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    Svedka -- Year 212


    “He only knows home in his dreams and even those dreams do not mimic large, centuries-old redwoods. Lio doesn't remember the last time he laid his head down and truly felt comfortable.” --Elio, written by Phaetra

    [private]  sweating all your sins out, breckin
    choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
    He feels like he is spiraling. Like he is caught in some sort of never-ending free-fall, and he cannot decide if he ever wants to hit the bottom or not. Because he is afraid that the impact will take him straight through the earth, until he is back in that twisted network of pulsating tunnels, a lifetime below the ground.

    Sometimes he wonders if going back would reverse it all. If he could put himself back into the belly of the beast and be spit back into the world as the plain boy he had once been. Or maybe never be spit out at all, and just left to rot inside its gut, and he didn’t have to feel himself morph into something — someone — that he never wanted to be.

    He vacillates between the forest and the river, preferring the shelter that they provided. In the open, especially in the daylight, it was too obvious how strange he was. The shadows were too stark in the sunlight, though they lessened the harshness of his red eyes. Regardless, he hated the attention either one garnered. At least in the dark he disappeared, and very few were tempted to approach two disembodied glowing red eyes.

    It is a half-light that he stands in now, though, with evening not quite settled. He drifts at the edge of the forest where it meets a bend in the river, a heavy fog hovering above the damp grass and winding its way through the autumn-touched trees. 

    A sound makes him turn his head, an eerie shifting of shadows, his mane billowing like smoke. His glowing eyes take her in, they drink in the curves and shape of her, and he wonders if she is sad, or angry, and he wonders when he will stop wondering that about everyone he meets. “Evening,” he says before he can stop himself, his voice a quiet rasp beneath the lulling current of the river. There is a part of him that hopes she will leave, that she will take one look at the shadows and sheer emptiness of him, and that she will run. He debates making her; can feel the fear aura itching inside of him, but he reins it in. He will let her decide on her own whether she stays or leaves.



    It felt strange to think of a word she was so unaccustomed to, and it felt equally strange, nearly clumsy, when she spoke it aloud.  No one was around to hear it, or to see how her brows knit together in a contemplative manner, or to tell her outright that she had always been a creature of such thoughts.  

    She had no way of knowing that, however,  not of her own accord.
    And it would be some time before she would become the wiser.

    That strange sense of deja vu is dredged up again as she strolls the river’s edge, making her mind and heart feel lofty and light, as if they awaited to be tugged back into some bittersweet memory.  And she nearly lets herself believe such a thing was possible as her mind and body drift along on two very different planes of existence.


    She's visited this place before.  She knows how this endeavor starts and how it crashes and burns every time she gets close, and so she stops it before it has the chance to take flight.  She would destroy it with her own volition and contempt, unwilling to rest against disappointment’s threshold for another wasted day.

    And that’s how the night finds her,  pensive, and in a melancholy sort of mood.

    A murmured Evening makes her pause, inspired to pass a glance through the shrouded trees and mossy thickets, and the way the escaping light touched them.  Breckin nods, “A lovely one too, I think.”  Towards the shadows, she turned, positive that the voice had come from somewhere in that general direction.  The eyes are what she sees first, bright and imposing and on the brink of otherworldly, then the darkness that encompassed them, as though someone existed within the negative space of the forest trees.

    Curiosity takes her a few steps closer, “I’ve always thought it was silly to not pay closer attention to the shadows.  You get so used to them being there, that you forget the constant company you keep.”  She offers a smile then, small, but endearing, “Seems I might’ve been right to think that.  My name is…” she falters slightly before making up her mind, reassuring herself that it was just as well to use her real name.  “Breckin.  Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

    B R E C K I N
    Beast Banger Becki <3

    Torryn i suck and it only took 5 years but here have some hot garbage becki words

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