03-04-2020, 02:28 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cedarville+Cursive&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Mr+Dafoe&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css"> .ruthy_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: #ccccca; width: 605px; border: solid 1px #38253b; border-radius: 0px 0px 300px 300px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .ruthy_container p { margin: 0; } .ruthy_image { position: relative; padding-top: 80px;z-index: 4; width: 600px; border-radius: 0px 0px 300px 300px; } .ruthy_text { position: relative; z-index: 5; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -80px; background: #fff; border: solid 1px #38253b; border-top: none; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #38253b; }.ruthy_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #11293d; padding: 30px 50px; } .ruthy_name { color: #ccccca; font: 70px 'Cedarville Cursive', cursive;text-shadow: 0px 0px 8px #000; line-height: 0.8; text-align: center; padding-bottom: 12px; padding-left: 9px;} .ruthy_quote { font: 14px 'Cedarville Cursive', cursive; color: #fff; background: #ccccca; padding: 20px; letter-spacing: 5px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 11px #1f242d;}</style> <center> <div class="ruthy_container"> <div class="ruthy_text"> <p class="ruthy_quote">if you do not have shadows,<BR> you are not in the light</p> <p class="ruthy_message">Our golden light is worn.
Her dark wings pull closely to her sides, honey cream hues illuminate under the rays of sun that play peekaboo between tree branches. She has been wandering for days now, contemplating what she has seen. That’s all she can rely on now: <i>sight</I>.
Because what she felt, and what she witnessed was different that day. The crisp-aged two year-old had been well versed in the art of surrendering, her mother had taught her well. There was something more disappointing though when you found confidence in someone only to watch them be like everyone else.
Lilliana—even though Ruthless would always love her, deep down—let her down that day.
And now, she walks with a slug in her step. A whisper of insecurity looms like a heavy-weighted blanket of snow after a storm; numbing, hollow.
Had her mind not temporarily stilled, she may have not heard the call that ran through naked branches with the wind. A distinct, omniscient call that rakes into the mind of Ruthless and pulls her back to reality.
To <i>today</i>.
Her stride is calculated and cautious, though a taunt of curiosity wiggles in front of her; like a cat black-eyed with a twitching tail shivering at the unfamiliar toy dangling within the grasp of its claws.
She doesn’t realize the distance she has travelled until the soft ache of her coronet band glows a red heat—a temporary reminder of Wolfbane—as if to scream at her to spur.
<i>This is your chance</i>
It is the tobiano mare that Ruthless lays eyes on first, finding her heart lurch towards the stranger as if instantly connected. The connection pulls her willingly, hardly a string needed to guide the young mare to the presence of the apocalyptic mare.
The air is eerily tranquil as Ruthless gingerly finds her place beside two others. As more arrive, she gets lost in analyzing the various builds and colours, wondering where they had come from and why they had decided to explore.
<i>Welcome</i>
The strange mare’s voice hums, and is it a wonder why our sun-kissed Ruth stands like an addicted servant? For the first time maybe <i>ever</i>, someone wanted to know what she wanted.
Her greatest, most desired dream.
And yet her voice is muted by the imposing question that felt like an unachievable fare to heaven. A very clear inquire, <i>what are you willing to give up?</i>
The roan stallion speaks first, and Ruthless succumbs to the invisible pressure threatening her to speak; a glow of anxiety washes up her throat.
There is nothing she has to give up, Ruthless realizes. Almost nothing of value, nothing at all. Nothing except her mother, and Lilliana. Kalil perhaps could count, though she doesn’t hold him that high in her books—she doesn’t wish to, it’ll hurt more in the end.
No, she has nothing.
But is that true?
Her mind swirls around the faces that have followed her journey in life, a play by play of compassion and happiness all inhaling her naivety and ignorance before darkness follows—a sizzling colour of blood burning the preserved memories, leaving a tint of reality.
Her dream is easy, that she has rehearsed for—well, her whole life. She had spent hours hidden in the emerald blades of grass while Brine would eat, thinking of what she <i>would</I> be when the world became safe.
Ruthless hadn’t learned yet that the world doesn’t become safe, but you learn how to make yourself safer.
She knows what she wants to say [about what she would give up]. It rises and falls in the back of her throat like a soft bouncing ball, floating up and falling back. It’s almost soothing, this type of control. Our once light-minded filly <i>missed</i> that control.
Naivety. Ignorance.
It dawns on her the time is now, or never. She isn’t sure if she is the last to speak, or if a few stragglers had also bit their tongue in contemplation. Either way, silence had just began to fall and now <i>is</i> her time to control yet another thing she can.
Her future.
“I am Ruthless,” she begins with her voice slightly shook, taking a mediocre step forward to not get lost in the bodies of equines.
“I want to protect the—” her voice falls, <i>is she being too quiet?</i> “—I want to protect the horses who cannot protect themselves. I will one day have a safe haven for the wounded and scarred.”
Another deep breath. It feels hard to inhale, the tightness of her throat leaving her to linger in silence for a second or two. It’s true, she had nothing to offer to <i>give</i> up. Nothing fancy, or rare. She had a mother, black and blue with a matted black mane and tail. A mother who had raised her through fear and threat, maybe unintentionally but the consequences real.
Her lack of strength, her lack of confidence, her fear in magic…
The list grew with every flashback that comes to fruition. Brine had been an awful mother. She had left her to find her own way. She had abandoned her. But what kind of <i>monster</i> would give up their own mother?
The kind who didn’t have a mother?
Perhaps the same could be applied, here. All things <i>considered</i>.
The name rises from her throat, lifted with surge and force. She chokes it back, and then “I would give up my mother.”
Even her mother wouldn’t tether her to the ground to watch her dreams float away into the abyss. If Ruthless didn’t have her mother, she had no one. And if she had no one, she had everything to gain.
</p> <p class="ruthy_name">Ruthless</p> </div> <img class="ruthy_image" src="https://i.ibb.co/zbz1mRD/Brine-HTML.png"> </div> </center>
Ruthless is dedicated to Taiga
Her dark wings pull closely to her sides, honey cream hues illuminate under the rays of sun that play peekaboo between tree branches. She has been wandering for days now, contemplating what she has seen. That’s all she can rely on now: <i>sight</I>.
Because what she felt, and what she witnessed was different that day. The crisp-aged two year-old had been well versed in the art of surrendering, her mother had taught her well. There was something more disappointing though when you found confidence in someone only to watch them be like everyone else.
Lilliana—even though Ruthless would always love her, deep down—let her down that day.
And now, she walks with a slug in her step. A whisper of insecurity looms like a heavy-weighted blanket of snow after a storm; numbing, hollow.
Had her mind not temporarily stilled, she may have not heard the call that ran through naked branches with the wind. A distinct, omniscient call that rakes into the mind of Ruthless and pulls her back to reality.
To <i>today</i>.
Her stride is calculated and cautious, though a taunt of curiosity wiggles in front of her; like a cat black-eyed with a twitching tail shivering at the unfamiliar toy dangling within the grasp of its claws.
She doesn’t realize the distance she has travelled until the soft ache of her coronet band glows a red heat—a temporary reminder of Wolfbane—as if to scream at her to spur.
<i>This is your chance</i>
It is the tobiano mare that Ruthless lays eyes on first, finding her heart lurch towards the stranger as if instantly connected. The connection pulls her willingly, hardly a string needed to guide the young mare to the presence of the apocalyptic mare.
The air is eerily tranquil as Ruthless gingerly finds her place beside two others. As more arrive, she gets lost in analyzing the various builds and colours, wondering where they had come from and why they had decided to explore.
<i>Welcome</i>
The strange mare’s voice hums, and is it a wonder why our sun-kissed Ruth stands like an addicted servant? For the first time maybe <i>ever</i>, someone wanted to know what she wanted.
Her greatest, most desired dream.
And yet her voice is muted by the imposing question that felt like an unachievable fare to heaven. A very clear inquire, <i>what are you willing to give up?</i>
The roan stallion speaks first, and Ruthless succumbs to the invisible pressure threatening her to speak; a glow of anxiety washes up her throat.
There is nothing she has to give up, Ruthless realizes. Almost nothing of value, nothing at all. Nothing except her mother, and Lilliana. Kalil perhaps could count, though she doesn’t hold him that high in her books—she doesn’t wish to, it’ll hurt more in the end.
No, she has nothing.
But is that true?
Her mind swirls around the faces that have followed her journey in life, a play by play of compassion and happiness all inhaling her naivety and ignorance before darkness follows—a sizzling colour of blood burning the preserved memories, leaving a tint of reality.
Her dream is easy, that she has rehearsed for—well, her whole life. She had spent hours hidden in the emerald blades of grass while Brine would eat, thinking of what she <i>would</I> be when the world became safe.
Ruthless hadn’t learned yet that the world doesn’t become safe, but you learn how to make yourself safer.
She knows what she wants to say [about what she would give up]. It rises and falls in the back of her throat like a soft bouncing ball, floating up and falling back. It’s almost soothing, this type of control. Our once light-minded filly <i>missed</i> that control.
Naivety. Ignorance.
It dawns on her the time is now, or never. She isn’t sure if she is the last to speak, or if a few stragglers had also bit their tongue in contemplation. Either way, silence had just began to fall and now <i>is</i> her time to control yet another thing she can.
Her future.
“I am Ruthless,” she begins with her voice slightly shook, taking a mediocre step forward to not get lost in the bodies of equines.
“I want to protect the—” her voice falls, <i>is she being too quiet?</i> “—I want to protect the horses who cannot protect themselves. I will one day have a safe haven for the wounded and scarred.”
Another deep breath. It feels hard to inhale, the tightness of her throat leaving her to linger in silence for a second or two. It’s true, she had nothing to offer to <i>give</i> up. Nothing fancy, or rare. She had a mother, black and blue with a matted black mane and tail. A mother who had raised her through fear and threat, maybe unintentionally but the consequences real.
Her lack of strength, her lack of confidence, her fear in magic…
The list grew with every flashback that comes to fruition. Brine had been an awful mother. She had left her to find her own way. She had abandoned her. But what kind of <i>monster</i> would give up their own mother?
The kind who didn’t have a mother?
Perhaps the same could be applied, here. All things <i>considered</i>.
The name rises from her throat, lifted with surge and force. She chokes it back, and then “I would give up my mother.”
Even her mother wouldn’t tether her to the ground to watch her dreams float away into the abyss. If Ruthless didn’t have her mother, she had no one. And if she had no one, she had everything to gain.
</p> <p class="ruthy_name">Ruthless</p> </div> <img class="ruthy_image" src="https://i.ibb.co/zbz1mRD/Brine-HTML.png"> </div> </center>
Ruthless is dedicated to Taiga