film of dirt, mixing with various shades of bright red and drying burgundies. Truly, my conflicting shades of yellow, reds, browns and black match perfectly with the cool, fiery place I call home. Where do these stains come from however? I'm not entirely certain this time. My memory flees from me occasionally, with periods of utter blackness. Had I been asleep? No, I'm fairly certain the only times I really slumber is when I die. Actually, perhaps that was what had happened after all, I think, breathing in the salted scent that lingers stubbornly upon my marred coat. I do that sometimes, decide to test the boundaries of life and death, seemingly there was no clear divide in my simple existance. This is a probablem I would have to fix with absolute certainly, but not now.
Because the decay of body parts hanging listlessly drawn my null gaze, looking at the pieces for the first time in a long time. So many various shapes and sizes, remants of bygone unknown lives hanging precariously from the grasp of the pillared giants. They'd been given gifts, the giants, and they would not be so quick or easy to part with them. I know this simply, because they are not given gifts on the regular basis. Whatever possessions that were to be bestowed upon their watch would forever be theirs, clutched in greedy fingers on display forever, just out of reach. Unless you had the right words to convince them otherwise, of course. And at this point my blackened vision lingers upon the heart atop the peak of their possessions.
It looks nice up there, I think. And really, I have no such use for a useless organ anyway. I can still hear the phantom beat of it deep within my chest, forever ticking, singing the cruelest of songs to a life never ending.
My sides heave with impish laughter, crackling the drying blood upon my flanks and bringing on a fresh flood of crimson. The pain of it is sharp and well-welcomed, spurring my laughter to a wilder degree. It is then that I remember, all of the blood speckled upon my tawny flesh is not all of my own. Ah, but that is a story for another time.
I take it back. I do look my best today.
@[Astarael] thought it was time for them to meet, and to thread with you!
The gleam of my golden coat is muted with a film of dirt, mixing with various shades of bright red and drying burgundies. Truly, my conflicting shades of yellow, reds, browns and black match perfectly with the cool, fiery place I call home. Where do these stains come from however? I'm not entirely certain this time. My memory flees from me occasionally, with periods of utter blackness. Had I been asleep? No, I'm fairly certain the only times I really slumber is when I die. Actually, perhaps that was what had happened after all, I think, breathing in the salted scent that lingers stubbornly upon my marred coat. I do that sometimes, decide to test the boundaries of life and death, seemingly there was no clear divide in my simple existance. This is a probablem I would have to fix with absolute certainly, but not now.
Because the decay of body parts hanging listlessly drawn my null gaze, looking at the pieces for the first time in a long time. So many various shapes and sizes, remants of bygone unknown lives hanging precariously from the grasp of the pillared giants. They'd been given gifts, the giants, and they would not be so quick or easy to part with them. I know this simply, because they are not given gifts on the regular basis. Whatever possessions that were to be bestowed upon their watch would forever be theirs, clutched in greedy fingers on display forever, just out of reach. Unless you had the right words to convince them otherwise, of course. And at this point my blackened vision lingers upon the heart atop the peak of their possessions.
It looks nice up there, I think. And really, I have no such use for a useless organ anyway. I can still hear the phantom beat of it deep within my chest, forever ticking, singing the cruelest of songs to a life never ending.
My sides heave with impish laughter, crackling the drying blood upon my flanks and bringing on a fresh flood of crimson. The pain of it is sharp and well-welcomed, spurring my laughter to a wilder degree. It is then that I remember, all of the blood speckled upon my tawny flesh is not all of my own. Ah, but that is a story for another time.
I take it back. I do look my best today.
@[Astarael] thought it was time for them to meet, and to thread with you!