Long Time Traveler
06-17-2020, 04:07 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-18-2020, 12:45 AM by Rhen.)
this soul is not so vibrant; the reckoning, the sickening
packaging subversion, psuedo sacrosanct perversion
For a long while did the young fae think herself walking in circles, pads calloused and numb at they kissed the barren, frozen earth beneath her weight. The only confirmation that proved this theory false was she never once saw paw prints painted in the snow, telling her there was nothing here but a wasteland of ordinary; there were no grandeur sights to set it apart from that of a desolate badlands, offering no solace nor potential as far as she could see. It was an intimidating thought, at first; that Rhen had wasted so much of her own time exploring nothingness, rather than training and stimulating her mind with a mysterious force she could obsess over- but then she saw it, on the horizon, something that caused her heart to pound and emerald orbs to widen infinitely.
Spires of ice, reaching heavenward, grasping with icy fingers toward an unreachable goal, tangled in a battle that would draw on for an eternity... Beautiful dangerous, poetic in all it was. With a renowned hope- or was it desperation?- Rhen found her second wind, and began to run toward her new heading. And then, standing at the base, panting with the causation of her efforts, she stared upward toward what could only be described as a gift; a large formation of spires, pillars, unearthly things Rhen had never before seen. What had placed this here? What had created it? Rhen was never a believer of the Gods, only believing that which she could dissect and pick apart, but times like this always managed to force her to question her very own loyalties to her own heart.
"Beautiful..." She breathed, lips parted and curled in a serpentine manner, eyes going vacant as she dared to take another step forward.
"this is the way you wished your voice sounds"
my tongue's the only muscle that works harder than my heart
Spires of ice, reaching heavenward, grasping with icy fingers toward an unreachable goal, tangled in a battle that would draw on for an eternity... Beautiful dangerous, poetic in all it was. With a renowned hope- or was it desperation?- Rhen found her second wind, and began to run toward her new heading. And then, standing at the base, panting with the causation of her efforts, she stared upward toward what could only be described as a gift; a large formation of spires, pillars, unearthly things Rhen had never before seen. What had placed this here? What had created it? Rhen was never a believer of the Gods, only believing that which she could dissect and pick apart, but times like this always managed to force her to question her very own loyalties to her own heart.
"Beautiful..." She breathed, lips parted and curled in a serpentine manner, eyes going vacant as she dared to take another step forward.
my tongue's the only muscle that works harder than my heart
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