09-08-2018, 12:07 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Italianno|Sawarabi+Mincho" rel="stylesheet"><style>#rapturewater{width:650px;}#rapturewaterimg{border:#d6cfc9 1px solid;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #d6cfc9;margin-bottom:-498px;margin-left:0px;background:url('https://s5.postimg.cc/w07jpwb3b/Rapture6.jpg') top left no-repeat;background-size:189px;height:500px;width:188px;margin-right:410px;position:relative;z-index:0;}#rapturewatercontainer{border:#d6cfc9 1px solid;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #d6cfc9;margin-top:-502px;margin-right:0px;background:url('https://s5.postimg.cc/x2hq8fm6v/Rapture_BG2.jpg') top right no-repeat;height:500px;width:395px;margin-left:203px;position:relative;z-index:0;}#rapturewatertext{background:#ddd6d3;opacity:0.45;height:470px;width:365px;overflow:auto;padding:15px;position:relative;z-index:4;}#rapturewatertext::-webkit-scrollbar{width:8px;}#rapturewatertext::-webkit-scrollbar-track{-webkit-box-shadow: inset 0 0 8px rgba(0,0,0,0);}#rapturewatertext::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb{background:url('https://s5.postimg.cc/nj81egqtj/Rapture_Scroll.jpg') top center;border-radius:8px;border:1px rgba(255,255,255,0.5) solid;}#rapturewatername{width:150px;height:40px;overflow:visible;background:-webkit-linear-gradient(left, rgba(189,184,180,0), rgba(189,184,180,1)60px);background:-o-linear-gradient(right, rgba(189,184,180,0), rgba(189,184,180,1)60px);background:-moz-linear-gradient(left, rgba(189,184,180,0), rgba(189,184,180,1)60px);background:-linear-gradient(to right, rgba(189,184,180,0), rgba(189,184,180,1)60px);background:-ms-linear-gradient(left, rgba(189,184,180,0), rgba(189,184,180,1)60px);opacity:0.7;margin-right:372px;margin-top:-90px;position:relative;z-index:1;}#rapturewaternametext{color:#564b5c;font-size:50px;font-family: 'Italianno', cursive;margin-bottom:-15px;margin-right:5px;float:right;position:relative;z-index:2;margin-top:-17px;}hr.rapturewater{border:0;height:1px;background:#564b5c;background-image:linear-gradient(to right, #60585e, #564b5c);width:150px;position:relative;z-index:3;float:right;margin-top:0;}#rapturewaterquote{color:#1a171c;font-family: 'Italianno', cursive;font-size:22px;}</style><center><div id="rapturewater"><div id="rapturewaterquote" align="left">somewhere between the sand and the stardust</div><div id="rapturewaterimg"></div><div id="rapturewatercontainer"><div id="rapturewatertext" align="justify">For the first time in ages, she almost content. For one nearly impossible moment in time, she could almost swear she had felt happiness. But good things, it seems, are not destined to last. Not for her.
Sure enough, in that almost perfect, peaceful moment, she is struck by change. Or rather, she is struck my a small object, a perfectly aimed arrow that finds its target with ease. A sharp pain slices across her hip, startling her into flight. Her blue skin quivers in the wet heat of the Tephran winter, a response not of chill, but of surprise and hurt. She stumbles a few rapid steps until the sharp ache subsides, sending a bloom of tingles along her tense flesh.
Breath escaping in rapid bursts she glances wildly around before her vibrant gaze settles upon the offending hip, eyes darkening with alarm as something awful pulses through her body. She cannot see it, does not know and cannot guess, but she can sense the terrible wrongness of it. The darkness of the power as it spreads like thick syrup through her body. Soon her agitated breathing shortens into labored gasps as an urgency begins to pluck discordantly inside her skull. Before she can even stop to consider her actions, her feet are tugging her forward, dragging her away from Tephra. Leading her far away from the safe and comfortable and into the terrifying unknown.
Never before has she been so unable to control her actions, her own desires. It’s horrifyingly surreal, a dream she cannot awaken from. Not even when she finds herself standing upon an unknown shore, staring wide-eyed at a stranger, fearsome and ruinous.
In this odd waking dream, her heart yearns for water as her lungs strain for breath, but her desire is denied. The gray stranger keeps her here, a prisoner to his whims.
<i>You’ve all been chose,</i> he says. A dangerous proclamation. But if he had truly chosen her, he had chosen poorly. She is little more than a frightened, silly girl who barely knows her own mind. What use could she possibly be to him?
<i>My kingdom is there…</i>
It becomes more clear then, her mind grasping at straws as she attempts to determine reason. She is to be little more than cannon fodder. Just another body in a wild attempt to reclaim a fallen kingdom.
There are worse fates, she supposes.
The sharp sting of gravel piercing her flesh causes her to flinch, but the pain of her breathless lungs is far worse. And then, suddenly, she is released, the call of the ocean too strong to ignore. She stumbles forward, vision spidering as her lungs scream desperately inside her chest. The water is a blessed relief, cool against her heated skin, bursting through her burning lungs like the freshest breath of cold mountain air. She should be surprised at her sudden ability to breath underwater, but she does not find herself questioning the power of the stranger. Perhaps she had not been chosen so much as made into the tool he had so desired. That would make far more sense. She is certainly no one important.
As she slices through the murky waters, her vision shifts subtly, altering to become better suited to the ocean depths. She swims and swims until intuition tells her otherwise. Until instinct tells her that she has reached a land of ghosts.
She slows then, blue skin melding perfectly with the briny waters, mottled hair floating in a cloud about her. Another lonely, ethereal phantom in this wicked sea of ghosts.
<i>Pangea.</i> She has never been, but she has heard. Of course she has heard.</div></div><div id="rapturewatername"><hr class="rapturewater"><div id="rapturewaternametext">Rapture</div><hr class="rapturewater"></div><div id="rapturewaterquote" style="margin-top:53px;" align="right">there is a pulse that echoes of you and I</div></div></center>
Sure enough, in that almost perfect, peaceful moment, she is struck by change. Or rather, she is struck my a small object, a perfectly aimed arrow that finds its target with ease. A sharp pain slices across her hip, startling her into flight. Her blue skin quivers in the wet heat of the Tephran winter, a response not of chill, but of surprise and hurt. She stumbles a few rapid steps until the sharp ache subsides, sending a bloom of tingles along her tense flesh.
Breath escaping in rapid bursts she glances wildly around before her vibrant gaze settles upon the offending hip, eyes darkening with alarm as something awful pulses through her body. She cannot see it, does not know and cannot guess, but she can sense the terrible wrongness of it. The darkness of the power as it spreads like thick syrup through her body. Soon her agitated breathing shortens into labored gasps as an urgency begins to pluck discordantly inside her skull. Before she can even stop to consider her actions, her feet are tugging her forward, dragging her away from Tephra. Leading her far away from the safe and comfortable and into the terrifying unknown.
Never before has she been so unable to control her actions, her own desires. It’s horrifyingly surreal, a dream she cannot awaken from. Not even when she finds herself standing upon an unknown shore, staring wide-eyed at a stranger, fearsome and ruinous.
In this odd waking dream, her heart yearns for water as her lungs strain for breath, but her desire is denied. The gray stranger keeps her here, a prisoner to his whims.
<i>You’ve all been chose,</i> he says. A dangerous proclamation. But if he had truly chosen her, he had chosen poorly. She is little more than a frightened, silly girl who barely knows her own mind. What use could she possibly be to him?
<i>My kingdom is there…</i>
It becomes more clear then, her mind grasping at straws as she attempts to determine reason. She is to be little more than cannon fodder. Just another body in a wild attempt to reclaim a fallen kingdom.
There are worse fates, she supposes.
The sharp sting of gravel piercing her flesh causes her to flinch, but the pain of her breathless lungs is far worse. And then, suddenly, she is released, the call of the ocean too strong to ignore. She stumbles forward, vision spidering as her lungs scream desperately inside her chest. The water is a blessed relief, cool against her heated skin, bursting through her burning lungs like the freshest breath of cold mountain air. She should be surprised at her sudden ability to breath underwater, but she does not find herself questioning the power of the stranger. Perhaps she had not been chosen so much as made into the tool he had so desired. That would make far more sense. She is certainly no one important.
As she slices through the murky waters, her vision shifts subtly, altering to become better suited to the ocean depths. She swims and swims until intuition tells her otherwise. Until instinct tells her that she has reached a land of ghosts.
She slows then, blue skin melding perfectly with the briny waters, mottled hair floating in a cloud about her. Another lonely, ethereal phantom in this wicked sea of ghosts.
<i>Pangea.</i> She has never been, but she has heard. Of course she has heard.</div></div><div id="rapturewatername"><hr class="rapturewater"><div id="rapturewaternametext">Rapture</div><hr class="rapturewater"></div><div id="rapturewaterquote" style="margin-top:53px;" align="right">there is a pulse that echoes of you and I</div></div></center>
