08-31-2020, 07:44 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .svedka_container { position: relative; background-color: #FCFEFD; width: 600px; border: solid 1px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px 1px #000; } .svedka_container p { margin: 0; } .svedka_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .svedka_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 550px; margin-bottom: -400px; } .svedka_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #1e4c56; border-left: solid 1px; border-right: solid 1px; padding: 20px 30px; } .svedka_name { text-align: right; font: 20px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 10px; padding-right: 10px; color: #1e4c56; } .svedka_quote { text-align: center; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 2px; color: #336a6b; border-left: solid 1px; border-right: solid 1px; padding-top: 30px; } </style> <center> <div class="svedka_container"> <div class="svedka_text"> <p class="svedka_quote">let my shadows prove the sunshine</p> <p class="svedka_message">His body aches and Svedka’s voice matches it’s tone as a shuddering and painful groan leaves his mouth. His entire being, his very soul, does not like this in between - this edge between afterlife and more, and his own spirit balks at the idea of moving further and forward. He couldn’t move if he wanted to and he is thankful when further instructions from the dark god do not resound within his ears. But his eyes remain locked towards the further in, watching the gentle sway of movement in the distance, nearly mesmerized by it.
Part of him wants to think about what is next, but part of him is still completely content to stay here in this nothingness, within silence and never-ending but never-having-begun-in-the-first-place. There is no fight left within him, it seems.
Then, the movement in the distance changes.
It is no longer in the distance.
It is moving faster and more desperately than it had before - as if it had recognized him and found a new resilience in its mission, barreling towards Svedka in such a fashion that the stallion is sure he would meet his second death.
And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, Svedka too recognizes the creature coming towards him.
He had never seen his lion - not in this way, of course - but he had always seen the aftermath. The blood, the forgotten lapse in time, the sourness in his stomach from red meat. As the cougar lopes towards him, Svedka almost finds the beast graceful in its movements, claws outstretched and jaw gaping. There is something different in the darkness of its eyes though and Svedka finds it somehow familiar, but as a high-pitched and shrill yell resounds from its black-lined lips, he forgets all about the creature’s eyes.
Fear suddenly cools in Svedka’s stomach, even though he had already met death once by the beast’s claws. He couldn’t imagine being torn apart again and with a desperate cry, attempts to leap backward from the lion in a scrambling shuffle, half-rearing when they collide heavily. A paw finds purchase in the bulk of his shoulder and another on the other side where his mane meets his neck. The lion’s jaws attempted to snap at his withers, but had been unsuccessful since Svedka had lifted upwards just before they had met. Svedka’s breath had been sucked from him in their collision, leaving nothing in his throat for a scream. The lion pulls downwards, thick shreds of bright red blood pouring from each black claw that opens his ivory and gold skin as easy as butter.
This time, the stallion found the breath in his lungs to scream.
Ribbons of skin fall around him, hanging there loosely by whatever sinew and ligament still remain intact. The lion did not pause and quickly leapt forward again to find purchase somewhere on Svedka’s body - hoping for his teeth around his throat. But Svedka’s form wavers in and out, dancing like an apparition before the mountain lion. The beast falters, missing completely. It tries again and the same thing happens.
Both of their eyes meet - cerulean and black - and both of them have the same realization at the same time.
Svedka was being pulled from this nightmare.
With newfound motivation, the lion no longer was set on killing Svedka - now he was only trying to save himself.
The mountain lion yowls desperately, attempting to leap towards the stallion but, again, does not find any purchase as his solidity wavers in and out. For a moment - where Svedka realizes that a second death was not coming (hopefully) and that the lion was trying to latch back onto him - something like sympathy finds the bright blue of his eyes. The door is closing, they both can feel it, and the anger that once powered the lion’s movement is now fueled by absolute fear. Even its roars are no longer for a boast of power and strength, but desperate howls for a rope to hold to, to bring him back too.
The door is closing, and the darkness chases Svedka no longer.
Svedka watches helplessly as the lion attempts to dig itself out, protesting and fighting against the pull that tears him away from the stallion. The beast cries for mercy, for salvation, for redemption. Svedka pauses, hesitates, his eyes wide with sorrow as the thing he once despised now clings to him as its only hope. The stallion reaches out to the lion - bloody, shredded, torn - and their gaze meets for one pivotal moment as sadness, fear, and finality hit them both like the crash of an unforgiving wave.
And then, Svedka is whisked away through dimensions and eons, pulled by his skin by magic. Even as he falls through time and space and heavens and hells, the stallion can only close his eyes and see the burning image of the lion, begging for its life.
The stallion is thrown onto solid ground with no care. His ripped shoulder and neck scrape into the dirt and sand recklessly until he finally shudders to a stop, lying there nearly motionless save for the fragile way his ribcage rises and falls. As he lays there, blood still pulsing through open tears in his skin, Svedka grievously wonders if the lion had never been just the lion - that, behind that dark door, he had left a piece of himself to die.
Hot tears fill his eyes and he blinks them away by squeezing his ivory lids tightly shut.<p class="svedka_name">svedka</p> </div> <img class="svedka_image" src="https://s15.postimg.cc/pwoma9yh7/svedka.jpg"> </center>
Part of him wants to think about what is next, but part of him is still completely content to stay here in this nothingness, within silence and never-ending but never-having-begun-in-the-first-place. There is no fight left within him, it seems.
Then, the movement in the distance changes.
It is no longer in the distance.
It is moving faster and more desperately than it had before - as if it had recognized him and found a new resilience in its mission, barreling towards Svedka in such a fashion that the stallion is sure he would meet his second death.
And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, Svedka too recognizes the creature coming towards him.
He had never seen his lion - not in this way, of course - but he had always seen the aftermath. The blood, the forgotten lapse in time, the sourness in his stomach from red meat. As the cougar lopes towards him, Svedka almost finds the beast graceful in its movements, claws outstretched and jaw gaping. There is something different in the darkness of its eyes though and Svedka finds it somehow familiar, but as a high-pitched and shrill yell resounds from its black-lined lips, he forgets all about the creature’s eyes.
Fear suddenly cools in Svedka’s stomach, even though he had already met death once by the beast’s claws. He couldn’t imagine being torn apart again and with a desperate cry, attempts to leap backward from the lion in a scrambling shuffle, half-rearing when they collide heavily. A paw finds purchase in the bulk of his shoulder and another on the other side where his mane meets his neck. The lion’s jaws attempted to snap at his withers, but had been unsuccessful since Svedka had lifted upwards just before they had met. Svedka’s breath had been sucked from him in their collision, leaving nothing in his throat for a scream. The lion pulls downwards, thick shreds of bright red blood pouring from each black claw that opens his ivory and gold skin as easy as butter.
This time, the stallion found the breath in his lungs to scream.
Ribbons of skin fall around him, hanging there loosely by whatever sinew and ligament still remain intact. The lion did not pause and quickly leapt forward again to find purchase somewhere on Svedka’s body - hoping for his teeth around his throat. But Svedka’s form wavers in and out, dancing like an apparition before the mountain lion. The beast falters, missing completely. It tries again and the same thing happens.
Both of their eyes meet - cerulean and black - and both of them have the same realization at the same time.
Svedka was being pulled from this nightmare.
With newfound motivation, the lion no longer was set on killing Svedka - now he was only trying to save himself.
The mountain lion yowls desperately, attempting to leap towards the stallion but, again, does not find any purchase as his solidity wavers in and out. For a moment - where Svedka realizes that a second death was not coming (hopefully) and that the lion was trying to latch back onto him - something like sympathy finds the bright blue of his eyes. The door is closing, they both can feel it, and the anger that once powered the lion’s movement is now fueled by absolute fear. Even its roars are no longer for a boast of power and strength, but desperate howls for a rope to hold to, to bring him back too.
The door is closing, and the darkness chases Svedka no longer.
Svedka watches helplessly as the lion attempts to dig itself out, protesting and fighting against the pull that tears him away from the stallion. The beast cries for mercy, for salvation, for redemption. Svedka pauses, hesitates, his eyes wide with sorrow as the thing he once despised now clings to him as its only hope. The stallion reaches out to the lion - bloody, shredded, torn - and their gaze meets for one pivotal moment as sadness, fear, and finality hit them both like the crash of an unforgiving wave.
And then, Svedka is whisked away through dimensions and eons, pulled by his skin by magic. Even as he falls through time and space and heavens and hells, the stallion can only close his eyes and see the burning image of the lion, begging for its life.
The stallion is thrown onto solid ground with no care. His ripped shoulder and neck scrape into the dirt and sand recklessly until he finally shudders to a stop, lying there nearly motionless save for the fragile way his ribcage rises and falls. As he lays there, blood still pulsing through open tears in his skin, Svedka grievously wonders if the lion had never been just the lion - that, behind that dark door, he had left a piece of himself to die.
Hot tears fill his eyes and he blinks them away by squeezing his ivory lids tightly shut.<p class="svedka_name">svedka</p> </div> <img class="svedka_image" src="https://s15.postimg.cc/pwoma9yh7/svedka.jpg"> </center>