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11-18-2014, 12:40 AM
Sikeax Turn everything off And just cover your neck Cause life is full of your regrets | ||
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Further from comfort than she's been in the past few moon cycles, every sense surges with activity and brings her closer to eruption. The corpse can't leave her mind anymore. It's there rotting before her, even at the Veins. Glowing flowers wrap around her figure in a loose fashion; her Lord's shrine ahead stands tall, welcoming the champagne girl now almost a woman in a way that only the statue of a God looked like. She'd seen him once and had been beyond captivated, mesmerized at the mere sight of the Earth God himself. It was a feeling of absolute bliss to stand before a being so powerful and know that even though she was the lesser being, that there was a sense unexplained by words that comes with it. As snowflakes gradually plummit from the pale, gray and desolate clouds that clot out the night with their lumpy appearance, almost tumor filled like a cancer, that sensation is drowning in what she can't even claim to terror, only the left-overs of something she can't even come to get past. The stranger at the Island which looms overhead, thwarted by the shadow it burns into the clouds, had taught her a lesson she wasted no time in. How there was people in this land as kind as him, she cannot understand. No stranger would openly care for the other, unless there was an unseen bond shared between them in some way that was fashioned by herd relations or family bonds that the now-people have to live by because those before them did. Even friends turned against one another. One, lone, ghostly spark strikes the tip of her bleeding horn, its blue blood bursting into the feeling of gloom and overall depression that came from Frostfall. White crystals glimmer and sparkle in a dim way that snow seems to accomplish one it's own in the tangles of her chocolate mess, darkened by the lack of sunlight. Her hooves sweep against the ice thinly coating the rock, sliding when she doesn't put much mind for her steps. The flowers would wither soon and probably already were, taken from the caves that were becoming more of her personal sanctuary than the Throat was. Cera and Sacre were back there, and while she loved the two colts with every bit of her young heart, Cera even more than Sacre in how Sacre had cut her away for some lengthy amount of time and lacked going to check on her, the age that turned it to a creature of prey made it difficult to stay in one place. She wanted to hide instead of lie around in the desert. What kept her there was the courage it took to trust individuals and trying piece the puzzle back together. Back there were souls who cared, regardless if it was minutely in strength and quiet, almost selfish in the way that they were expected to care for everyone there. Her task as a healer was to care for every soul within the Throat so that there was no chance of their death, of illness and disease, and to teach others exactly how things would go. There were always new eager minds wanting to learn as she had once been, but the world had changed her in such a way. Before the shrine, rather than offering the flowers she had brought for her Lord, her head lowered towards the ground, gathering a lone stone between her teeth, and then released in it into the air behind the shrine, where it promptly went into the blue, churning abyss of the lava and burned, melting away to oblivion where no one would even know it existed, other than Sikeax alone. That there, she defines mentally, is how she feels when the depression is too heavy to stand beneath and hold up, much in her soft state as of the present. @[Amara] and anyone else who wishes to come in images | ||
