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02-12-2015, 06:46 PM
Elsa
My head's underwater, but i'm breathing fine.
My head's underwater, but i'm breathing fine.
There was always a calm in the middle of the storm. Hurricanes had this wonderful thing called the eye, and no wonder that’s what they called it. Every one possessed it, and those within its clutches, they suddenly find themselves in a state of calm. Kind of like it never happened. It gives the feeling that the attack is over; they think they’ve figured it all out. Much like Elsa, she thought she had figured it out. Her life, her calm, and her current “revelation” was what she thought she was basking in. It was all a façade, a lie to keep from dying within the midst of a hurricane of emotion. Unlike Midas, she couldn’t find shelter in this wretched state.
It all began again, as the hoof that was aimed at Midas whizzed by without contact. She was so foolish! The anger began to well up within her. Salty tears she wished to shed were overshadowed by the darkness of her mental defenses. Crying is weakness, while anger is justifiable. She felt as if all of her skill was flying up into the air, and she was watching it be consumed by the whirlwind. A loud cry of anger ripped from her body like the shingles of a house. It was reckless, free and raw. It exposed what was lingering beneath the pale surface.
She doesn’t want to fly in this storm anymore. Diving downward, the sight of the ground growing closer drew in the relief. It would all be over soon, she could hit the ground and run. Her legs could take her far away, until she could find the nerve to return to the scene of devastation.
The sandy grass was spread before her like a welcoming embrace. Her wings, which had grown tired and sore from bearing the weight of pain, groaned in pleasure. Its respite was soon to arrive. Extending her hooves downward, she prepped for landing. Her only worry was for the hind leg that had taken the brunt of his teeth. It throbbed even when it was not moving, and she could only imagine the pain of a landing. Closing her eyes, she let her body do the rest. Within moments she felt the sand absorb the impact of her heavy weight. Never before in her life had she loved sand so much, it was starting to surpass her innate love for ice and snow.
That wasn’t all that was greeting her, for when she opened her eyes something flashed to her right. It glittered oddly in the light, much to bright and happy to be the normal glare of sand. What was it? She turned her head to see what mysterious object glittered like lightening. However, what she was greeted with was the final wave of the storm. Spearheads from all directions flew towards her cream body. She held her breath, as if she thought it would stop her from drowning in more agony. One comes flying towards her, and she ducks. It’s not enough though; the blade grazes the top of her withers. The other two fall short of her body. The blade that hit draws a quick, clean cut revealing bright red flesh. Some of her blood spills from it, staining the otherwise pristine coat red. The wound itself burns. Although it’s neither deep nor life threatening, it feels as if she is being sawed apart. The entire length of her back now feels weak; this storm had certainly taken a lot. Both her physical and mental walls had been torn down, and are flooded beyond repair.
She wants so badly to turn and scream at Midas. She wants to yell at him for trying to kill her and claiming to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Yet, she was the one who asked for it. Every single bump, bruise and droplet of blood was because she asked him to do it. So she grinds her teeth against the pain and anger, and stumbles off without another word. She does not want him to see her so weak and so helpless. Her mind and body needs shelter and rest before she can even think of starting to rebuild. How quickly had her Pompeii burned to the ground.
[3/3 Attacks || 1/1 Defense || 711 Words || @[Midas]]
It all began again, as the hoof that was aimed at Midas whizzed by without contact. She was so foolish! The anger began to well up within her. Salty tears she wished to shed were overshadowed by the darkness of her mental defenses. Crying is weakness, while anger is justifiable. She felt as if all of her skill was flying up into the air, and she was watching it be consumed by the whirlwind. A loud cry of anger ripped from her body like the shingles of a house. It was reckless, free and raw. It exposed what was lingering beneath the pale surface.
She doesn’t want to fly in this storm anymore. Diving downward, the sight of the ground growing closer drew in the relief. It would all be over soon, she could hit the ground and run. Her legs could take her far away, until she could find the nerve to return to the scene of devastation.
The sandy grass was spread before her like a welcoming embrace. Her wings, which had grown tired and sore from bearing the weight of pain, groaned in pleasure. Its respite was soon to arrive. Extending her hooves downward, she prepped for landing. Her only worry was for the hind leg that had taken the brunt of his teeth. It throbbed even when it was not moving, and she could only imagine the pain of a landing. Closing her eyes, she let her body do the rest. Within moments she felt the sand absorb the impact of her heavy weight. Never before in her life had she loved sand so much, it was starting to surpass her innate love for ice and snow.
That wasn’t all that was greeting her, for when she opened her eyes something flashed to her right. It glittered oddly in the light, much to bright and happy to be the normal glare of sand. What was it? She turned her head to see what mysterious object glittered like lightening. However, what she was greeted with was the final wave of the storm. Spearheads from all directions flew towards her cream body. She held her breath, as if she thought it would stop her from drowning in more agony. One comes flying towards her, and she ducks. It’s not enough though; the blade grazes the top of her withers. The other two fall short of her body. The blade that hit draws a quick, clean cut revealing bright red flesh. Some of her blood spills from it, staining the otherwise pristine coat red. The wound itself burns. Although it’s neither deep nor life threatening, it feels as if she is being sawed apart. The entire length of her back now feels weak; this storm had certainly taken a lot. Both her physical and mental walls had been torn down, and are flooded beyond repair.
She wants so badly to turn and scream at Midas. She wants to yell at him for trying to kill her and claiming to do it out of the goodness of his heart. Yet, she was the one who asked for it. Every single bump, bruise and droplet of blood was because she asked him to do it. So she grinds her teeth against the pain and anger, and stumbles off without another word. She does not want him to see her so weak and so helpless. Her mind and body needs shelter and rest before she can even think of starting to rebuild. How quickly had her Pompeii burned to the ground.
[3/3 Attacks || 1/1 Defense || 711 Words || @[Midas]]
- Any force can be used against Elsa.
- Please tag any posts that involves Elsa.
