02-22-2021, 12:19 AM
<link rel="preconnect" href="https://fonts.gstatic.com">
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Mrs+Saint+Delafield&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><link rel="preconnect" href="https://fonts.gstatic.com">
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Cormorant&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.jarris_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:600px;background:url("https://i.postimg.cc/25b3HLy7/69176-1-HIVA-OA-1500x3000-BASSA.jpg");background-size:cover;background-repeat:no-repeat;border:0px solid #1c1c1c;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(232, 223, 166,.6);}.jarris_container p{margin:0;}.jarris_image{position:relative;z-index:4;margin-top:0px;border-radius: 0 0 0 0;width:600px;opacity:45%;}.jarris_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:500px;text-align:justify;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;color:black;background:rgb(116, 114, 102, .6);padding:20px;padding-bottom:30px;border: solid 0px #000000;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(0, 0, 0,.6);margin-top:-80px;}.jarris_name{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:justify;color:#5b3609;letter-spacing:5px;font-family: 'Mrs Saint Delafield', cursive;font-size:135px;opacity:60%;margin-top:-175px;margin-left:350px;text-shadow:0 0 8px #000;}.jarris_title{position:relative;top:5px;z-index:20;text-align:center;color:black;letter-spacing:4px;font-family: 'Cormorant', serif;font-size:14px;text-shadow:0 0 8px #b59a53;opacity:90%;padding-bottom:6px;}</style><center><div class="jarris_container"><img class="jarris_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/kGsnMKf8/jarris1.png"><div class="jarris_name">jarris</div><div class="jarris_message">
Which had come first?
The call or the stunning realization that she was gone?
He had lunged into the darkness after her. For so long he had remained as still as he could, afraid to disturb the crown of thorns that sat low on his brow, but he hurled himself into the shadows with reckless abandon. He gnashed his teeth and called her name until he was hoarse, until there was no voice left and then he had dredged her name up out of the darkest parts of him and flung that out into the pitch-black night, too.
And he had wept, too. Wept with new urgency. Wept until his whole face was slick with gold.
How quickly it had happened! He had pulled her against him, hooked his neck over hers and held her close. As if he had ever been capable of keeping her safe! As if he had ever been good for anything! And then she was gone and he had stumbled blindly after her to no avail. A worthless, lovesick fool.
He had understood the inherent dangers of monsters inhabiting their home, certainly, but he had thought them invincible. Why? Because he had thought, too, that their grandson might have been responsible for them which meant that somehow they should impervious to all of the dark things. They had never met the Alliance champion, their grandson, certainly Kensley would have kept him from them even if they’d tried. But Jarris had heard the rumors, rumors of how the eclipse had edged its way across the surface of the sun as their grandson had gone to battle with Gale and the monsters had come soon after.
Now Plumeria is gone and he is alone. Alone with nothing but the sound of his beating heart. Why should it go on beating when the darkness has taken her from him?
But it is in this silence that he hears the call.
Had it been there all along? Had he been deaf to it because he could hear nothing beyond his desperate pleas for his lover to be returned to him? How he aches to have her anchored against his side again.
His nostrils flare as he turns his gaze (blurry still with the relentless gold tears) in the direction of the Mountain. (He cannot see it of course, not in this impenetrable darkness, but he knows where it is. He has so many memories of it and not one of them is good.) He does not want to go. Oh, how desperately he does not want to go. Especially with the way that his heartsickness has been compounded in Plumeria’s absence. But he knows, too, that the Mountain may be his only chance at getting her back.
So he goes. And the thorns bite greedily into the soft flesh of his brow as he walks so that deep red blood mixes with the vibrant gold of his tears as he goes, scalding his cheeks. Such a vicious cycle, the pain of it all. But there is nothing left for him to lose. Nothing at all.
He arrives at the base of the Mountain, somehow untouched by the things that lurk in the darkness. As if they know that he is nothing but a hollowed shell of a thing, worthless. They have already taken the best part of him.
If anyone casts a glance in his direction he doesn’t notice. And even if he did, he does not have a voice left to greet them with. So he stands and he waits and he weeps.
But he is not here to find the light, he is here to find Plumeria.
</div><div class="jarris_title">I WAS READY TO DIE FOR YA, BABY
DOESN’T MEAN I’M READY TO STAY</div></center>
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Mrs+Saint+Delafield&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><link rel="preconnect" href="https://fonts.gstatic.com">
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Cormorant&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.jarris_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:600px;background:url("https://i.postimg.cc/25b3HLy7/69176-1-HIVA-OA-1500x3000-BASSA.jpg");background-size:cover;background-repeat:no-repeat;border:0px solid #1c1c1c;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(232, 223, 166,.6);}.jarris_container p{margin:0;}.jarris_image{position:relative;z-index:4;margin-top:0px;border-radius: 0 0 0 0;width:600px;opacity:45%;}.jarris_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:500px;text-align:justify;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;color:black;background:rgb(116, 114, 102, .6);padding:20px;padding-bottom:30px;border: solid 0px #000000;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px rgb(0, 0, 0,.6);margin-top:-80px;}.jarris_name{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:justify;color:#5b3609;letter-spacing:5px;font-family: 'Mrs Saint Delafield', cursive;font-size:135px;opacity:60%;margin-top:-175px;margin-left:350px;text-shadow:0 0 8px #000;}.jarris_title{position:relative;top:5px;z-index:20;text-align:center;color:black;letter-spacing:4px;font-family: 'Cormorant', serif;font-size:14px;text-shadow:0 0 8px #b59a53;opacity:90%;padding-bottom:6px;}</style><center><div class="jarris_container"><img class="jarris_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/kGsnMKf8/jarris1.png"><div class="jarris_name">jarris</div><div class="jarris_message">
Which had come first?
The call or the stunning realization that she was gone?
He had lunged into the darkness after her. For so long he had remained as still as he could, afraid to disturb the crown of thorns that sat low on his brow, but he hurled himself into the shadows with reckless abandon. He gnashed his teeth and called her name until he was hoarse, until there was no voice left and then he had dredged her name up out of the darkest parts of him and flung that out into the pitch-black night, too.
And he had wept, too. Wept with new urgency. Wept until his whole face was slick with gold.
How quickly it had happened! He had pulled her against him, hooked his neck over hers and held her close. As if he had ever been capable of keeping her safe! As if he had ever been good for anything! And then she was gone and he had stumbled blindly after her to no avail. A worthless, lovesick fool.
He had understood the inherent dangers of monsters inhabiting their home, certainly, but he had thought them invincible. Why? Because he had thought, too, that their grandson might have been responsible for them which meant that somehow they should impervious to all of the dark things. They had never met the Alliance champion, their grandson, certainly Kensley would have kept him from them even if they’d tried. But Jarris had heard the rumors, rumors of how the eclipse had edged its way across the surface of the sun as their grandson had gone to battle with Gale and the monsters had come soon after.
Now Plumeria is gone and he is alone. Alone with nothing but the sound of his beating heart. Why should it go on beating when the darkness has taken her from him?
But it is in this silence that he hears the call.
Had it been there all along? Had he been deaf to it because he could hear nothing beyond his desperate pleas for his lover to be returned to him? How he aches to have her anchored against his side again.
His nostrils flare as he turns his gaze (blurry still with the relentless gold tears) in the direction of the Mountain. (He cannot see it of course, not in this impenetrable darkness, but he knows where it is. He has so many memories of it and not one of them is good.) He does not want to go. Oh, how desperately he does not want to go. Especially with the way that his heartsickness has been compounded in Plumeria’s absence. But he knows, too, that the Mountain may be his only chance at getting her back.
So he goes. And the thorns bite greedily into the soft flesh of his brow as he walks so that deep red blood mixes with the vibrant gold of his tears as he goes, scalding his cheeks. Such a vicious cycle, the pain of it all. But there is nothing left for him to lose. Nothing at all.
He arrives at the base of the Mountain, somehow untouched by the things that lurk in the darkness. As if they know that he is nothing but a hollowed shell of a thing, worthless. They have already taken the best part of him.
If anyone casts a glance in his direction he doesn’t notice. And even if he did, he does not have a voice left to greet them with. So he stands and he waits and he weeps.
But he is not here to find the light, he is here to find Plumeria.
</div><div class="jarris_title">I WAS READY TO DIE FOR YA, BABY
DOESN’T MEAN I’M READY TO STAY</div></center>