sometimes perfection can be perfect hell Fate changed faster than the death of light, and no stain on the moon was laid, still the sunken stars came, and from their crowns constellations waked. Horizonless skies bled down from the heavens and claws of treachery emerged from hell to a world cynical for destruction. Thus she fell onward from heaven and hell's decadence. Tucked away in the covers of dimmed moonlight was a sanguine rouge figure. Legs concussed under her at rapid fire pace with exasperated breath illuminating the air in puffs of pale white. A peroxide gaze pierced the unrelenting shadows ahead, her pelt taking swipes from low hanging branches and marring her in minor cuts. However it kept her awake with sensation. How long she had been compelled to run? Beyond her recognition - nothing looked familiar. No scent. No sight. Not even the empty brutality of frost bit air. Where she hailed from these whimsical flecks of white powder did not exist and the chill that caressed her even more nameless. What had she done? Where had she gone? Uncertain, she peered back over her hindquarters scouting her surroundings contemplating the events that had brought her to this foreign land. If you want to get out alive, run for you life. The hymn of unyielding passion behind that death threat resonated with her like claws of a jackal scratching down raw, naked backbone. That must have been what it was like to feel pure, unadulterated fear. How pitifully beautiful. Red liquid gold seeped out, washing along her horns, then dripping to the thirst trodden ground, pooling faster than it could drink. Sprawled out limp the tasteful sound of a lifeless corpse dislodging from her grasp rang out then slopped to the ground. She was many of things, but a murderer not till that night. That was her courtesy call and thus she fled. Relentless, the rhythmical pattern of her hooves provided one last burst of haste, before exhaustion beckoned her to a sweet embrace. The curves of her lithe silhouette were wet with sweat and surreal numbness conquered her lower extremities. An eerie silence betook the stage around her as she was nearly brought to her knees. Surely she would be safe now. Madness would not follow her this far, or would it? Frigid air hit her lungs as she swallowed a bountiful amount of air and stood still cheating the uncanny tranquility. "A queen needs no king..." Those vowels and consonants spilled from her lips and Helena mused up at a star littered sky. The conflicting emotion infecting her eyes turning to smug certainty.
TEMPLATE © ZODIAQUE | BACKGROUND © SED-RAH-STOCK |
When Heaven Turns To Black & Hell To White
|
|||||||||||
01-06-2017, 09:42 PM
Syrena
let the water take me
The chill in the air still lingered, but it wasn’t cold as it had been. There were promises of spring in the Falls now, bits of green peaking out here and there. She’d spent some time in the Threshold during Frostfall, trying to get out of her bitter cold home, but largly, she’d actually stayed in the Falls doing work. What a strange concept, to be busy. Meeting members of the herds who’s names she mostly remembers (progress), handling visits from the Wise One ranks of other herds, learning stories. It almost feels like too long since she’s been here. Too long, likely, since anyone in the Falls has crossed into the forest of beginnings. Though she honestly doesn’t have a clue if that thought is true or not. For all she knows there are members she’s not yet met that spend half their time here. It’s entirely possible, but she sticks to assuming they don’t come. So today, she goes. There’s no one lurking on the borders of the Falls, and she’s tired of learning names for the moment, so the walk at least to the Threshold gives her some time to be alone. It is not a long enough walk today. She could use more time by herself, with the birds for company and nothing more. Really, she could use time by the sea with the waves and wind and the salt air. But she finds that she has less and less time for that. But one mare had known her name. Had known she was the Storyteller of the Falls. It was such a small victory. But it was a victory. It was proof that at least some of this toiling was paying off. There’s still plenty of snow in the Threshold, but it’s melting away at least, leaving patches of the dead ground exposed below. Soon Helovia would be green and beautiful for a nice little period of time before turning itself in Hades. She walks along, already dreading Tallsun and trying not to think about it – seriously, it’s not even quite Birdsong – when she spots a mare that look like a hot mess. Sweat clings to the mare’s red coat. Syrena could be red too, so this beautiful but hot mess of a mare doesn’t make Syrena jealous for once. Not that Syrena is red now – no, she’s mostly gray except for where the snow hits her legs, turning her skin to swirls of blue and purple. “Are you okay?” she asks, though there’s no concern in that question. As always, her sing-song voice holds no emotion, though really, someone should be proud she noticed enough to ask the mare if she was alright. Not that Syrena knows a damn thing what to do about it, but they have healers in the Falls or hell, any herd, that would know. She can just take the mare to a healer. "words" darya87 | larfsalot on deviantart @Helena Please tag in all posts Magic use/power playing is okay, but check before serious injury/death Image by Reli
01-07-2017, 04:49 PM
@Helena | |||||||||||
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
|