02-21-2020, 06:28 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Bilbo+Swash+Caps|Cambay&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style>#Waverly{width:700px;}#picWaverly{position:relative;z-index:0;width:700px;height:700px;border-radius:350px 350px 350px 350px;overflow:hidden;border:3px #d3bb05 groove;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #def3f4;}#wrapperWaverly{position:relative;z-index:1;width:580px;margin-top:25px;background:#28595e;padding-top:60px;padding-bottom:50px;padding-left:60px;padding-right:60px;border-radius: 350px 350px 350px 350px;border:3px groove #d3bb05;box-shadow:0px 0px 10px #def3f4;}#textWaverly{color:#def3f4;font-family: 'Cambay', sans-serif;font-size:14px;margin-bottom:0px;margin-top:70px;}#nameWaverly{font-family: 'Bilbo Swash Caps', cursive;color:#739797;font-size:90px;margin-top:30px;margin-bottom:0px;}#quoteWaverly{font-family: 'Bilbo Swash Caps', cursive;color:#739797;font-size:22px;line-height:14px;margin-top:20px;margin-bottom:0px;}</style><center><div id="Waverly"><div id="picWaverly"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/3x1HcnzP/Waverly-HTML.jpg"/></div><div id="wrapperWaverly"><p id="quoteWaverly" align="center">your heart, it's like a drum<br>the chase has just begun</p><p id="textWaverly" align="justify">The light grows blinding, causing the aquatic beast to flinch and hiss, to shield her misshapen face in her knees. But it does not help. The light is behind her eyelids, flashing now with images. With memories.
She does not quite understand it at first. She is not a creature made for regret. But as the images swell and grow, she recognizes them. Recognizes them for deeds she herself has performed, in all her few years. Murderous deeds. The ones she has slain and consumed without second thought. The faces of those whose lives she had never seen fit to regret ending.
And there is her mother. The only true misery she’d even known. Lirren had left without second thought, and Waverly had always wondered, somewhere deep in the less primitive portions of her brain, if it had been her who had driven her away. The visions that come then are not truly memories, but vile suppositions.
<i>I cannot stay Waverly.</i> The words echo on a haunting whisper. <i>You will murder me if I do.</i>
<i>Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.</i>
It takes her a moment to realize the dry murmuring is more than the broken edges of a hallucination. To realize that she had not been left here alone. Surrounding her, crowding her, are those who had fallen beneath her teeth, furious visages pressed close. They mutter accusations, proclaiming her the beast she is.
She snarls in the face of their insistence, snapping, refusing to regret. Perhaps unable to regret.
But no, that’s not quite true. Because there, pressing through the crowd, is her mother, the very face of regret. Not the misshapen false representation of earlier, but an achingly perfect vision, drawn straight from the memories of her youth. <i>“Are you certain you did not murder me, Waverly?”</i> she whispers sadly, her disappointment the slice of knife she hadn’t expected. <i>“All these faces, you barely remember. Are you sure I am not one of them?”</i>
As she stares in dawning horror, every single creature in the chamber becomes a heartbreakingly perfect image of her mother. All dead, at her tooth and claw. Something inside her breaks at that. Whatever sanity she might have claimed in the face of these nightmares shatters.
<b>“NO!”</b> she shrieks, the words garbled through a jaw too long and stiff for speech. <b>“You LIE!”</b> Blindly, she lashes out, holding nothing back. Tooth and claw become her defense rather than her weapon. She needs out. Now.
Her desperation for freedom grows so intense, it matters not to her over-stimulated brain that she does exactly what she had been accused of. She becomes, so easily and willingly, the mindless, senseless murderer they claimed her to be. And all it had taken was one small shove towards the edge.</p><p id="nameWaverly" align="center">Waverly</p></div></div></center>
She does not quite understand it at first. She is not a creature made for regret. But as the images swell and grow, she recognizes them. Recognizes them for deeds she herself has performed, in all her few years. Murderous deeds. The ones she has slain and consumed without second thought. The faces of those whose lives she had never seen fit to regret ending.
And there is her mother. The only true misery she’d even known. Lirren had left without second thought, and Waverly had always wondered, somewhere deep in the less primitive portions of her brain, if it had been her who had driven her away. The visions that come then are not truly memories, but vile suppositions.
<i>I cannot stay Waverly.</i> The words echo on a haunting whisper. <i>You will murder me if I do.</i>
<i>Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.</i>
It takes her a moment to realize the dry murmuring is more than the broken edges of a hallucination. To realize that she had not been left here alone. Surrounding her, crowding her, are those who had fallen beneath her teeth, furious visages pressed close. They mutter accusations, proclaiming her the beast she is.
She snarls in the face of their insistence, snapping, refusing to regret. Perhaps unable to regret.
But no, that’s not quite true. Because there, pressing through the crowd, is her mother, the very face of regret. Not the misshapen false representation of earlier, but an achingly perfect vision, drawn straight from the memories of her youth. <i>“Are you certain you did not murder me, Waverly?”</i> she whispers sadly, her disappointment the slice of knife she hadn’t expected. <i>“All these faces, you barely remember. Are you sure I am not one of them?”</i>
As she stares in dawning horror, every single creature in the chamber becomes a heartbreakingly perfect image of her mother. All dead, at her tooth and claw. Something inside her breaks at that. Whatever sanity she might have claimed in the face of these nightmares shatters.
<b>“NO!”</b> she shrieks, the words garbled through a jaw too long and stiff for speech. <b>“You LIE!”</b> Blindly, she lashes out, holding nothing back. Tooth and claw become her defense rather than her weapon. She needs out. Now.
Her desperation for freedom grows so intense, it matters not to her over-stimulated brain that she does exactly what she had been accused of. She becomes, so easily and willingly, the mindless, senseless murderer they claimed her to be. And all it had taken was one small shove towards the edge.</p><p id="nameWaverly" align="center">Waverly</p></div></div></center>