06-06-2019, 10:24 AM
they promised that dreams can come true
Something like excitement tickles at her mind as she watches him. The deer, of course, should not stand so perfectly still and she makes a mental note to work on that, but still, he reaction is almost delightful. Ori is so thrilled when he exclaims that is felt real, that a true smile crosses her face. Testing her own illusions is hard, at least when she knows that’s what she’s doing. Many of her illusions come unbidden and those feel real – so, so real – but she rarely touches them. Touch gives it away for her, because at the touch they simply feel like her. After all, they are, an extension of her own mind coupled with an ability to manipulate the minds of others.
“I have to know what it looks like,” or feels like, depending on what she’s trying to create. The idea of being able to create illusions of pain or happiness has crossed her mind, and she suspects that the skill is not out of reach, but she hasn’t quite sorted out how and she didn’t necessarily want to go testing it on strangers and screw them up. The deer disappears, and in its place she paints Castile, who for some reason is the thing that comes to mind. Captor and savoir, it is not shocking that she thinks of him easily enough, though she’s never seem him again since he stole her away in the dead of night.
She lets the illusion go entirely, leaving blank space there instead. Well, never blank, of course, the world itself its own canvas. Could she paint it away entirely, leaving nothing but darkness or light behind? For now, she doesn’t try, but looks to Pteron, waiting for his request, though the topic of conversation changes instead. He throws out names she does not know, and then halts as the name Gale comes to his lips. Ori stays silent, letting him work through it in the time he needs.
For a girl who was largely raised by herself, she understand compassion. Perhaps because she understands what it’s like to simply hurt, to let that hurt turn into emptiness with no other way to cope. He seems to swallow down the pain instead, though she wonders if either coping method is the right one. Maybe it was okay to simply hurt. Sometimes, she simply hurt. In those moments, the shadows of her power crept out from her, unbidden and uncontrolled, emotion made visible like an aura. “Tell me about Gale,” she offers, voice quiet but her intention clear. The air shimmers nearby, waiting to paint. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, that momentary glimpse, but she offers it. The choice is still his.
“I have to know what it looks like,” or feels like, depending on what she’s trying to create. The idea of being able to create illusions of pain or happiness has crossed her mind, and she suspects that the skill is not out of reach, but she hasn’t quite sorted out how and she didn’t necessarily want to go testing it on strangers and screw them up. The deer disappears, and in its place she paints Castile, who for some reason is the thing that comes to mind. Captor and savoir, it is not shocking that she thinks of him easily enough, though she’s never seem him again since he stole her away in the dead of night.
She lets the illusion go entirely, leaving blank space there instead. Well, never blank, of course, the world itself its own canvas. Could she paint it away entirely, leaving nothing but darkness or light behind? For now, she doesn’t try, but looks to Pteron, waiting for his request, though the topic of conversation changes instead. He throws out names she does not know, and then halts as the name Gale comes to his lips. Ori stays silent, letting him work through it in the time he needs.
For a girl who was largely raised by herself, she understand compassion. Perhaps because she understands what it’s like to simply hurt, to let that hurt turn into emptiness with no other way to cope. He seems to swallow down the pain instead, though she wonders if either coping method is the right one. Maybe it was okay to simply hurt. Sometimes, she simply hurt. In those moments, the shadows of her power crept out from her, unbidden and uncontrolled, emotion made visible like an aura. “Tell me about Gale,” she offers, voice quiet but her intention clear. The air shimmers nearby, waiting to paint. She doesn’t know if it’s better or worse, that momentary glimpse, but she offers it. The choice is still his.
Oriash
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too
@[Pteron]