10-24-2025, 11:51 PM
this picture's frozen and I can't get out
She has been wandering, trying to collect memories of a life that seems to have been a million years ago. Searching to find a place that triggers something familiar. She knows there is something to who she is. The blank slate she woke to was once full of memories that she just can't dig out of the heavy fog in her mind. Her dreams have been wrought with flashes of blood and ear-piercing shrieks. Memories of a war that she knows must have existed. Fuzzy visions of her mother, green like her, but harsher and cold. She knows she has siblings. Or had siblings? A pink sister, a brother with tattered wings, and several siblings in varying shades of green. Likely all long gone, as home seemingly was.
Dead land and the stench of death accompany the shrieks and blood of a war rattled land that she must have once called home. There isn't a feeling of fear that comes with these flashes of memories and dreams, though. Her mother, she is certain, thrived in the conditions. A death pit. Sacrifices. Strange and wicked ideas. Things that should make her uneasy, sick, fearful - she feels no such thing in her memories. Did she enjoy those things as a child?
She has wandered through the meadow, found a river that spread to the ocean, and now has found her way to the ruins, green legs carrying her over the terrain carefully. The land feels haunted. She could swear she can hear whispers of those gone past. She stops, swishing her black tail across her green haunches as she scans the area. She can smell death, feel it slicking over her skin on the breeze, but this isn't home. Or at least it doesn't call to her like she thinks home should. The ruins scattered across the plain don't feel familiar or look familiar.
Razaranje knows this is the world she was born into, but it is also not. She closes her dark eyes and takes a deep inhale, allowing the strange scent to fill her lungs in hopes another memory might come out of the depths and into the light of her mind. As she exhales, though, the land is no more familiar than it was before. On top of the smell of death and pain oozing from the earth she picks up on the scent of another stranger. She turns to look, curious who else may be wandering this strangely haunting ground.
Dead land and the stench of death accompany the shrieks and blood of a war rattled land that she must have once called home. There isn't a feeling of fear that comes with these flashes of memories and dreams, though. Her mother, she is certain, thrived in the conditions. A death pit. Sacrifices. Strange and wicked ideas. Things that should make her uneasy, sick, fearful - she feels no such thing in her memories. Did she enjoy those things as a child?
She has wandered through the meadow, found a river that spread to the ocean, and now has found her way to the ruins, green legs carrying her over the terrain carefully. The land feels haunted. She could swear she can hear whispers of those gone past. She stops, swishing her black tail across her green haunches as she scans the area. She can smell death, feel it slicking over her skin on the breeze, but this isn't home. Or at least it doesn't call to her like she thinks home should. The ruins scattered across the plain don't feel familiar or look familiar.
Razaranje knows this is the world she was born into, but it is also not. She closes her dark eyes and takes a deep inhale, allowing the strange scent to fill her lungs in hopes another memory might come out of the depths and into the light of her mind. As she exhales, though, the land is no more familiar than it was before. On top of the smell of death and pain oozing from the earth she picks up on the scent of another stranger. She turns to look, curious who else may be wandering this strangely haunting ground.
razaranje
