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06-08-2017, 10:09 PM
Liver splashed hindquarters shudder anxiously; the rearmost self is burnt from that jagged collision moments prior. Though miraculously, none of said skin has been broken. The burly mountain speaks – tailoring his response to fit the puzzle – stunned irises are pushed to their limit, but the depth is crackling, absorbing. Something bordering on near composure is stirring from faintness. My focus harrows on those chocolate, bearded lips…their search for danger is rebuked. There is no hint to clarify my fabrication of threat; his expression is upturned…gracious and possibly candid. Papery nostrils drink, expecting another mouthful of arid oxygen…instead, a sugary perfume wafts in from beyond them. Uptight nerves are plucked, one by one, they become subdued. With a pitiful (unheard) cry of dejection, they crawl back into the frantic darkness.
There is one unit to pierce the barrier; one confounded title which pulls free of his gibberish banter. A term, his namesake, it circles my frontal lobe on beaming wings; vanquishing a small measure of despair. God? Astonishment mobilizes, remodeling my stunned expression into one of comprehension. Ears veer from their disordered mess, led by the hook of solace, “un dieu?” Another somber voice emanates from shadowy caverns, her eyes are brimming at the possibilities; needles of enthusiasm prod into the unexpected basis of conclusion, ‘he…could bring it back.’
Internal fingers shovel into the hard soil of neglected emotions, reflections; they resurface that first moment (forever ago) which first lead me into the world of gods and their magic.
Russet fur, splattered with strokes of onyx across her mane-like shoulders. Those wise, kindly eyes are pale; immortality has blanched them into snow. A teeny, noiseless bird hovers on fleet wings near her oversized, crimson ears. His agile body has been formed by emeralds and rubies…his lively eyes are glossy, like raven feathers. She, the skeletal wolf, neither beautiful or ugly – stood before our selfish mortal eyes. A toothy smile curls her lips, “I require assistance.” Her elderly voice relays quietly to the hushed crowd...
Those memories dissolve. The mystified woman-child is snatched from a regretful past and plopped back into our current existence, ”Dieu,” his name could almost be a question; those bleak arrows of skepticism still mingle with raw uncertainty, “est-ce que tu es venu restaurer magie?” While awaiting a reply, these optics pitch sideways, pursuing the unsettled eagle.
OC:
[Earth x Light | The ability to move objects with her mind.]
[Restrictions | Objects must weigh less than 15lbs and cannot be thrown.]
[Hover over text for a translation!]
@Noah
There is one unit to pierce the barrier; one confounded title which pulls free of his gibberish banter. A term, his namesake, it circles my frontal lobe on beaming wings; vanquishing a small measure of despair. God? Astonishment mobilizes, remodeling my stunned expression into one of comprehension. Ears veer from their disordered mess, led by the hook of solace, “un dieu?” Another somber voice emanates from shadowy caverns, her eyes are brimming at the possibilities; needles of enthusiasm prod into the unexpected basis of conclusion, ‘he…could bring it back.’
Internal fingers shovel into the hard soil of neglected emotions, reflections; they resurface that first moment (forever ago) which first lead me into the world of gods and their magic.
Russet fur, splattered with strokes of onyx across her mane-like shoulders. Those wise, kindly eyes are pale; immortality has blanched them into snow. A teeny, noiseless bird hovers on fleet wings near her oversized, crimson ears. His agile body has been formed by emeralds and rubies…his lively eyes are glossy, like raven feathers. She, the skeletal wolf, neither beautiful or ugly – stood before our selfish mortal eyes. A toothy smile curls her lips, “I require assistance.” Her elderly voice relays quietly to the hushed crowd...
Those memories dissolve. The mystified woman-child is snatched from a regretful past and plopped back into our current existence, ”Dieu,” his name could almost be a question; those bleak arrows of skepticism still mingle with raw uncertainty, “est-ce que tu es venu restaurer magie?” While awaiting a reply, these optics pitch sideways, pursuing the unsettled eagle.
OC:
[Earth x Light | The ability to move objects with her mind.]
[Restrictions | Objects must weigh less than 15lbs and cannot be thrown.]
[Hover over text for a translation!]
@Noah
