02-14-2018, 07:14 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Great+Vibes' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.kagbase{position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 519px;padding: 20px;background: url('https://wallpapertag.com/wallpaper/middle/e/4/5/119568-vertical-dark-gray-background-1920x1200-windows-10.jpg');box-shadow: 0 0 8px #000;border-radius: 0px 80px 50px 10px}.kagback{position: relative;z-index: 4;width: 519px;background: #626262;box-shadow: 0 0 4px #000;border-radius: 0px 90px 60px 20px;padding-top: 5px;}.kagpic{position: relative;z-indeX: 7;border-radius: 0 0 60px 20px;}.kaggrad{position: relative;z-indeX: 9;height: 90px;margin-bottom: -90px;background: rgba(98,98,98,1);
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#626262', endColorstr='#626262', GradientType=0 );}.kagwords{position: relative;z-indeX: 13;font-size: 10px 'times new roman';padding: 10px;text-align: justify;color: #111111;}.kagname{position: relative;z-indeX: 15;font: 52px 'Great Vibes', cursive;color: #CDCDCD;text-align: right;padding-right: 40px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #292929;}.kagquote{position: relative;z-indeX: 18;color: #CDCDCD;font: 10px 'gabriola', serif; text-align: center;padding-left: 10px;}.kaglines{position: relative;z-indeX: 21;font: 12px 'Gabriola', serif;text-align: right;padding-right: 24px;margin-top: -20px;}</style><center><div class="kagbase"><div class="kagback"><div class="kagquote">Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.</div><div class="kagwords">I have been dreaming of her; of the auburn queen, marked by the leopard: a peaceful leader among countless warriors. Kagerou, grandmother, a name with no face, a concept with no reality. My subconscious is delirious in its need for her, to see her, to imagine her as she rightly existed, guided only by the snippets of information offered to me by Kavi as a child. For it is after her image that I shape myself, she is my model: in every way I aspire to be her equal, her legacy, her continuation. Rightly so, considering that I am her namesake.
It is more than subconscious, I know.
The mountains of Hyaline are sound beneath my hooves, and I am cloaked in their thin, dissipating air. It is early morning, or perhaps late night - but the fog, thick and insistent here, is illuminated by the glow of the not-so-far-off moon. Like white shadows the clouds surround me, rendering me ethereal: there, and not.
<i>Kagerou... How I wish to have known you.</i> My heart's wish.
<i>"She knows, child."</i> A voice, motherly, a sound I never knew as a child and which to my ears still sounds foreign. My legs stop their thoughtless wandering and my eyes, the same tone of nutmeg as hers, flash about in search of the speaker. <i>"And she wishes the same."</i>
Parting the fog, a small creature emerges. She - for that must be the gender of something with a voice as motherly as hers - is human, a figure I know from previous dreams, previous magical wanderings - my mind's eye goes to the prince, his kingdom, how we danced. But Francis holds no place in my heart now, and I cast him aside. This woman commands my attention now: she knows of Kagerou: there are answers to be had.
I step forward, nostrils flaring, keen and eager and <i>wanting.</i> How she knows my tongue, I cannot say; but her words are kind, affectionate. My trust is hers and hers alone.
<b>"I was named after her."</b> It is not a question; it's barely a statement. A thought, materialized. When I step closer yet again, the fairy (for that must be her true nature; bones too delicate, eyes too wide) reaches and places the palm of her cool, pale hand on the flat of my mottled forehead. I close my eyes. Breathe in her scent. There is magic here, but it is not my own: I am not dreaming, or at least, I am not in control of this dream. And for once, the powerlessness does not scare me. The fairy will protect me.
<i>"Open your eyes, Kagerus. It's not me you wished to know."</i>
The weight of her hand departs. Its absence leaves me chilled, nervous; but I do as she instructs. Eyes, opened. To see as they will: to partake of the gift given unto me.
<b>"Kagerou..."</b>
Her name is barely a whisper on my tongue, a sound more like the wind than spoken word. She is before me now, cloaked in the fog, hooves planted firmly on the mountain - as real to me as I am to myself.
I feel my breath escape with no intention of returning.
A step forward, nearer, longing. Father did her no justice with his descriptions. He did not speak of the way her cheekbones curve to meet her loving, warm nutmeg eyes, nor of the way her leopard tattoos seem to come to life with each inhale, with each expansion of her deep set Arabian ribs. He missed the infinitely important details of how her ebony mane sweeps down the muscled sinews of her neck, or the way her spine is straight, elegant, regal. I am caught, trapped, ensnared by her presence: it radiates calmness, peace, a sense of security so profound that my every trepidation melts away.
I smile; cry; the emotions are mixing, but yes, I am happy. Too great a sensation to adequately explain.
I step forward, draw her to me. In these moments I know we need no words; her neck around mine, warm and pulsing with a life, a passion, immeasurable. We are the same hue. The same height. The same eyes. The same name. The same - and although I do not know it, I too will die for having had a child, like her; though I will die at my first, not my fourth.
But I do not know of these sad things yet. There is only the fog, the fairy, and the fervent need to memorize each other before time runs out. For surely, it will. Surely, she will not grace the curve of my body for long; Kagerou, grandmother, her presence here will soon vanish. I sense it in my bones. Bones so, so like hers.
I draw away, intending to speak, and her voiceless mouth catches the underside of my right eye. I am confused for a moment, but then smile through the tears, eyes fixated on her tattoos. <b>"Yes, those, I've always had them."</b> The three leopard spots below my right eye shimmer and dance in the presence of their origin, rejoicing, remembering. <b>"I am yours, built in your image; I want to make you proud."</b> She nods; tears are gracing her own high-set cheekbones.
She doesn't have to say it, for me to know it. <i>I am proud of you. And I love you.</i>
<b>"I love you, grandma, and I think of you every day."</b> The fairy is by my side again, one cool hand on my shoulder, the other on Kagerou's. <i>"Time, Kag. I'm sorry."</i> She speaks to both of us, to both Kags, and we both nod, our movements in sync as well as our hearts. Our gazes meet for one more moment, and it is enough: as their figures dissolve into the fog, moist and particular, an understanding passes between grandmother and granddaughter.
An understanding of each other, to the core of our beings.
And as the fog drifts around me, I sense her spirit in every watery mote: and not for the first time, I am struck by the realization that, no matter what, she is with me. She has always been with me. <i>Will always be with me.</i>
My journey back down the mountain is contented, peaceful, reverent of her: for now, in my dreams, I will see her as she truly was in her prime. I will see her... Again, and again, and again.
I smile.
</div><div class="kagname">Kagerus</div><div class="kaglines"><font color=#CDCDCD>sweet nothing</font></div><div class="kaggrad"></div><img class="kagpic" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/09/f7/7909f7d8f1cda82b011160ec4b06f0b3.jpg"></div></div></center>
To be clear: "<i>I am proud of you. And I love you.</i>" Is Kagerus's thoughts, she's imagining that that's what Kagerou said based off of the look they exchanged. There was no communication
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XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#626262', endColorstr='#626262', GradientType=0 );}.kagwords{position: relative;z-indeX: 13;font-size: 10px 'times new roman';padding: 10px;text-align: justify;color: #111111;}.kagname{position: relative;z-indeX: 15;font: 52px 'Great Vibes', cursive;color: #CDCDCD;text-align: right;padding-right: 40px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #292929;}.kagquote{position: relative;z-indeX: 18;color: #CDCDCD;font: 10px 'gabriola', serif; text-align: center;padding-left: 10px;}.kaglines{position: relative;z-indeX: 21;font: 12px 'Gabriola', serif;text-align: right;padding-right: 24px;margin-top: -20px;}</style><center><div class="kagbase"><div class="kagback"><div class="kagquote">Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.</div><div class="kagwords">I have been dreaming of her; of the auburn queen, marked by the leopard: a peaceful leader among countless warriors. Kagerou, grandmother, a name with no face, a concept with no reality. My subconscious is delirious in its need for her, to see her, to imagine her as she rightly existed, guided only by the snippets of information offered to me by Kavi as a child. For it is after her image that I shape myself, she is my model: in every way I aspire to be her equal, her legacy, her continuation. Rightly so, considering that I am her namesake.
It is more than subconscious, I know.
The mountains of Hyaline are sound beneath my hooves, and I am cloaked in their thin, dissipating air. It is early morning, or perhaps late night - but the fog, thick and insistent here, is illuminated by the glow of the not-so-far-off moon. Like white shadows the clouds surround me, rendering me ethereal: there, and not.
<i>Kagerou... How I wish to have known you.</i> My heart's wish.
<i>"She knows, child."</i> A voice, motherly, a sound I never knew as a child and which to my ears still sounds foreign. My legs stop their thoughtless wandering and my eyes, the same tone of nutmeg as hers, flash about in search of the speaker. <i>"And she wishes the same."</i>
Parting the fog, a small creature emerges. She - for that must be the gender of something with a voice as motherly as hers - is human, a figure I know from previous dreams, previous magical wanderings - my mind's eye goes to the prince, his kingdom, how we danced. But Francis holds no place in my heart now, and I cast him aside. This woman commands my attention now: she knows of Kagerou: there are answers to be had.
I step forward, nostrils flaring, keen and eager and <i>wanting.</i> How she knows my tongue, I cannot say; but her words are kind, affectionate. My trust is hers and hers alone.
<b>"I was named after her."</b> It is not a question; it's barely a statement. A thought, materialized. When I step closer yet again, the fairy (for that must be her true nature; bones too delicate, eyes too wide) reaches and places the palm of her cool, pale hand on the flat of my mottled forehead. I close my eyes. Breathe in her scent. There is magic here, but it is not my own: I am not dreaming, or at least, I am not in control of this dream. And for once, the powerlessness does not scare me. The fairy will protect me.
<i>"Open your eyes, Kagerus. It's not me you wished to know."</i>
The weight of her hand departs. Its absence leaves me chilled, nervous; but I do as she instructs. Eyes, opened. To see as they will: to partake of the gift given unto me.
<b>"Kagerou..."</b>
Her name is barely a whisper on my tongue, a sound more like the wind than spoken word. She is before me now, cloaked in the fog, hooves planted firmly on the mountain - as real to me as I am to myself.
I feel my breath escape with no intention of returning.
A step forward, nearer, longing. Father did her no justice with his descriptions. He did not speak of the way her cheekbones curve to meet her loving, warm nutmeg eyes, nor of the way her leopard tattoos seem to come to life with each inhale, with each expansion of her deep set Arabian ribs. He missed the infinitely important details of how her ebony mane sweeps down the muscled sinews of her neck, or the way her spine is straight, elegant, regal. I am caught, trapped, ensnared by her presence: it radiates calmness, peace, a sense of security so profound that my every trepidation melts away.
I smile; cry; the emotions are mixing, but yes, I am happy. Too great a sensation to adequately explain.
I step forward, draw her to me. In these moments I know we need no words; her neck around mine, warm and pulsing with a life, a passion, immeasurable. We are the same hue. The same height. The same eyes. The same name. The same - and although I do not know it, I too will die for having had a child, like her; though I will die at my first, not my fourth.
But I do not know of these sad things yet. There is only the fog, the fairy, and the fervent need to memorize each other before time runs out. For surely, it will. Surely, she will not grace the curve of my body for long; Kagerou, grandmother, her presence here will soon vanish. I sense it in my bones. Bones so, so like hers.
I draw away, intending to speak, and her voiceless mouth catches the underside of my right eye. I am confused for a moment, but then smile through the tears, eyes fixated on her tattoos. <b>"Yes, those, I've always had them."</b> The three leopard spots below my right eye shimmer and dance in the presence of their origin, rejoicing, remembering. <b>"I am yours, built in your image; I want to make you proud."</b> She nods; tears are gracing her own high-set cheekbones.
She doesn't have to say it, for me to know it. <i>I am proud of you. And I love you.</i>
<b>"I love you, grandma, and I think of you every day."</b> The fairy is by my side again, one cool hand on my shoulder, the other on Kagerou's. <i>"Time, Kag. I'm sorry."</i> She speaks to both of us, to both Kags, and we both nod, our movements in sync as well as our hearts. Our gazes meet for one more moment, and it is enough: as their figures dissolve into the fog, moist and particular, an understanding passes between grandmother and granddaughter.
An understanding of each other, to the core of our beings.
And as the fog drifts around me, I sense her spirit in every watery mote: and not for the first time, I am struck by the realization that, no matter what, she is with me. She has always been with me. <i>Will always be with me.</i>
My journey back down the mountain is contented, peaceful, reverent of her: for now, in my dreams, I will see her as she truly was in her prime. I will see her... Again, and again, and again.
I smile.
</div><div class="kagname">Kagerus</div><div class="kaglines"><font color=#CDCDCD>sweet nothing</font></div><div class="kaggrad"></div><img class="kagpic" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/79/09/f7/7909f7d8f1cda82b011160ec4b06f0b3.jpg"></div></div></center>
To be clear: "<i>I am proud of you. And I love you.</i>" Is Kagerus's thoughts, she's imagining that that's what Kagerou said based off of the look they exchanged. There was no communication
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
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