[[Asylum]]Sometimes, I imagine six impossible things before breakfast.

the Rift

[OPEN] [[Asylum]]Sometimes, I imagine six impossible things before breakfast.

Circuta Posts: 100

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Mare :: Unicorn :: 16.3 :: 7 Buff: NOVICE

Rhawon :: Siberian Tiger :: None aeolle

09-07-2013, 06:34 AM (This post was last modified: 09-26-2013, 01:26 AM by Circuta.)

CIRCUTA</style>

my blood is singing with your voice
i want to pour it out

the lady had followed the white general far into the land, to a place where the ground was damp
and twigs attempted to stick to her long tail, and she raised it in
attempts to avoid dirtying her apparel in any way. she was not built for this
muck, she was meant for paved roads and the scent of flowers giving her a sweet
lullaby, not a junk-yard of various elements. she was not a flea-bag, a mutt
that would roll in the dirt and laugh at it's own mess.

her lips curled at the taste in her mouth and nostrils,
a stench that rose from the liquid.
the white general told her of what monster's lurked
in the depths, and she treaded with elegantly placed
steps. she did not wish for a ghoul or a vengeful ghast to drag
her into the depths, and she gazed towards the depths,
with a lack of fear,
but a deep respect. if what he said was true,
she was intruding in their land, and she would not wish to further
anger the restless souls.
"i.. understand, white general, and will not pass judgment on your homeland
yet. let my words remain to be spoken."

the white general called for the asylum, for the people,
and she stood next to him,
with swishing tail and sharp orbs, to gaze into the depths with a even stare.
she raised her dome in a attempt to keep her regal appearance,
for she would look well in front of possible rulers, would not look as a
creature that had come bellowing from the muddied streets in search of
food and rest. no, circuta would be as her home had taught her to be,
a mystique of grace and power.

what circuta liked least about this land, however, was that
she could not hear the wind through gnarled trees
that dug into the watery graves. It did not whisper it's voice to her on this darkening day.
she sighed a forlorn tune to the silence, and hoped the wind had told her
the correct path to turn down, indeed.