09-29-2019, 11:34 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allura' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .larketwo_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/Y24jrMd5/larketwo-bg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 3px #e0e2e6; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .larketwo_container p { margin: 0; } .larketwo_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .larketwo_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -325px; border: solid 1px #e0e2e6; border-bottom: none; } .larketwo_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #444a4a; padding: 30px; } .larketwo_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; bottom: -25px; right: 20px; color: #c3c4c6; font: 100px 'Allura', cursive; text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #242924; opacity: 0.8; } .larketwo_quote { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #798482; text-align: left; font-style: italic; padding-top: 30px; padding-left: 30px; line-height: 1.3; } .larketwo_quotetwo { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #798482; text-align: right; font-style: italic; padding-right: 30px; line-height: 1.3; } </style> <center> <div class="larketwo_container"> <div class="larketwo_text"> <p class="larketwo_quote">carried by the current of the morning <br>miles below the surface of the dawn<p> <p class="larketwo_message"> Before she knows it, she is falling.
She sees the mouth reach down to grab her and she doesn’t even have the time to react. She doesn’t have time to be scared or wonder how the creature is going to fit her in her mouth or do anything but simply draw in a quick inhalation of air and then fall tumbling down the slide, spitting her out in the jungle.
It is relatively quick and she lands on her feet.
Almost as if she stepped through a portal instead of falling down.
But she doesn’t have time to contemplate that either.
She glances up, her hair hanging heavy and thick around her face, flowers seemingly blooming even more vibrant in the lush atmosphere. It is almost like Tephra, humid and beautiful and she smiles despite the small fear that blossoms in her chest. She steps forward, she sees the path that appears and, curious, she dips her head down toward it. She wishes, painfully, for her brother, or Midnight, or Malone. Just someone to be here by her side (she has never been one for adventure) but they do not come. She is alone.
So she does the only thing that she can, which is walk.
She follows the twisting path as it weaves and dips. She follows it when it grows impossibly narrow and then expands at parts. She follows it until she reaches the peak and the bridge over the magma. This, too, is like home and she finds that the more that she reminds herself of Tephra, the more it becomes okay.
Larke steps onto the path and feels it creak. She swallows hard and steps again.
She continues, refusing to look down, until she reaches the other side.
But she doesn’t even get a chance to recover from this because as soon as her feet on stable ground, she is looking up to see the dragon looming over her. Larke angles her head to see the pale face in the window and the castle and none of it makes sense—none of it is clear. She feels her heart clench in her chest but she doesn’t run from the dragon. She doesn’t do anything but breathe in deep and imagine her brother and sister. They are softer versions of this dragon, but they are dragons, and just like the jungle was home.
This, too, can be home.
“E-excuse me?” she says, stepping forward into the dragon’s vicinity. She startles as it swings its wide head toward her, as it drops down and breathes toward her. She feels her hair fall back to reveal her face, feels the way that his breath is like the wind, and she trembles but doesn’t back away.
“You look like my little sister and brother,” she manages, her smile small.
The dragon says nothing—just continues to stare—and she swallows again.
“I just,” she glances up to see the face in the window and a hand pressed to the glass. “Can she go?” It feels lame, to ask such a thing, and she would blush if she was able but she just continues. “I mean, is there any way,” and her voice trails off when the dragon finally angles his massive head away, exhaling sulfuric breath. “No one has asked me that before,” he says, contemplative, and nearly amused.
But then he laughs.
“No,” his teeth show in a gleaming row. “No, I don’t think she can.”
He shakes his head and she sees it then—sees the cuts, long and angry. She inhales sharply and takes a step forward, her mother’s heart beating in her chest with compassion. “Are you hurt?” she breathes, nearly reaching out with her magic but holding back, waiting for the permission.
“I’m never hurt,” the dragon scoffs, and she sees the glow of orange in the back of his throat.
But she also sees the way that he flinches and adjust himself to hide the wounds.
“Did you get that protecting her?” she asks, pieces suddenly clicking into place, watching as his face shifts—things hidden and shifting—and feeling whatever fear she felt disappearing. “Are people coming here to hurt her?” and his face changes even more, nearly sullen, and she reaches out now—letting her healing light suddenly reach for him. He startles and the ground shakes beneath her and she is quick to try and soothe him. “No, wait, I’m not trying to hurt you,” her voice is steady. “I’m trying to help.”
He looks suspicious and the glow intensifies but, for some reason, holds it back.
So she continues.
She lets the golden light build and then unspool, reaching forward and finding the wounds on his neck and sinking into it. She lets it sink into the scales and the flesh, lets it mend the places where it has been ripped apart. It takes longer than she thought it would and her vision is blurry by the time that she is done. She sways on the spot, her sage green eyes flicking upward as she sees him mended together again.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she smiles and he dragon’s face falls out of focus, but she swears that she can see him smile as she hits her knees—and right before her consciousness leaves her, she looks up to see the pale face down by her, with a hand on her cheek and the only thing she hears is <i>thank you.</i>
And then she is gone. </p> <p class="larketwo_quotetwo">this is not the place that I was born in <br>but it doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong<p> </div> <div class="larketwo_name">larke</div> <img class="larketwo_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/sf8ywW98/larketwo.png"> </div> </center>
She sees the mouth reach down to grab her and she doesn’t even have the time to react. She doesn’t have time to be scared or wonder how the creature is going to fit her in her mouth or do anything but simply draw in a quick inhalation of air and then fall tumbling down the slide, spitting her out in the jungle.
It is relatively quick and she lands on her feet.
Almost as if she stepped through a portal instead of falling down.
But she doesn’t have time to contemplate that either.
She glances up, her hair hanging heavy and thick around her face, flowers seemingly blooming even more vibrant in the lush atmosphere. It is almost like Tephra, humid and beautiful and she smiles despite the small fear that blossoms in her chest. She steps forward, she sees the path that appears and, curious, she dips her head down toward it. She wishes, painfully, for her brother, or Midnight, or Malone. Just someone to be here by her side (she has never been one for adventure) but they do not come. She is alone.
So she does the only thing that she can, which is walk.
She follows the twisting path as it weaves and dips. She follows it when it grows impossibly narrow and then expands at parts. She follows it until she reaches the peak and the bridge over the magma. This, too, is like home and she finds that the more that she reminds herself of Tephra, the more it becomes okay.
Larke steps onto the path and feels it creak. She swallows hard and steps again.
She continues, refusing to look down, until she reaches the other side.
But she doesn’t even get a chance to recover from this because as soon as her feet on stable ground, she is looking up to see the dragon looming over her. Larke angles her head to see the pale face in the window and the castle and none of it makes sense—none of it is clear. She feels her heart clench in her chest but she doesn’t run from the dragon. She doesn’t do anything but breathe in deep and imagine her brother and sister. They are softer versions of this dragon, but they are dragons, and just like the jungle was home.
This, too, can be home.
“E-excuse me?” she says, stepping forward into the dragon’s vicinity. She startles as it swings its wide head toward her, as it drops down and breathes toward her. She feels her hair fall back to reveal her face, feels the way that his breath is like the wind, and she trembles but doesn’t back away.
“You look like my little sister and brother,” she manages, her smile small.
The dragon says nothing—just continues to stare—and she swallows again.
“I just,” she glances up to see the face in the window and a hand pressed to the glass. “Can she go?” It feels lame, to ask such a thing, and she would blush if she was able but she just continues. “I mean, is there any way,” and her voice trails off when the dragon finally angles his massive head away, exhaling sulfuric breath. “No one has asked me that before,” he says, contemplative, and nearly amused.
But then he laughs.
“No,” his teeth show in a gleaming row. “No, I don’t think she can.”
He shakes his head and she sees it then—sees the cuts, long and angry. She inhales sharply and takes a step forward, her mother’s heart beating in her chest with compassion. “Are you hurt?” she breathes, nearly reaching out with her magic but holding back, waiting for the permission.
“I’m never hurt,” the dragon scoffs, and she sees the glow of orange in the back of his throat.
But she also sees the way that he flinches and adjust himself to hide the wounds.
“Did you get that protecting her?” she asks, pieces suddenly clicking into place, watching as his face shifts—things hidden and shifting—and feeling whatever fear she felt disappearing. “Are people coming here to hurt her?” and his face changes even more, nearly sullen, and she reaches out now—letting her healing light suddenly reach for him. He startles and the ground shakes beneath her and she is quick to try and soothe him. “No, wait, I’m not trying to hurt you,” her voice is steady. “I’m trying to help.”
He looks suspicious and the glow intensifies but, for some reason, holds it back.
So she continues.
She lets the golden light build and then unspool, reaching forward and finding the wounds on his neck and sinking into it. She lets it sink into the scales and the flesh, lets it mend the places where it has been ripped apart. It takes longer than she thought it would and her vision is blurry by the time that she is done. She sways on the spot, her sage green eyes flicking upward as she sees him mended together again.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she smiles and he dragon’s face falls out of focus, but she swears that she can see him smile as she hits her knees—and right before her consciousness leaves her, she looks up to see the pale face down by her, with a hand on her cheek and the only thing she hears is <i>thank you.</i>
And then she is gone. </p> <p class="larketwo_quotetwo">this is not the place that I was born in <br>but it doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong<p> </div> <div class="larketwo_name">larke</div> <img class="larketwo_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/sf8ywW98/larketwo.png"> </div> </center>