10-23-2019, 12:16 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel+Decorative|Crimson+Text" rel="stylesheet"><div style="background:linear-gradient(rgba(0,0,0,0)400px, rgba(0,0,0,1)550px),url('https://i.postimg.cc/x1tGjVKV/d177b2820f7602f336b64e3d8d65765b.jpg') no-repeat,#000;width:440px;padding:550px 30px 20px 30px;font:14px crimson text;color:#b2a89d;margin:auto;">Most days, she strangles any shred of softness from her heart and crushes it until she’s certain it won’t come back this time. Her kindness has only ever brought her pain and she despises the way she always tears herself open for others. She stopped being gentle the day her most prized child died and she found her there on the beach, alone and cold. Life should have made an exception for her, she thought. Nymphetamine was everything Mordgeld had ever dreamed of being and yet she died – forgotten. She tells herself she should have been there. She should have traded her immortality for her child and given her everything she deserved.
But it was too late for any of that. The ocean tide just kept on with its tireless waves lapping at their hooves on the cold sand in the dying light of the day. The night still rose as she wept over her child, furious that the world could carry on like nothing had changed.
She wakes, amber eyes wide as the call reaches her, and her heart will not be drowned this time. It rises in her throat and demands to be heard. Mordgeld’s old, tired kindness consumes her until her coarse edges are kissed clean of their scars. Her breath shudders as she exhales and rises from her bed of autumn leaves to follow the sound of waves once more. She swallows hard and she fears that she may find her sweet Girl standing there, beautiful as the day she was born.
Without a second thought, she steps onto the sand and pauses only at the sight of a cracked sand dollar nestled in the grains. A weak smile finds her lips and she gently lifts it from the beach. Nymphetamine Girl always loved the broken things best. They told a story, she used to say when she brought some new treasure to her mother. The old woman feels the tears begin to flow from her eyes and she nearly laughs as she remembers how her daughter used to imagine such wild tales for every fractured “gem” she found. What would she say of this little half of a sand dollar, she wonders?
But she doesn’t dawdle for long. Carrying her precious token, she joins the others with only a glance in their direction. She recognizes some only vaguely, perhaps in passing, but others she can recall more clearly. Mordgeld wonders who they have lost but she says nothing. Her attention turns instead to the ghost woman before them all.
<div style="font:36px cinzel decorative;letter-spacing:5px;text-align:center;padding-top:20px;margin-bottom:-15px;color:#730118;">MordgelD</div>
<center>i am the dragon breathing fire.
beautiful man, i'm the lion.</center></div>
But it was too late for any of that. The ocean tide just kept on with its tireless waves lapping at their hooves on the cold sand in the dying light of the day. The night still rose as she wept over her child, furious that the world could carry on like nothing had changed.
She wakes, amber eyes wide as the call reaches her, and her heart will not be drowned this time. It rises in her throat and demands to be heard. Mordgeld’s old, tired kindness consumes her until her coarse edges are kissed clean of their scars. Her breath shudders as she exhales and rises from her bed of autumn leaves to follow the sound of waves once more. She swallows hard and she fears that she may find her sweet Girl standing there, beautiful as the day she was born.
Without a second thought, she steps onto the sand and pauses only at the sight of a cracked sand dollar nestled in the grains. A weak smile finds her lips and she gently lifts it from the beach. Nymphetamine Girl always loved the broken things best. They told a story, she used to say when she brought some new treasure to her mother. The old woman feels the tears begin to flow from her eyes and she nearly laughs as she remembers how her daughter used to imagine such wild tales for every fractured “gem” she found. What would she say of this little half of a sand dollar, she wonders?
But she doesn’t dawdle for long. Carrying her precious token, she joins the others with only a glance in their direction. She recognizes some only vaguely, perhaps in passing, but others she can recall more clearly. Mordgeld wonders who they have lost but she says nothing. Her attention turns instead to the ghost woman before them all.
<div style="font:36px cinzel decorative;letter-spacing:5px;text-align:center;padding-top:20px;margin-bottom:-15px;color:#730118;">MordgelD</div>
<center>i am the dragon breathing fire.
beautiful man, i'm the lion.</center></div>