02-16-2021, 04:14 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Amatic+SC" rel="stylesheet"><div align="center"><div style="border-left:#213025 3px solid;border-right:#213025 3px solid;background:#747b6c;padding:16px 16px 12px 16px;width:500px;"><img src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yx2B0OacALk/WSSI1wgagCI/AAAAAAAAZGo/j2MYqCo8gvUDi6uadPexYdzUO02QsiFFQCLcB/s1600/2017-05-23_0052.jpg" style="max-width:100%;border:1px solid #000;"><div style="width:500px;line-height:24px;font-family:amatic sc;font-size:50px;margin-left:-4px;text-shadow:#dee1cf 2px 0px 2px;color:#213025;letter-spacing:1px;text-transform:lowercase;text-align:center;">it's a mystery to me</div><div style="width:450px;padding:12px 4px 12px 4px;font-family:arial;text-transform:uppercase;font-size:9px;line-height:8px;letter-spacing:1px;text-align:center;color:#3f4c40;">we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.</div><div style="font-family:times;font-size:13px;line-height:120%;text-align:justify;color:#213025;">She spends too much time daydreaming. Her mind is filled with a heavy mixture of reality and fantasy, the darkness playing tricks until lines become blurred. Tephra’s undergrowth begins to look similar to the white and gold patterns on Svedka’s body, giving the illusion that he waits in the shadows no matter where she looks. When she looks in her reflection, her face shifts from mahogany to obsidian to deep purple. When she wakes up, she sees Warden’s mangled body lying before her feet, a shimmering mirage that vanishes when she blinks.
The eclipse has taken much from Wishbone, and when she hears the fairy-call on a paper-thin breeze, she thinks it has finally taken her sanity as well.
She has never heard their voices before, never traveled to the Mountain, never asked for something more. Sure, Wishbone has sought out the adventures, but they had certainly found her too.
It hadn’t been her intention to watch the sky darken with Warden, to hear Svedka’s cry, to watch her brother fall into the cracked mouth of the Earth and see it swallow him whole. She had decided to dig in search of Svedka, to grab what wide, flat bones she could find and scoop into the soil until she met only roots and ash (but how could she have just watched him fall and <i>not</i> go after him?). She had meant to find a new friend, to learn Mazikeen’s name, and to ignore the heavy shadows. Yet she had not wanted to call the monster closer, to see Ivar’s face with his sharp golden eyes, to watch it cut deep into Mazikeen’s neck, to feel her body burn from the inside until she shattered into millions of pieces and reformed in a different body.
Wishbone is faced with a decision now. Despite her daydreaming, despite the way her mind floats between awake and asleep, the brush of the fairies’ magic is too obvious for her to ignore. She can’t throw it away as insanity, and she doesn’t even want to admit that she could be on the brink of madness anyway. So now it comes down to this: to follow the adventure or shy away from it.
She barely considers her choice, and her deep purple legs are moving toward the Mountain by the time the fairies’ call has faded. Wishbone holds onto the fierce hope that this call will begin to shift the tides; the ferocious desire — need — to find Svedka and the sun itself is fuel to keep her moving quickly. She covers the distance in half the time it would typically take, alternating between a traveling jog and a mile-eating run.
By the time Wishbone reaches the Mountain’s base, she is coated in a layer of sweat that darkens her coat. Her amber eyes are bright, and her broad neck moves to survey the others that gather. They are small in number so far — a soft-glowing filly, a wounded stallion, a scaled stallion that smells like ice and blood, and a dark girl blanketed with fireflies — and stand awkwardly apart. If Wishbone has learned anything from her strange experiences with Beqanna’s magic (after all, she <i>has</i> had adventures, even if the fairies did not directly create them), it is that they will need to stay together to win their sun back.
So she finds her place among them, saying, <font style="color:#dee1cf;"><b>“Hello, all. I’m Wishbone,”</b></font> in that characteristic grating, feminine voice.</div></div><font style="font-family:times;font-size:10px;color:#000;">credit to <i>eliza</i> of adoxography.</font></div>
The eclipse has taken much from Wishbone, and when she hears the fairy-call on a paper-thin breeze, she thinks it has finally taken her sanity as well.
She has never heard their voices before, never traveled to the Mountain, never asked for something more. Sure, Wishbone has sought out the adventures, but they had certainly found her too.
It hadn’t been her intention to watch the sky darken with Warden, to hear Svedka’s cry, to watch her brother fall into the cracked mouth of the Earth and see it swallow him whole. She had decided to dig in search of Svedka, to grab what wide, flat bones she could find and scoop into the soil until she met only roots and ash (but how could she have just watched him fall and <i>not</i> go after him?). She had meant to find a new friend, to learn Mazikeen’s name, and to ignore the heavy shadows. Yet she had not wanted to call the monster closer, to see Ivar’s face with his sharp golden eyes, to watch it cut deep into Mazikeen’s neck, to feel her body burn from the inside until she shattered into millions of pieces and reformed in a different body.
Wishbone is faced with a decision now. Despite her daydreaming, despite the way her mind floats between awake and asleep, the brush of the fairies’ magic is too obvious for her to ignore. She can’t throw it away as insanity, and she doesn’t even want to admit that she could be on the brink of madness anyway. So now it comes down to this: to follow the adventure or shy away from it.
She barely considers her choice, and her deep purple legs are moving toward the Mountain by the time the fairies’ call has faded. Wishbone holds onto the fierce hope that this call will begin to shift the tides; the ferocious desire — need — to find Svedka and the sun itself is fuel to keep her moving quickly. She covers the distance in half the time it would typically take, alternating between a traveling jog and a mile-eating run.
By the time Wishbone reaches the Mountain’s base, she is coated in a layer of sweat that darkens her coat. Her amber eyes are bright, and her broad neck moves to survey the others that gather. They are small in number so far — a soft-glowing filly, a wounded stallion, a scaled stallion that smells like ice and blood, and a dark girl blanketed with fireflies — and stand awkwardly apart. If Wishbone has learned anything from her strange experiences with Beqanna’s magic (after all, she <i>has</i> had adventures, even if the fairies did not directly create them), it is that they will need to stay together to win their sun back.
So she finds her place among them, saying, <font style="color:#dee1cf;"><b>“Hello, all. I’m Wishbone,”</b></font> in that characteristic grating, feminine voice.</div></div><font style="font-family:times;font-size:10px;color:#000;">credit to <i>eliza</i> of adoxography.</font></div>