01-18-2018, 09:45 PM
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient(startColorstr='#5a605e',endColorstr='#5a605e',GradientType=0)}.valensia_quote{position:relative;z-index:21;color:rgba(230,207,193,0.8);font:13px 'Sofadi One',cursive;text-align:center;padding-bottom:20px}.valensia_text{position:relative;z-index:12;font:13px 'Cutive Mono',monospace;text-align:justify;padding:20px;width:410px;color:#e6cfc1;margin-top:-62px}.valensia_name{position:relative;z-index:17;font:50px 'Astloch',cursive;color:rgba(230,207,193,0.8);text-align:left;padding-left:10px;text-shadow:0 0 10px #6e2327;margin-top:-50px;margin-bottom:45px}</style><center><div class="valensia_border"><div class="valensia_background"><img class="valensia_pic" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d7/7f/f2/d77ff22fcc23927cf303616613502352.jpg"><div class="valensia_grad"></div><div class="valensia_name">Valensia</div><div class="valensia_text">
She’s been spending her days in an innocent child’s world, a close-knit family cozy and caring. Doting on her every need/whim. Time is a funny thing in this way, it has no comprehensible beginning and no end. Yet the most common phrase is that I am running out of time. How can one run out of time when it is endless in its existence? She herself can’t remember her beginning, its just as if one day she is there. The black roan girl notices it more when days blur together and she can’t remember if it was yesterday that Gansey took his first flight, or if that was Wilding shifting for the first time.
It’s all just pure bliss, days run together moments wash into one giant feeling of warm-fuzzy, and it doesn’t take long from the world to shift out of focus. Like when you day dream. How first the grass leaves, then the trees fade into ghosts, slowly the sounds drift away growing further and further away in their echoes until all that is left is the white sun that eats up the sky. Wait… she furrows her brows trying to bring the world back into focus, but all there is now is white. She gets up, huffing her indignant frustration the filly surprises herself with the soundless stomp of her hoof. Wasn’t she just lazing about, waiting for mother and father to return? Black is slowly forming before her eyes, and strangely she can understand what it is that it say’s <i>V.A.L.E.N.S.I.A.</i>, she can’t help the puckered frown. That’s her name.
The black roan can’t remember NOT being here, but she also remembers a family, laughter, and bliss. All those ideas seem so far away, so far from her existence here. <b>Which one is a dream?</b> She ponders out loud. Confused, she patiently waits for someone to rescue her. Father would be along, or one of her brothers, maybe it would be mother this time. But she trusts that someone, somewhere would do something to get her back. But that’s the funny thing about time. It has a way of messing with one’s head.
</div><div class="valensia_quote"><br>“And there was you - your fair self,<br>always delicately dressed,<br>with white firm fingers sure of touch <br>in delicate true work. <br>I loved you then.” <br>- Charlotte Gilman</div></div></div></center>
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient(startColorstr='#5a605e',endColorstr='#5a605e',GradientType=0)}.valensia_quote{position:relative;z-index:21;color:rgba(230,207,193,0.8);font:13px 'Sofadi One',cursive;text-align:center;padding-bottom:20px}.valensia_text{position:relative;z-index:12;font:13px 'Cutive Mono',monospace;text-align:justify;padding:20px;width:410px;color:#e6cfc1;margin-top:-62px}.valensia_name{position:relative;z-index:17;font:50px 'Astloch',cursive;color:rgba(230,207,193,0.8);text-align:left;padding-left:10px;text-shadow:0 0 10px #6e2327;margin-top:-50px;margin-bottom:45px}</style><center><div class="valensia_border"><div class="valensia_background"><img class="valensia_pic" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/d7/7f/f2/d77ff22fcc23927cf303616613502352.jpg"><div class="valensia_grad"></div><div class="valensia_name">Valensia</div><div class="valensia_text">She’s been spending her days in an innocent child’s world, a close-knit family cozy and caring. Doting on her every need/whim. Time is a funny thing in this way, it has no comprehensible beginning and no end. Yet the most common phrase is that I am running out of time. How can one run out of time when it is endless in its existence? She herself can’t remember her beginning, its just as if one day she is there. The black roan girl notices it more when days blur together and she can’t remember if it was yesterday that Gansey took his first flight, or if that was Wilding shifting for the first time.
It’s all just pure bliss, days run together moments wash into one giant feeling of warm-fuzzy, and it doesn’t take long from the world to shift out of focus. Like when you day dream. How first the grass leaves, then the trees fade into ghosts, slowly the sounds drift away growing further and further away in their echoes until all that is left is the white sun that eats up the sky. Wait… she furrows her brows trying to bring the world back into focus, but all there is now is white. She gets up, huffing her indignant frustration the filly surprises herself with the soundless stomp of her hoof. Wasn’t she just lazing about, waiting for mother and father to return? Black is slowly forming before her eyes, and strangely she can understand what it is that it say’s <i>V.A.L.E.N.S.I.A.</i>, she can’t help the puckered frown. That’s her name.
The black roan can’t remember NOT being here, but she also remembers a family, laughter, and bliss. All those ideas seem so far away, so far from her existence here. <b>Which one is a dream?</b> She ponders out loud. Confused, she patiently waits for someone to rescue her. Father would be along, or one of her brothers, maybe it would be mother this time. But she trusts that someone, somewhere would do something to get her back. But that’s the funny thing about time. It has a way of messing with one’s head.
</div><div class="valensia_quote"><br>“And there was you - your fair self,<br>always delicately dressed,<br>with white firm fingers sure of touch <br>in delicate true work. <br>I loved you then.” <br>- Charlotte Gilman</div></div></div></center>