03-09-2020, 08:56 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cedarville+Cursive&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Mr+Dafoe&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css"> .ruthy_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: #ccccca; width: 605px; border: solid 1px #38253b; border-radius: 0px 0px 300px 300px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .ruthy_container p { margin: 0; } .ruthy_image { position: relative; padding-top: 80px;z-index: 4; width: 600px; border-radius: 0px 0px 300px 300px; } .ruthy_text { position: relative; z-index: 5; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -80px; background: #fff; border: solid 1px #38253b; border-top: none; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #38253b; }.ruthy_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #11293d; padding: 30px 50px; } .ruthy_name { color: #ccccca; font: 70px 'Cedarville Cursive', cursive;text-shadow: 0px 0px 8px #000; line-height: 0.8; text-align: center; padding-bottom: 12px; padding-left: 9px;} .ruthy_quote { font: 14px 'Cedarville Cursive', cursive; color: #fff; background: #ccccca; padding: 20px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 11px #1f242d;}</style> <center> <div class="ruthy_container"> <div class="ruthy_text"> <p class="ruthy_quote">if you do not have shadows,<BR> you are not in the light</p> <p class="ruthy_message">She doesn’t have time to be lulled by the splashed mare with her supple tone, though she longs to. If she closes her eyes, she can almost imagine Lilliana before her. But, she isn’t that lucky. And, Lilliana isn’t a magician.
The world goes blurry, but not before the dame’s final sentence rolled into her ears with weight and suspense.
<i>Show me, child. How do you create your haven? How do you learn to protect?</i>
Nerine is captivating—a fantasy like-glow glistening off the trees. It’s summer now, but the air doesn’t <i>smell</i> different. As if nothing but the vibrancy of colours and odd gloss sheen had changed since her ominous run in with the foreign mare.
The smell of <i>her</I> wafts in, throwing Ruthless into turmoil. Her once pristine golden glimmer now covered in white sea foam-like sweat, watching to her left as the cautiously paced blue roan grows from the fog now settling across the forest floor.
The silence is numbing, as if the quieter they are the more distant Brine feels. There are no words to share between the once inseparable pair, a mother of darkness and a child of light split between will to live and will to survive.
A theatrical drama Ruth had been grateful to shed, even if it also meant shedding her <i>own</i> mother.
“You don’t love me?” Her voice is not her own, in fact it’s a mixture of voices that Ruth struggles to pinpoint. They sound familiar… but, from where?
“You cannot survive Ruth…”
It hits her like the tentacle he wielded, his voice smothering her hope—air gone from her lungs.
“We are safer in the shadows…”
Confusion swarms her with a anxious glow that travels from the top of her throat into the pit of her stomach, the voice is changing and it has lost the ferocious masculine snarl and is replaced with the softness of Brine’s hum. A voice so soft and accustom to silence, the wide-eyed filly has to stretch to hear her.
“We all succumb, Ruthless..”
Lilliana, her words a barrelling smack to her heart that might as well knocked her to the floor. The once ignorant and brave roan turned into a cowering and quivering mess. The world had shook her, taken her and played with her like a mouse. It had hurt her, stolen everything happy about her. Taken everything <i>from</i> her.
And now, she can hardly bear it.
(<i>wouldn’t it just be easier if you… I don’t know… went away?</i>)
The thoughts that sink into her brain are not of her own, but of the menace before her. The monster that has taken the form of her mother and left her in a trembling incoherent <i>child</i>.
That’s what everyone calls her, isn’t it?
<i>Child</i>
<i>Brat</i>
“Don’t act the hero…”
“You’re a liar,” a whisper at first, and then a growl to finish. A tone she never knew she had, but it rises through the ashes and flares to the top with fury and vengeance. “You’re a fucking liar, and I am done with you.”
She understands it now, all the way down to the mysterious mare in the mountain. She <i>is</i> giving up Brine. She is giving up the fear, the cowardness, the complacency. The <i>surviving</i>.
<i>Killing</i> the era of suppression.
<i>Leaving</i> the mindset to run.
“I am done with you,” a hiss, and then suddenly she feels it. A stinging radiation in her mind, a boiling ache in her chest, but it rises from her and she can sense it leave. The unknown magic she had never found now obediently inhaling Brine in a cloud of fear.
“Stop, stop Ruth.”
Her mother’s desperation gripping to her daughter’s soul and ripping it from her safety. She wants to stop, but she <i>can’t</i>. Not if it means she can move forward. Not if it means she can protect the ones who need it, like Lilliana.
God, she needs to save Lilliana.
“I told you to stop!”
While the forest remains silent and tranquil, the blue roan is shrieking. Unbeknownst to our growing warrior, Brine is locked in a weak hypnosis that confuses her while the feeling of fear settles from her back and sinks into her spine.
“Leave, go!” A biting but desperate plea that breaks the loud shrill of Brine and silence bestows them once more. The tension dissipating into the air in similar fashion to how the fog begins to casually roll into the distance. The fog-made Brine now fading into the treeline.
Absent, mindless. A fraud. But she might as well have been the real thing, Ruthless had given her up.
And while the journey to ruling a safe haven is beyond her reach, she knows the first step has been taken.
The first step to living, and not <i>surviving</i>.
</p> <p class="ruthy_name">Ruthless</p> </div> <img class="ruthy_image" src="https://i.ibb.co/zbz1mRD/Brine-HTML.png"> </div> </center>
The world goes blurry, but not before the dame’s final sentence rolled into her ears with weight and suspense.
<i>Show me, child. How do you create your haven? How do you learn to protect?</i>
Nerine is captivating—a fantasy like-glow glistening off the trees. It’s summer now, but the air doesn’t <i>smell</i> different. As if nothing but the vibrancy of colours and odd gloss sheen had changed since her ominous run in with the foreign mare.
The smell of <i>her</I> wafts in, throwing Ruthless into turmoil. Her once pristine golden glimmer now covered in white sea foam-like sweat, watching to her left as the cautiously paced blue roan grows from the fog now settling across the forest floor.
The silence is numbing, as if the quieter they are the more distant Brine feels. There are no words to share between the once inseparable pair, a mother of darkness and a child of light split between will to live and will to survive.
A theatrical drama Ruth had been grateful to shed, even if it also meant shedding her <i>own</i> mother.
“You don’t love me?” Her voice is not her own, in fact it’s a mixture of voices that Ruth struggles to pinpoint. They sound familiar… but, from where?
“You cannot survive Ruth…”
It hits her like the tentacle he wielded, his voice smothering her hope—air gone from her lungs.
“We are safer in the shadows…”
Confusion swarms her with a anxious glow that travels from the top of her throat into the pit of her stomach, the voice is changing and it has lost the ferocious masculine snarl and is replaced with the softness of Brine’s hum. A voice so soft and accustom to silence, the wide-eyed filly has to stretch to hear her.
“We all succumb, Ruthless..”
Lilliana, her words a barrelling smack to her heart that might as well knocked her to the floor. The once ignorant and brave roan turned into a cowering and quivering mess. The world had shook her, taken her and played with her like a mouse. It had hurt her, stolen everything happy about her. Taken everything <i>from</i> her.
And now, she can hardly bear it.
(<i>wouldn’t it just be easier if you… I don’t know… went away?</i>)
The thoughts that sink into her brain are not of her own, but of the menace before her. The monster that has taken the form of her mother and left her in a trembling incoherent <i>child</i>.
That’s what everyone calls her, isn’t it?
<i>Child</i>
<i>Brat</i>
“Don’t act the hero…”
“You’re a liar,” a whisper at first, and then a growl to finish. A tone she never knew she had, but it rises through the ashes and flares to the top with fury and vengeance. “You’re a fucking liar, and I am done with you.”
She understands it now, all the way down to the mysterious mare in the mountain. She <i>is</i> giving up Brine. She is giving up the fear, the cowardness, the complacency. The <i>surviving</i>.
<i>Killing</i> the era of suppression.
<i>Leaving</i> the mindset to run.
“I am done with you,” a hiss, and then suddenly she feels it. A stinging radiation in her mind, a boiling ache in her chest, but it rises from her and she can sense it leave. The unknown magic she had never found now obediently inhaling Brine in a cloud of fear.
“Stop, stop Ruth.”
Her mother’s desperation gripping to her daughter’s soul and ripping it from her safety. She wants to stop, but she <i>can’t</i>. Not if it means she can move forward. Not if it means she can protect the ones who need it, like Lilliana.
God, she needs to save Lilliana.
“I told you to stop!”
While the forest remains silent and tranquil, the blue roan is shrieking. Unbeknownst to our growing warrior, Brine is locked in a weak hypnosis that confuses her while the feeling of fear settles from her back and sinks into her spine.
“Leave, go!” A biting but desperate plea that breaks the loud shrill of Brine and silence bestows them once more. The tension dissipating into the air in similar fashion to how the fog begins to casually roll into the distance. The fog-made Brine now fading into the treeline.
Absent, mindless. A fraud. But she might as well have been the real thing, Ruthless had given her up.
And while the journey to ruling a safe haven is beyond her reach, she knows the first step has been taken.
The first step to living, and not <i>surviving</i>.
</p> <p class="ruthy_name">Ruthless</p> </div> <img class="ruthy_image" src="https://i.ibb.co/zbz1mRD/Brine-HTML.png"> </div> </center>