01-16-2018, 12:32 PM
<center><style> #wouldjalookitthat {background-image:url('https://s10.postimg.org/t7q5x5hqh/forspink1.png'); width: 500px; height: 305px;} #promiscuousboooiii {background-image: url('https://s18.postimg.org/v4pxdeow9/darktexture.jpg'); width: 500px; padding: 15px; border: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.3); box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px black; transition: 3s;} #promiscuousboooiii:hover {box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #463939;} .tellmehowtheygotthatprettylittlefaceonthatprettylittlefraaame {border: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.3); width: 500px;} .woooohooo {font-style: italic; line-height: 10pt; width: 400px; font-family: times; font-size: 9pt; position: relative; top: 270px; width: 400px; border-top: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.3); border-bottom: rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.3) solid 1px; color: #e7d7d5; transition: 3s; padding: 5px;} .woooohooo:hover {padding: 5px; border-bottom: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.1); border-top: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.1); color: rgba(231, 215, 213, 0);} #youcanrunfree {font-style: italic; line-height: 10pt; width: 400px; font-family: times; font-size: 15pt; width: 400px; border-top: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.3); border-bottom: rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.3) solid 1px; color: #e7d7d5; transition: 3s; padding: 5px; margin-top: 35px; margin-bottom: 5px;} #youcanrunfree:hover {padding: 5px; border-bottom: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.1); border-top: 1px solid rgba(70, 57, 57, 0.1); color: rgba(231, 215, 213, 0);}</style> <div id="promiscuousboooiii"><div class="tellmehowtheygotthatprettylittlefaceonthatprettylittlefraaame"><div id="wouldjalookitthat"><center><div class="woooohooo">let me pick your brain, girl.<br>and tell me how they got that pretty little face on that pretty little frame.</div></center></div> <div style="color: #463939; width: 460px; padding: 20px; text-align: justify; font-family: times; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 12pt; margin-top: 10px;">
She was too busy running to know what was happening to her. Ceara's life had gone from conventional, to harried in a quick minute, and she had all she could within her not to positively scream from frustration. The trees brushed passed her as she pounded the earth, kicking up dirt and dust behind her. Those pine needles brushed against her like a lover - a touch she has never known, and at this juncture probably would never, but that is another story, for another time. Tears were in her eyes, and in this story, Levi does not catch up with her.
She cannot hear his voice, she does not stop. Instead, she runs toward the sea, racing as fast as her body can carry her. She is black as night, sinking in to a rust colored sunset, her red eyes rolling like the waves of the ocean at Tephra, or like the pages of a book. As she runs, faster and faster, it seems that the ground beneath her feet is disappearing, flittering away in fragments of earth that falls way in glittering chunks. The trees begin to blur together in a miasma of color, before they too have gone colorless. Her world is black and white, but still Ceara keeps running, needing to escape whatever is holding her back is in Tephra.
Her love of Warrick, its Oveseer.
Her love of Levi, her wayfaring brother.
Even they go colorless inside her head and fade away into nothing, Ceara flipping the pages on her mind, starting fresh, blanking to something new.
The trees lose their leaves, until they are just trunks, and then finally sticks. Ceara's movements slow down, until she realizes that unless the pages are turning, she is no longer moving. As if she is a piece of animated art in a flipbook. The sticks have turned into pages that are flipping in a book, and her world is now a world of nothingness. A void, determined by the dimensions of whatever this was...
Soon the pages slow down, and the trees disappear entirely. And as Ceara slows down (unwittingly, because she would have kept running if she had been able to do so), her eyes flash red as she hears the echoing scrawl of what sounds like a waterfall somewhere below her... Or was it beside her? Her hearing and depth perception have narrowed drastically... narrowed to the second dimension. With what little movement she has left, she is able to look below her... and see that her name has been written in florid script.
<i>'Ceara'</i>
With a grimace, she realizes she is on display. Her right front leg is up, as if she was mid-step. her dark red feathers appear that she is a woman in motion, and her ears are back in an agitated manner. Her mane and tail hang unnaturally behind her, stuck there, like the wind was at one time blowing past her. Ceara's body now feels as though it is made of wax, as if she were drawn with a human child's crayon. And then, she feels nothing at all. She is a completed project. Ceara wonders what would become of her, then she feels the heat the sun resting upon her back (it is really a desk lamp), and an ethereal being as if a god staring down upon her with a smile on his face. His handiwork. His artistry.
His plaything.
<center><div id="youcanrunfree">ceara</div><div style="font-size: 5pt; font-family: helvetica, arial, verdana; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; text-shadow: -1px -1px black, -1px -1px black;">offspring x reagan, smoke healing & fire negation</center></div></div></center>
She was too busy running to know what was happening to her. Ceara's life had gone from conventional, to harried in a quick minute, and she had all she could within her not to positively scream from frustration. The trees brushed passed her as she pounded the earth, kicking up dirt and dust behind her. Those pine needles brushed against her like a lover - a touch she has never known, and at this juncture probably would never, but that is another story, for another time. Tears were in her eyes, and in this story, Levi does not catch up with her.
She cannot hear his voice, she does not stop. Instead, she runs toward the sea, racing as fast as her body can carry her. She is black as night, sinking in to a rust colored sunset, her red eyes rolling like the waves of the ocean at Tephra, or like the pages of a book. As she runs, faster and faster, it seems that the ground beneath her feet is disappearing, flittering away in fragments of earth that falls way in glittering chunks. The trees begin to blur together in a miasma of color, before they too have gone colorless. Her world is black and white, but still Ceara keeps running, needing to escape whatever is holding her back is in Tephra.
Her love of Warrick, its Oveseer.
Her love of Levi, her wayfaring brother.
Even they go colorless inside her head and fade away into nothing, Ceara flipping the pages on her mind, starting fresh, blanking to something new.
The trees lose their leaves, until they are just trunks, and then finally sticks. Ceara's movements slow down, until she realizes that unless the pages are turning, she is no longer moving. As if she is a piece of animated art in a flipbook. The sticks have turned into pages that are flipping in a book, and her world is now a world of nothingness. A void, determined by the dimensions of whatever this was...
Soon the pages slow down, and the trees disappear entirely. And as Ceara slows down (unwittingly, because she would have kept running if she had been able to do so), her eyes flash red as she hears the echoing scrawl of what sounds like a waterfall somewhere below her... Or was it beside her? Her hearing and depth perception have narrowed drastically... narrowed to the second dimension. With what little movement she has left, she is able to look below her... and see that her name has been written in florid script.
<i>'Ceara'</i>
With a grimace, she realizes she is on display. Her right front leg is up, as if she was mid-step. her dark red feathers appear that she is a woman in motion, and her ears are back in an agitated manner. Her mane and tail hang unnaturally behind her, stuck there, like the wind was at one time blowing past her. Ceara's body now feels as though it is made of wax, as if she were drawn with a human child's crayon. And then, she feels nothing at all. She is a completed project. Ceara wonders what would become of her, then she feels the heat the sun resting upon her back (it is really a desk lamp), and an ethereal being as if a god staring down upon her with a smile on his face. His handiwork. His artistry.
His plaything.
<center><div id="youcanrunfree">ceara</div><div style="font-size: 5pt; font-family: helvetica, arial, verdana; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; text-shadow: -1px -1px black, -1px -1px black;">offspring x reagan, smoke healing & fire negation</center></div></div></center>