02-16-2020, 08:47 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Bilbo+Swash+Caps|Cambay&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style>#Waverly{width:700px;}#picWaverly{position:relative;z-index:0;width:700px;height:700px;border-radius:350px 350px 350px 350px;overflow:hidden;border:3px #d3bb05 groove;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #def3f4;}#wrapperWaverly{position:relative;z-index:1;width:580px;margin-top:25px;background:#28595e;padding-top:60px;padding-bottom:50px;padding-left:60px;padding-right:60px;border-radius: 350px 350px 350px 350px;border:3px groove #d3bb05;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #def3f4;}#textWaverly{color:#def3f4;font-family: 'Cambay', sans-serif;font-size:14px;margin-bottom:0px;margin-top:70px;}#nameWaverly{font-family: 'Bilbo Swash Caps', cursive;color:#739797;font-size:90px;margin-top:30px;margin-bottom:0px;}#quoteWaverly{font-family: 'Bilbo Swash Caps', cursive;color:#739797;font-size:22px;line-height:14px;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:0px;}</style><center><div id="Waverly"><div id="picWaverly"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/3x1HcnzP/Waverly-HTML.jpg"/></div><div id="wrapperWaverly"><p id="quoteWaverly" align="center">your heart, it's like a drum<br>the chase has just begun</p><p id="textWaverly" align="justify">Her shriek as the false-mother edges closer, using impossible strength to corner her into the flames, is ear-splittingly unnatural. A sound that grates like the tines of a fork on ceramic. But it hardly matters. She is still pushed unerringly, her claws and teeth and strength somehow as nothing against this Lirren who is not Lirren. There is no broken skin or blood, only the impossible searing of her own flesh.
Eventually sound dies from her throat as her skin turns black and crisp, a shuddering, burning breath the only thing she has strength left for. And soon, even that is too much. She ends on an almost violent, rasping gasp as fire and smoke consume her. There is no sense of loss or betrayal as thought and breath flee, only the finality of her moments. She is not hardwired as they, not bound to the sense of emotional pain one might expect. Her world has long been very black and white. One lives or dies. For a time, she had lived. But a thing greater and mightier had brought about her death.
So it is not betrayal or anger she awakens to however long later, laying in the bowels of a large chamber. It is confusion. Every moment of the hellscape had felt so very real, and she had never imagined it may not be. But she does not dwell long on those impossibilities. Not when her broken mother steps forward, distorted apology on her lips. With a hiss, Waverly scrambles to her feet, wary golden eyes fixed unerringly on the unnatural image of Lirren twisting before her.
Everything that had been wrong before now screams it’s heinousness to the world. Her teal mane twines like living snakes around a crimson neck that undulates and bulges as though it might burst at any moment. Her teeth drip to the floor like water droplets, joints twisting all the wrong directions. One hoof comes up, as though she might placate her beastly daughter with the beckoning of a leg bending backwards, as though it had snapped loose. Even her skin seems surreal, oozing from her body, a sickening crawl of leaking flesh and fur.
Everything in Waverly screams at her to kill. To eliminate the threat that stands before her. Waverly had never been one to deny her instincts, but she had only ever killed prey before. And this grossly unnatural figure is something she would never wish to consume.
The prick of light in the distance is ultimately what decides her, however. She does not trust it, but it is more than she had before.
And so, without further thought or hesitation, she launches forward, jaw snapping wide as she rips with the vigor of a predator into the false figure of her mother. Her taste is sickening and terrible, but she does not slaughter this one for the taste. No, her goal is freedom, and the unnatural thing stands in her way.
Unlike before, her teeth easily find purchase as she tears into flesh and limb until Lirren is nothing but an unnatural heap of oozing skin and bone at her feet. The ease of the kill kindles suspicion in her mind, and as she turns her gaze to the beckoning light, she wonders if this is yet another trick. Wonders if this is nothing more than the tantalizing light of an anglerfish.
So, when she proceeds, it is not with the headlong rush of a fool convinced freedom is in reach, but rather the slow, cautious steps of a predator who understands what it is to become prey.</p><p id="nameWaverly" align="center">Waverly</p></div></div></center>
Eventually sound dies from her throat as her skin turns black and crisp, a shuddering, burning breath the only thing she has strength left for. And soon, even that is too much. She ends on an almost violent, rasping gasp as fire and smoke consume her. There is no sense of loss or betrayal as thought and breath flee, only the finality of her moments. She is not hardwired as they, not bound to the sense of emotional pain one might expect. Her world has long been very black and white. One lives or dies. For a time, she had lived. But a thing greater and mightier had brought about her death.
So it is not betrayal or anger she awakens to however long later, laying in the bowels of a large chamber. It is confusion. Every moment of the hellscape had felt so very real, and she had never imagined it may not be. But she does not dwell long on those impossibilities. Not when her broken mother steps forward, distorted apology on her lips. With a hiss, Waverly scrambles to her feet, wary golden eyes fixed unerringly on the unnatural image of Lirren twisting before her.
Everything that had been wrong before now screams it’s heinousness to the world. Her teal mane twines like living snakes around a crimson neck that undulates and bulges as though it might burst at any moment. Her teeth drip to the floor like water droplets, joints twisting all the wrong directions. One hoof comes up, as though she might placate her beastly daughter with the beckoning of a leg bending backwards, as though it had snapped loose. Even her skin seems surreal, oozing from her body, a sickening crawl of leaking flesh and fur.
Everything in Waverly screams at her to kill. To eliminate the threat that stands before her. Waverly had never been one to deny her instincts, but she had only ever killed prey before. And this grossly unnatural figure is something she would never wish to consume.
The prick of light in the distance is ultimately what decides her, however. She does not trust it, but it is more than she had before.
And so, without further thought or hesitation, she launches forward, jaw snapping wide as she rips with the vigor of a predator into the false figure of her mother. Her taste is sickening and terrible, but she does not slaughter this one for the taste. No, her goal is freedom, and the unnatural thing stands in her way.
Unlike before, her teeth easily find purchase as she tears into flesh and limb until Lirren is nothing but an unnatural heap of oozing skin and bone at her feet. The ease of the kill kindles suspicion in her mind, and as she turns her gaze to the beckoning light, she wonders if this is yet another trick. Wonders if this is nothing more than the tantalizing light of an anglerfish.
So, when she proceeds, it is not with the headlong rush of a fool convinced freedom is in reach, but rather the slow, cautious steps of a predator who understands what it is to become prey.</p><p id="nameWaverly" align="center">Waverly</p></div></div></center>