09-07-2018, 04:29 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel+Decorative:900|Norican" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.ray6_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 15px;background: #fff url("https://i.pinimg.com/564x/bd/73/e9/bd73e96a3d62011f24104102516c3b98.jpg");border: 2px solid #332525;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #332525;}.ray6_container p {margin: 0;}.ray6_image {border: none;}.ray6_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 15px 20px;color: #654949;background: #332525;}.ray6_name {position: absolute; z-index: 3;text-align: center;font: 50px 'Cinzel Decorative', cursive;color: rgba(156, 119, 119, 0.67);padding: 0;width: 200px;top: 390px;left: 170px;border-bottom: 2px solid #654949;}.ray6_quote {text-align: center;font: 16px 'Norican', cursive;color: #9c7777;background: #332525;padding: 10px;}</style><center><div class="ray6_container"><p class="ray6_name">Rey</p><img class="ray6_image" src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/c774f5060fb8971e25f539b442f6f4dd/tumblr_pegg9wsvEQ1smku65o1_540.jpg"><p class="ray6_message">Rathing road (as I call it) is slick with winter mud. A ribbonish trail, winding and somewhat straightforward, that leads one out from Beqanna’s heart and directly to the shoreline which encapsulates us all in this hellish sort of island. <i>Yes,</i> I think to myself, trudging one leaden step after another while my clear wingtips trail heavily through the muck because they’re limp from exhaustion, <i>Beqanna is nothing but a spot in the ocean, and her islands Ischia and Tephra nothing more but smaller, less significant dots.</i>
Clearly I feel bitter.
Unaccustomed to having work put on them, my legs falter beneath the heavy weight of my pale green body and I stumble. Both forelegs fold and my knees slam into the earth, splattering shit-colored muck onto my heaving breast. I can’t <i>breath</i>, for god’s sake - not since I’d been struck out of the sky by a dark projectile that now sits like a heavy, cancerous lump right beneath the skin over my left brachii bicep. That <i>thing</i> had taken control over my sensibilities and steered me far off-course from Sylva, throbbing painfully if I so much as veered a few steps away from the beach.
<i>"Magic, it has to be magic.”</i> I surmise, struggling to stand though my head reels with lack of oxygen. There’s nothing left for me but to continue, mostly since the hideous mass burrowed into my chest won’t exactly <i>allow</i> for rest. Whoever wields the damn intrusion is neither patient nor forgiving, and I do well to keep this in mind when my dazed excursion finally ends where, ironically, Beqanna ends too. I peer up -
<i>“Dear God,”</i> I think correctly, staring in <i>His</i> face while the world dissolves around us. <i>“ … chosen … my Kingdom … a job …”</i> He replies, aching beauty etched into his very existence, a terrible sight that burns my awakened eyes and lulls prettily in my ears. Had I ever seen before this? Had I ever really heard sound, or felt alive? The bitter cold and those gathered around don’t matter because they’ve never mattered but this … <i>Him</i>; I know <i>He</i> matters more than anything I’ve ever considered real and tangible before. I would do anything <i>He</i> asked.
I feel true fear, maybe for the first time.
But he cripples me (like he should) and I stumble backwards, thrust into a sense of reality by the <i>smack</i> of stone as it rips open the flesh of my right bicep to nestle into my being. <i>“Thank you,”</i> I cannot I say but I feel it all the same, loving <i>Him</i> and <i>His</i> hate because my issues run deep through an ancestry of pitiful, vile worms and their lack of affection mentally twists me into something no one can ever fix. I don’t want to be fixed, anyways.
The goal is water (<i>He’s</i> forgiving after all, is <i>He</i> not?) and the ants alongside me swarm towards its embrace while the father God ushers us on. To Pangea we go, one by one, myself stumbling and eager through the breakers. <i>“Water cleanse me, water become me, water, water …”</i> I think numbly, swallowing the inky liquid in heaving gulps before it curls atop my head. I blink, and then I swim, and then I blink and breath and swim all while realizing that this is yet another test, wondering why I do this to myself but knowing why (stupid, lonely girl.) The mountain take me; I can’t help myself.
None of us even realize that we’d awoken it, the old beastly creature: ten long legs with a narrow, sac head and eyes as cold as the water it lived in. Our fault, really, but my luck that it would den beneath the surging waters displaced by my grappling wings that flounder uselessly beside me. No doubt incensed by my reckless advance it flew upwards, tentacles blooming from the dark like deadly vines, scuttling over my thin legs much more quickly than I can react to yank me along for dinner. I do little to fight back, encumbered as I am, and it twists me into a killing embrace - pulling, wrapping, <i>stroking</i> - eager to press a hard beak into the beef of my side for something of a quick taste.
Close enough now for reaction, I swing my head around and bite the rubberish flesh near to me (we take from each other) and for a moment I think it will render my guts to a puddle but on second thought, it seems to reject the idea of a dinner with attitude. Or perhaps I’m luckier still and it’s already eaten. Either way it chucks me loose, (<i>Yes,</i> I think, blood flowing freely from my shoulder, <i>“you taste the bile too”</i>) and I swirl through the eddy of black tide until a landmass halts my forward propulsion.
It seems I've found Pangea.</p><p class="ray6_quote">Wanna step to me better think twice<br>I might look pretty but I'm not that nice</p></div></center>
Clearly I feel bitter.
Unaccustomed to having work put on them, my legs falter beneath the heavy weight of my pale green body and I stumble. Both forelegs fold and my knees slam into the earth, splattering shit-colored muck onto my heaving breast. I can’t <i>breath</i>, for god’s sake - not since I’d been struck out of the sky by a dark projectile that now sits like a heavy, cancerous lump right beneath the skin over my left brachii bicep. That <i>thing</i> had taken control over my sensibilities and steered me far off-course from Sylva, throbbing painfully if I so much as veered a few steps away from the beach.
<i>"Magic, it has to be magic.”</i> I surmise, struggling to stand though my head reels with lack of oxygen. There’s nothing left for me but to continue, mostly since the hideous mass burrowed into my chest won’t exactly <i>allow</i> for rest. Whoever wields the damn intrusion is neither patient nor forgiving, and I do well to keep this in mind when my dazed excursion finally ends where, ironically, Beqanna ends too. I peer up -
<i>“Dear God,”</i> I think correctly, staring in <i>His</i> face while the world dissolves around us. <i>“ … chosen … my Kingdom … a job …”</i> He replies, aching beauty etched into his very existence, a terrible sight that burns my awakened eyes and lulls prettily in my ears. Had I ever seen before this? Had I ever really heard sound, or felt alive? The bitter cold and those gathered around don’t matter because they’ve never mattered but this … <i>Him</i>; I know <i>He</i> matters more than anything I’ve ever considered real and tangible before. I would do anything <i>He</i> asked.
I feel true fear, maybe for the first time.
But he cripples me (like he should) and I stumble backwards, thrust into a sense of reality by the <i>smack</i> of stone as it rips open the flesh of my right bicep to nestle into my being. <i>“Thank you,”</i> I cannot I say but I feel it all the same, loving <i>Him</i> and <i>His</i> hate because my issues run deep through an ancestry of pitiful, vile worms and their lack of affection mentally twists me into something no one can ever fix. I don’t want to be fixed, anyways.
The goal is water (<i>He’s</i> forgiving after all, is <i>He</i> not?) and the ants alongside me swarm towards its embrace while the father God ushers us on. To Pangea we go, one by one, myself stumbling and eager through the breakers. <i>“Water cleanse me, water become me, water, water …”</i> I think numbly, swallowing the inky liquid in heaving gulps before it curls atop my head. I blink, and then I swim, and then I blink and breath and swim all while realizing that this is yet another test, wondering why I do this to myself but knowing why (stupid, lonely girl.) The mountain take me; I can’t help myself.
None of us even realize that we’d awoken it, the old beastly creature: ten long legs with a narrow, sac head and eyes as cold as the water it lived in. Our fault, really, but my luck that it would den beneath the surging waters displaced by my grappling wings that flounder uselessly beside me. No doubt incensed by my reckless advance it flew upwards, tentacles blooming from the dark like deadly vines, scuttling over my thin legs much more quickly than I can react to yank me along for dinner. I do little to fight back, encumbered as I am, and it twists me into a killing embrace - pulling, wrapping, <i>stroking</i> - eager to press a hard beak into the beef of my side for something of a quick taste.
Close enough now for reaction, I swing my head around and bite the rubberish flesh near to me (we take from each other) and for a moment I think it will render my guts to a puddle but on second thought, it seems to reject the idea of a dinner with attitude. Or perhaps I’m luckier still and it’s already eaten. Either way it chucks me loose, (<i>Yes,</i> I think, blood flowing freely from my shoulder, <i>“you taste the bile too”</i>) and I swirl through the eddy of black tide until a landmass halts my forward propulsion.
It seems I've found Pangea.</p><p class="ray6_quote">Wanna step to me better think twice<br>I might look pretty but I'm not that nice</p></div></center>