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DangerousGirl115
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Kingdome Come (Song prompt)

Sat Mar 23, 2019 12:07 am

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The gods have long stopped watching us. They no longer listen to prayers or cries for help. A woman stood on the edge of a cliff thinking just that. She looked out to the sea of houses and the castle in the distance. The entire kingdom falling apart at the hands of a king who sat on a throne that was not rightfully his. Her violet eyes scanned the buildings that were burned down. The ones that still stood but were too run down due to the poverty that struck them all. Then she glanced to the castle so dark and isolated. “Princess,” A man said from behind her. Turning those sharp eyes to the dark haired male the woman dressed in a black cloak and fighting leathers smiled smugly and he smiled back. She pulled the hood over her long blonde hair and walked passed the man and for a moment, she hesitated.

“Raphael…I believe tonight a kingdom will fall then rise again.” She said before mounting the white stallion. She gripped the rains and turned the horse her companion following suit with his brown mare. They traveled through the forest with only the sound of hoof beats surrounding them. That is until the princess brought her stallion to a halt and held her hand up to stop Raphael. The man stayed quiet as the woman then stood on top of the saddle and climbed up into a tree and looked out onto the path that leads to the castle and there in an expensive carriage sat a nobleman who was just as much a part of the problem as the king. She moved quickly through the treetops like a cat silent and deadly before judging her odds at success. With a vicious grin, she pulled a dagger and waited a long moment twisting the blade between her fingers. The metal glinted due to the sun and she saw her reflection within the blade. The violet eyes of the woman returned to the carriage before she let the dagger fly through the air and straight through the open window. None of the men guarding it even noticed but she knew she hit her mark.

When she returned to her companion, she dropped onto her horses back and the pair continued in silence towards the shadow-filled castle. Raphael wanted to say many things. His princess had changed so much from when she was a child. From when her father was killed by the current king, her own cousin. Raphael knew there was nothing he could say to ease the pain that the princess felt knowing she would soon kill her own kin. Therefore, with that knowledge, he stayed silent until they reached the castle leaving their horses behind as the skilled pair snuck onto castle grounds.

Today was King Williams wedding and the princess planned to make it a memorable one. She watched the nobles walk in wearing fancy jewels and clothing. She stayed hidden in the shadows of the room having perfected the task of being invisible. She watched as the high priest talked of the matrimony between the king and his bride. The gods won’t be able to save him…it’s all an illusion. She smirked at her thoughts and waited as the king stood to stand in front of his throne and waited for the bride to walk down the aisle, but he would not be alive to see it. He stood looking at his subject and as his eyes drifted to the isle the woman in black stepped into view as she pulled her hood down. The king's eyes widened in horror.
He had made the kingdom believe that all lines of royal blood died in an accident, her being here changed everything and he knew it. “Surprised to see me, cousin?” The princess asked with a cold smile. On instinct he pulled a sword from a castle guard and held it up “stay back!” he yelled but she only took calming slow steps forward. A guard came at her from the side and with a flick of her wrist a blade sored through the air pinning him to the wall “tsk tsk tsk…this is between me and him…” she scolded before spinning another blade through her fingers.

The king stepped back afraid of the woman in front of him as she then let the dagger fly through the air piercing him right through the heart as he slumped to the ground. She walked forward and kicked the sword out of his reach as he slowly died “it really is such a shame…I wanted to make you suffer” she said as the light faded through his eyes. She turned and faced the crowd of shocked nobles and sat on the throne that was rightfully hers. Every person in the room bowed their heads scared to protest. The forgotten princess had taken over and was now queen. Now the world belongs to me. Were her final thoughts as her trusted friend stood beside her throne and she looked out at the world she was determined to fix. Image
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family means
▬▬▬▬▬▬(no one gets left beind)▬
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Salutations, you can call me DG
or Danger if you wish. I enjoy RP's
of all types. I enjoy coding and
reading books. I am really busy
with my classes most days but
I usually find time to get some
writing in. If you have any ideas
you wish to try out with me just
send me a message.

"You cant pick and choose which
parts of her you love" -Sarah J. Maas

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Kami
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Sat Mar 23, 2019 9:09 am

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    mentions;; faye, silvester | tags;; mentions of violence, torture | word count;; 1,090


    "You cannot do this!" His voice was full of anger, yet something akin to fear or worry could be heard lying under his words. The man's brown eyes were wide and bloodshot, teeth grinding against each other in frustration. In spite of that, he looked powerless. "Unhand me this instant, witch!"

    A pair of blue eyes settled on the man's unruly face, evaluating his appearance. The woman's calculating gaze slid across his pale skin, lingering on the fresh cuts and bruises she had inflicted moments earlier, a smirk finding its way to her lips as the silence continued hovering between them. Finally, she raised a finger to her face, tapping her chin lazily, almost as if she was considering letting him go, only to shake her head. It was quite amusing to witness the spark of disbelief reflected in his eyes, his jaw dropping as reality finally sank into his prideful, arrogant being. He couldn't leave.

    "Do you take me for a fool, Captain?" The brunette chuckled softly, raising an elegant vial filled to the brim with a deep purplish liquid, watching it swirl inside of the container. Her eyes were full of amusement, a smile dancing on her lips as she watched the man tirelessly pull at his restraints, desperate to free himself. She was in no rush to resume her punishment for his cruel deeds. Watching the youth suffering at the hands of someone he despised was much more entertaining. "You have caused me great pain, Silvester Berryann. Without rest, you hunted my kin for years, not leaving a soul as you created this path of destruction. And you are naive enough to believe I would let you go? Truly, you are a very interesting soldier, Captain."

    He looked at the youth, evaluating the determined yet playful spark reflected in her blue eyes. If anything, she was toying with him, urging the man to do something foolish and get himself into more trouble. But for now, all he could do was to continue tugging at the magical ropes wrapped around his limbs, cursing at the witch standing in front of him. The man's efforts were fruitless, only making his restraints tighten, digging into his skin. He didn't say anything, watching as the youth moved closer, eventually leaning over the wooden chair, smirking wildly. "I have spent months looking for ways to capture you. Days were wasted in order to set a flawless trap and bring you here; all of that, I did on my own. Because not one single sister was left alive, cut down by your swords. Letting you go would be a complete waste of my effort, Captain. I would much rather see you squirm," she explained calmly, leaning away from the man as he tried to smash his head against hers. It was amusing to see him desperate enough to act without his blades, doing all that he could think of if it gave him a chance of survival. Of course, his mortal body meant nothing to her magic. He was just an insect.

    "Of course, there are ways you could be of use to me," she continued, looking at the glimmering crystals hanging on the walls, chuckling at the fairly disturbed expression present on the Captain's face. It would have been easy to drain his life and lower the morale of his hunters, creating an obstacle their foolish hunts would find difficult to pass. A cold smirk found its way to her lips as the slender witch leaned on a nearby table, tracing the cracked wood with her fingertips. "If you so desperately yearn to remain alive, I would gladly take it upon myself to ensure your safety. Everything you care about would belong to me; your world would become mine to command. In exchange, you would remain alive and well, bowing down that prideful head of yours to me," she grinned, tilting her head to the side as she waited for the soldier's reply. It was a good offer; one the human had to take.

    "And if I refuse?" Silvester's reply almost made her snort; the man thought her to be a fool. He was willing to risk everything he cared about in order to uphold some foolish belief he was better than those with a natural affinity for magic. Retrieving a dagger from a drawer, she tested the tip against her fingers, watching as a single drop of blood trickled down her pale skin. In what seemed to be a flash, she was straddling the man's lap, pressing the sharp blade against his throats as her blue eyes shone with wild, untamed fury. "I will gut you like a fish, Captain. You have taken everything from me and did not lift a finger to check if your actions brought any consequences to the stability of our world. Because of you, I had to begin dabbling in the forbidden arts, desperate to find a way to survive. And you were the cause of all of my pain. It is only fair that I rob you of the same things, no?"

    The soldier remained quiet, stoically pressing his throat against the blade until the fight left his body. Calmly and without any arguments, the warrior slowly lowered his gaze, looking away from the witch in hopes she would understand. "You drive a hard bargain, Ma'am," even if his tone was stubborn as well as arrogant, she could easily notice the defeated spark gleam in his brown eyes. Even though it was rather unusual to witness a man like him give up this quickly, she heard no dishonesty in his voice. A pleased smile found its way to her lips as she quietly undid the ropes, pressing her hand against Silvester's chest, her eyes lighting up. "Very well. From this day onwards, your life belongs to me. Everything in your world is mine. Your life is meant to protect mine, no matter what happens; if you fail to follow my orders, I will end you. Is that understood, Captain?" She grinned coldly.

    He nodded. There was nothing else left to be said, only his undying loyalty to help the infamous witch in her quest for revenge. Even if Silvester wished nothing to do with the brunette and behead her as soon as he could, there was nothing he could do at the very moment. For now, he bowed his head and looked everywhere apart from his new master's face, grinding his teeth quietly when she laughed. Everything of his belonged to her. All of it.
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periwinkle
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"you are not alone. you will never be alone."

Fri Apr 12, 2019 3:13 am

it isn't a peri prompt unless it's in a spoiler box! themes such as abuse and sadness lie ahead, read at your own risk~
based off of the plot of Esspe and i's roleplay.


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Hidden text.
They lay in bed side by side, silently basking in the high that came after intercourse. Arwen would not dare refer to it as “lovemaking”, because it was not quite that. There were many extenuating circumstances surrounding the two in that moment, circumstances that could not possibly add up to love. For one, the man that she had just willingly let into her bed was not the man she loved. Yes, the physical body was the same, but in every characteristic beyond that he was but a stranger to her. Danaus – it felt unnatural to refer to him as “Naz” now – briefly leaned over the bed to rifle through his discarded clothing on the ground. The female witch watched his bare back as he faced away from her, imagining how the sex would have been different had it been with her true familiar. The man next to her was her ancestor’s familiar, stooped deep in darkness and wickedness Arwen could hardly describe with words. Her body could describe it clearly, however. Bruises began to form on her wrists, easily noticeable against her pale skin. Her deep red hair ached at the roots from the intensity of the yanking it had endured; and, when she licked her lips, she tasted blood. Danaus always drew blood somehow, just to draw energy from her body until it was sapped. As rough as he was – so unlike her Naz – there was a sick part of the witch that found herself liking it, wanting it. When she was with Danaus, she could pretend it was Naz. She could try to will him back into reality. She could try to forget that he did the same thing to her reincarnated ancestor Deirdre, only hours before. She could pretend he was hers again. That was why she let him do the things he did, and that was why she would continue to do so until the true Naz returned from somewhere deep in the recesses of Danaus’s mind. It was fucked, and she knew it. Yet she just couldn’t stop herself.

The click of a lighter flicking open made her realize that Danaus was lighting a cigarette, and the heavy cloud of smoke that suddenly filled the air confirmed her thoughts. She feared that Naz had not returned, not this time. The raven familiar rested himself back on his pillow was a heavy sigh before taking another draw from the cigarette. He turned his head and blew the smoke directly at Arwen, who briefly closed her eyes to avoid them from watering. The smoke clogged her senses for one long, dizzying moment. “What’s got you down, Red?” He murmured, even his voice sounding lower than the original Naz. The blood witch took a few seconds to contemplate her reply. “I’m just thinking about how fucked up this is,” she finally responded honestly, turning to look into his golden eyes; eyes that were supposed to be blue. Danaus stilled for a second, his eyes scanning her naked body slowly and with leisure, a smug smirk on his face. Then, it happened. A switch flipped. Her heart fluttered – this was what she waited eagerly for every time they got under the sheets. Danaus blinked rapidly a few times, then frowned. “No-!” He growled, low and harsh before shaking his head. However, it was too late. Golden eyes turned to blue. If only for a few minutes, her Naz was back with her. Precious seconds passed as the two looked at each other, staring into each other’s very souls as though it was the first time they’d seen each other in years. Her familiar broke his gaze away first, eyes once more looking over her body. This time, instead of pride, all Arwen could see was remorse, guilt, and even some anger deep within the azure depths. Tentatively, he reached out with his free hand – the other still gripping the cigarette as though he didn’t even realize it was there – and lightly traced the bruised on her skin. Arwen wasn’t sure what to say, the sensation of him touching her leaving her momentarily breathless. “Your hand is shaking,” she whispered. Danaus scoffed quietly. “That’s the first thing you say?” He countered back, a small bit of his true personality peeking through despite the situation they were in. Arwen didn’t have the heart to smile at the sentiment. “How are you doing?” She asked instead, her face showing the same concern as her trembling voice did. Danaus’s hand paused its tracing of her skin, the man caught up in the own trauma he faced in his own mind. When he remained silent, Arwen silently took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She could feel his energy, though severely weakened, pulsing against her palm. They were made for each other, and the comfort she found when she was with him was unlike anything else. “You can tell me,” she prompted, providing a comforting squeeze to his hand. It was unlike Danaus to actually tell her his troubles, so when he began to speak it was only a telltale sign of his own torture slowly breaking him down. “It’s hell,” he breathed, “I watch him hurt you using my own hands, and the things he does with Deirdre-” Naz broke off and took a deep breath before continuing. “I just go to the corners of my own mind and shut it all out. It makes me feel so…”

“Alone?” The redhead guessed, sensing Naz’s reluctance and difficulty to admit his feelings. When his silence confirmed her answer she scooted closer to him, wincing slightly as the pain in her aching legs and limbs. “Listen to me right now Danaus, and listen good,” Arwen told him, keeping her voice hushed while still trying to be firm. “You are not alone. You have never been alone. You never will be. Know that whenever I look into his eyes, I’m looking for you. I need you back here, with me. I need you to fight. I need you to keep going. We did not make it this far to lose it all, not now. Please, please keep fighting him. I know you can do it, you have to. I-” A sob cut off her babbling, and she pressed herself closer to him. Danaus held her close, two souls clinging to each other for dear life. Their hearts beat rapidly and yet in sync, each reliving their own separate tortures while trying to live for the other as the witch's cries turned to quieted sniffles. “I will, Wren,” Danaus finally whispered, pressing a fleeting kiss to her forehead. That simple brushing of lips against her skin said more than any words he could have said in that moment. Then, he was gone, the stranger taking his place once more. He shoved her away from him with a hiss of disgust and rage, pushing himself to sit up before turning towards her. Arwen laid limp, staring up at the ceiling with a gaze devoid of feeling; he had been ripped from her grasp once more and it filled her with complete and utter emptiness. “Stupid girl,” Danaus snarled, pressing his dimly lit and burnt down cigarette right into her bare skin. But the witch felt nothing but numbness.
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Kami
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Sun Apr 14, 2019 8:56 pm

Imagexxx "To live alone is the fate of all great souls." -- Arthur Schopenhauer
"Why did you bring me here?" Her voice was quiet, yet filled with eerie confusion. "These are just ruins."

Blue eyes gazed at the remains of his past. Aged columns stood before him, a thick layer of dust covering what had once been expensive marble. He spoke nothing, choosing to focus on the abandoned stronghold looming over them, his gaze searching. If not for the woman's presence, he would have stood there for hours, watching as the sun illuminated what had once been his own safe haven. A place that was always open to hide him from the injustice of their world, filled with those who understood his burden. Now, it was a shadow of the past.

"Follow me, Princess," he spoke quietly, afraid of disturbing the ruins further. Elegantly and without sparing one glance towards his companion, he walked forth, enthralled by the scene. "You will understand everything."

The stronghold was derelict, its scorched walls towering above her as she followed the man's brisk pace, eager to keep up and not get lost in the memories of what had once been a powerful, respected family's home. She had grown up listening to stories about England's most feared warriors, always unable to forget the legends of those who stood behind the King from dawn and ran in the woods after dusk. To her mind, fuelled by logic and reality, they had been nothing more than silly tales meant to keep children from misbehaving, but now, as she gazed at the wolfish ornaments, she was beginning to doubt her own judgement. Perhaps it had been more than gossip or means to keep the King of England as fearsome as he used to be in the past before his downfall to the Lehenard family. As her cornflower blue eyes settled on the black-haired man, she could feel the tension in his joints and the importance of the ruins to her companion. A soft smile found its way to her lips; once again, she had been fooled by his demeanour. She had known nothing.

"You have no need to hide, wolf," he froze as the nickname escaped her throat, glancing over his shoulder with those captivating bluish-green eyes of his. Now, she could easily see the feral, untamed spark in his gaze. How blindly did she have to live not to see his predatory nature earlier? "I know the legends of the King's guards and their wolfish skin. And I know that not a single warrior survived the fires set to their home thirteen years ago. But back then, you were no warrior or guardian, Hawthorne."

His eyes shifted; for a moment, she could feel the man's hesitation. Uncertainty crawled under his skin as the man battled with the monster living inside of him, aching to unleash the blood of a feral animal and take off into the nearby woods, disappearing the celebrate many endless nights of peace. But looking at the girl approaching him, her blue eyes focused on the mark of his family, he felt momentarily at peace. It took but a chaste touch to his forehead for him to kneel, the skin of a man disappearing in favour of a black beast taking its place. She watched him change, not looking away as the bones began snapping and morphing, his size growing into what could only be described as monstrous. And when he lifted his muzzle to look at the brunette with those familiar oddly-coloured eyes, she saw only a loyal wolf, prepared to lay down his head if it meant protecting her. As he spoke, the guttural growl never left his tone, serving as a reminder that he was no man. He was no servant. He was a guardian.

"I have been watching over you for many days," he grunted, unused to the fangs escaping the boundaries of his mouth and gleaming in the harsh sunlight. "Kept the nobles from going into your chambers and keeping your mare away from the camps of bandits. I chased the hounds sent after you and tore apart the assassins that wished to take your head. All these years, you had no loyal guards apart from me; a child with a power he could barely command. A lonely beast waiting for a royal's orders."

She knelt down in front of him, pressing her hand against his chest, listening to the powerful heart beating under the black fur, watching the wolf's expression. Despite not having any recognisable features, she could still feel that it honestly was the sarcastic assassin hiding under the mask of a beast. Life had an interesting way of changing one's thought process and while she would have felt wary of the monster years earlier, she felt at ease. Shaking her head at his words, the young woman squeezed his wrist gently, knowing that it had taken a lot of courage and determination to shed his disguise and open up to her as a beast her own father had sworn to eradicate.

"No," she disagreed calmly, sinking her fingers into the soft black fur. "You are not alone. You have never been alone. Even if those you have known as your family are gone, they have not left you alone. They are watching over you; their knowledge runs within their veins and they are proud of you for choosing the right person to guard. I am not royal in these lands and Lady Evelyn should be your priority, but in the end, you chose me. And I could not have asked for a better guard. You have done well."

He didn't answer, instead, bowing his head to her in a silent plead of mercy and gratitude. As the woman stood up, he rose with her, towering above the royal who looked frail and defenceless next to him. But even in her small frame, he could easily feel the power and determination coursing through her veins, the courageous glint in her blue eyes reminding of the people he had once known in life. Time went on without waiting for anyone left behind and if he was to become lost in the sands of his past, he would end up truly alone. Now, even if those with the same wolfish instincts were gone, he still had people standing by his side. Perhaps they were human and could not join him under the silver moonlight, but they were family. For all that it mattered, he had found a way to surround himself in a family. For once in his life, he felt at peace.
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toast
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|| Prompt #oo5 || [ You Are Not Alone ]

Fri Apr 19, 2019 1:25 am

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xxxxxxxxxxxxYOU ARE NOT ALONExx characters;; palla xx, (: // words;; uh...1800-ish?
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    • “You are not alone,” Something had whispered in the dark, its metallic words carried on the wind. The smell of blood wafted through the open window, dripping copper on his tongue. The taste slid down his throat, scalding his chest and his heart and his stomach. The burn moved outward, reaching for his ten fingers and his ten toes. “You will never be alone.” It insisted, closer now, right below the window he’d snuck into. The moon, heavy with secrets, peered into the library, pinning Palla to his seat. She knew who his tormentor was, and yet she stared with merciless indifference. She lay him awash with silver light, draining every ounce of heat from his body. He shivered, his finger tips tingly with anxiety. There was a pounding in his ears; his heart or the steps of whatever monster lurked in the darkness, he wasn’t sure.

      “I’m alone,” Palla whispered it at first, his eyes closing tightly as he doubled in on himself. His hands cupped over his ears, a vain attempt at blocking out all the static in the air around him. “I’m alone,” he said again, so the books could hear him and their silence could agree. “I’m alone!” He shouted this time, his voice reverberating off the curved walls of the library, bouncing back to him with a shriek that wasn’t his own. You’re alone! The echo roared, and Palla felt it deep down to his bones and to the foundations of his soul. He stood up in a rush, his palms slamming down onto the table and jostling everything upon it. The sound of it echoed up, up, up, until it shattered against the ceiling and fell around him in a million tiny pieces.

      And then there was silence, deafening silence, so heavy it pushed him back into his chair. Not even his breath registered in the air around him, save as vapor when the temperature began to decline. His arms went limp, hands dropping heavy into his lap. Palla lifted his face upwards, waiting one, two, three seconds before he risked opening his eyes. The table was clear before him, save for a well worn copy of Richard III. The book was flipped open to a random page, red lettering spelling out Despair and Die! in hyperbolded scrawl. The red of blood spilled down towards the spine, leaking onto the table and creeping toward the edge of it. It dripped onto his hands, sticky like syrup and rotten to the touch. The stench assaulted his senses, billowing inwards and outwards and circling back towards him, compounding on itself until Palla felt the burn of bile rising in the middle of his chest. The quiet was broken by the scratching of claws on tile somewhere behind him, getting closer with each breath.

      “Are you ok, little fox?” A new voice this time, a child-like voice right by his ear. Each of its words were like the click of a key on a typewriter, punching his fear into him like a tattoo he didn’t want. “No one can hear you, little fox.” It taunted him, scuttling beneath the table, bashing his knees as it moved from one side to the other. The force of it pushed the chair, the legs grinding against the floor and threatening to snap. “You’re alone, little fox.” It cackled, the sound of it harsh and grating and starting to morph into something deep and demonic. The laughter rose in pitch, delighted with the despair it was beating into him. The thing it belonged to dipped into his space, a shadow dancing in his peripheral, the foul breath of it hot against his ear. “I’m going to tear you apart, little fox.” Its laughter turned maniacal, a hyena taunting its prey. A hand, all bone and tight, fraying, graying skin, crept into his view, claws tearing at the pages of the book. The trickle of red turned to a rapid, rushing over curls of torn paper and spilling into his lap and pooling on the floor beneath him. The laughter got louder around him, encapsulating him in it, and he flung his hands over his ears. His eyes shut tightly, and Palla drew his knees up into the chair, burying his head between them in a hopeless attempt at blocking out the sound.

      “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” Palla begged, but his voice didn’t make any sound, as silent as the books that watched him suffer. The laughter morphed to impossibly loud TV static, and then to a crowd of whispers, as though an audience had come to watch him at the gallows, passing judgement he could hear all too clearly but had no hopes of comprehending.

      “Palla?” Altea’s voice rang out like a gunshot, silencing the whispers. Palla sat up ramrod straight in his chair, his eyes settling on the cluttered table for a short period of time before jumping to where Altea stood delicately at the edge of the library. He watched as Altea risked a step closer, like Palla might bolt if he moved too fast. Then he took another step, and another one after that, until he’d closed the distance between them. Palla reached for him, half expecting his hand to pass through like he was some sort of vision, a reflection in a pond and nothing more. He broke when he reached solidity, when Altea proved real beneath his hand, with arms real enough to wrap Palla in the comfort he so desperately needed. “Palla, what happened? You’re shaking.”

      “Can we leave, please?” Palla mumbled into his chest, his hand gripping Altea’s shirt so tightly he took away all of the slack. “I don’t want to be here.”

      “Yeah,” Altea said, trying his best to hide the confusion in his voice. He didn’t understand the fear that gripped Palla, and he wouldn’t. Palla wouldn’t tell him. It was better that way, he’d decided. “We can leave. Of course we can leave.” Altea thought for a moment, glancing around the library as he thought about what to do. He looked at the table, picking up the book on it and slipping them into the bag slung over his shoulder. “I’ll take you back to my dorm.” He wrapped his arm back around Palla, who pressed into the touch with fervent desperation. They slipped out quickly, and Palla didn’t dare look back at the too-wide grin that he felt leering at him from the stacks of books.

      ————

      The doors to the dormitory clicked shut behind him, locking with an echo that resounded off of all the buildings in the little plaza. Palla drew in a sharp breath, watching as the leaves of the bushes rustled at the edge of the forest. He hoped it was his demon, prayed it was his demon, knew deep down that it wasn’t.

      They emerged neatly, one by one like ants on a log. The first one was massive, the joints of its legs clicking with each step. The second one climbed over the mass of its back, its limbs long as spiders and just as thin. It’s grey skin was tattered, torn away completely at its throat so that darkness spilled out like fog rolling down from the mountains surrounding the school. It leaped from the first one with a cackle, hitting the ground hard and blowing up dust where it landed. The third one moved the fastest, floating through the silver moonlight as peacefully as a flower on the surface of a pond. As it got closer, it filled the plaza with a roaring static, threatening to spark the power lines leading to the buildings.

      Palla backed up against the door to the dorms, growing more frantic and helpless with each foot they covered. He closed his eyes as the clicking and the laughing and the static got closer, and just before it could merge into a single roar, it cut out completely. Palla opened his eyes at the sound of a train’s bell ringing, a large black mass sweeping through the center of the plaza and barreling into the creatures with a ferocity he half didn’t expect.

      In an instant, the three creatures dispersed, scattering into the forest in whatever way they could to get away from the black beast. It ran a large circle around the plaza, as if double checking to make sure they’d all really gone before doubling back towards Palla. The tension bled from his shoulders as it approached, the shadows compressing into something fox-shaped but not quite. Her legs were a little too long, her muzzle a little too narrow and her mouth a little too big. Palla often found her to be phasing in and out of tangibility, a trait he was sure would have been useful if one was fond of trickery and bullying others into giving up their souls. She was, after all, a demon, no matter how protective of him she got.

      “Next time,” She spoke to him like they were old friends, a teasing lilt to her voice that was grating to anyone who wasn’t used to it. Palla’s ability to catch it only proved that they must have been, even if he felt suffocated by her st times. “I will eat them.” She finished with a nod, sitting just before the steps to the dorm began, her tails splaying out behind her in a halfmoon shape. The simplicity of the statement was almost too much for Palla to bear, and his light chuff quickly turned into near full blown laughter.

      She watched him, her ear flicking in faint confusion, as Palla skipped stairs to get to flat ground. He closed the distance between them fast, diving against her chest and wrapping his arms around her neck. She hesitated, her back straight as a rail, and then she too relaxed, her head dropping onto his shoulder and the sound of wind chimes eminating from her throat. He stepped away from her, huffing once and wiping the tears from his eyes. “Are you ready?” She asked, rising to four tiny paws and raising her tails toward the sky. She nodded when he did, taking a few steps back and crouching down.

      Palla lifted his face towards the sky as she jumped, resigning himself to the shadow that engulfed him mere seconds later. It dispersed quickly, whisping away like smoke on the wind. Checking around once more for the spirits that had been chasing him all day, he began his trek back to his hollow. He stopped at the edge of the forest, looking towards where the moon was dipping below the horizon. He lifted his muzzle in defiance of her, his tails slashing the air in vague annoyance. Then, with a snort, Palla turned and disappeared into the trees.
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"achroous"

Thu May 16, 2019 3:39 am

putting in spoiler box because it is long and i hate my writing. carry on :) Image
[words: 2,681]
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For a life composed of dull black and various shades of gray, Princess Sybil Godfrey’s life was anything but boring and ordinary. She had lived for years under torment and psychological torture from her father within the very walls of the castle in which she was born. She had watched her father take her mother’s life right before her eyes – an action that had sparked to life a tumultuous uprising among the people of France. The rebellion grew slowly at first, gathering like the dark clouds of a furious storm before rumbling into a thunderous insurgence unlike anything Sybil had ever seen. The people of France had never particularly liked the King, and it seemed as though they had had enough of his greed and treachery. Now, months after the Queen’s death, the battle for the throne began. Sybil had woken that morning to the panicked shouts of soldiers raising the alarm and the loud echoes of heavy footsteps running past her room. The young woman slipped quickly out of bed and stumbled over to the door to her room, swinging it open just to meet a man on the other side of the opening. “Aredius? What is happening?” She asked, opening the door wider to allow the man to enter. In all the commotion, no one would take notice of the inappropriateness of such an act – a lady and a man together in her bedroom. It was of little matter to her whether she was alone with Aredius or not – both knew they would simply remain friends thanks to the monochrome way that their eyes looked at the world.

Long ago, humanity slowly became depressed due to the hardships they had faced: be it plague, famine, and the like. People were rapidly losing those that they loved; they would fail to remarry in their sadness. The gods saw the plight of the humans and encouraged them to procreate in the wake of their near destruction, but that did not fix the misery of the people. Angered by this, the gods created a paradox that was both a blessing and a curse. The humans would be forced to see the world in black, gray, and white until they could find their soulmate – only then would they see color. While this decision initially discouraged and angered humanity, it quickly caused them to actively seek out their other half. As a result, procreation increased, and the gods were pleased. Centuries later, the paradoxical verdict was still firmly in place. The only side effect that sometimes occurred in those who found their soulmates was something the people called “manifest shock”, in which the sudden bursting forth of colors never seen before by a person overwhelms their senses and causes mental damage and physical panic if left unfettered. Sybil and her only friend at the castle, Aredius Dufour – the man in charge of overseeing the health and training of the horses – had realized that they were not meant to be anything more than friends since the first time they met many years ago.

“The people are staging an uprising, a battle has broken out in the streets among the people and your father’s men,” Aredius responded tensely, stalking over to the balcony of the princess’s room and cautiously peering out at the mayhem outside, “but that is not the most important thing happening right now.” Sybil, despite her brief lapse of silence in clear surprise, scoffed at his words. She crossed the room to stand by him and tried to peer out at the chaos, only to be gently pushed back by her friend. “I hardly doubt that there is anything more important than-”

“Your father is going to have you killed,” the male interrupted, turning to face Sybil. He grabbed her shoulders, his eyes serious as he explained further. “I heard some soldiers talking about it just a few moments ago. He is going to have some of his men come and kill you. Then, when this mess is over, if he is victorious, he will blame your death on the people and say you were accidentally killed in the battle. You and I both know he clings to the throne as strongly as he clings to his very life, and he does not wish to pass it on to even his heir. I need to get you out of here as soon as possible. Come with me, I have a horse ready.” Before Sybil could even respond to any of his words, Aredius guided her back across the room and out into the hallway. As they navigated the halls, avoiding any soldiers still in the castle as they did so, Sybil tried to process what was currently happening. She knew that her father could make an attempt on her life at any second, especially after seeing him kill her mother, but she hadn’t expected it to be so soon after the Queen’s death. She hadn’t even expected this rebellion – she had gone to sleep last night thinking the country was still at the strangled peace it had been in for months. This all felt like a very bad dream. The royal was still in her sleeping attire after all, and her hair was a right mess indeed. This was how she was to flee the only home she’d ever known.

“Where will we go?” She questioned worriedly as they exited the castle, the horse that Aredius had readied standing right outside. “Anywhere but here,” came a short reply from the man as he boosted her up into the saddle. After mounting the horse as well, he continued. “We need to get out of the city.” With a short command and a small nudge to the horse’s side, the two were moving. Aredius guided the horse out of the courtyard and into the streets, the only place that they could go in order to escape the city. With wide eyes, Sybil surveyed the carnage. Soldiers with swords hacked at people holding crude weapons, and citizens would scoop up the sword of a fallen soldier and slice at another. Blood was running through the city. The black and white eyesight of the princess did not do anything to lessen the shock of seeing so much intentional, vicious death at once. Like a coward, Sybil firmly shut her eyes and kept her head down, gripping the stallion’s mane like her life depended on it as Aredius guided the horse around dead bodies. With her eyes closed, she did not see whether it was soldier or citizen that sliced at their horse’s legs as they cantered past; but - when the horse fell to its knees with a high-pitched whinny of agitated pain, - the royal was thrown from the stallion as he rolled onto his side in order to relieve the pressure from his bleeding leg. She and Aredius were now without transportation. Panicking, she turned to make sure the man himself was alright. “Keep moving, I’m right behind you!” He yelled over the clamoring shouts of victory and pain resonating around them, and all Sybil could do was obey. The pair struggled to continue on down the cobblestone street, Aredius keeping his arm around the young woman’s shoulders to shield her as well as to keep her moving. Suddenly, Sybil tripped over the stiff ankle of a fallen body, and she herself stumbled to the ground. Blood instantly soaked into the fabric of her nightgown, and although she could not see the colorful hue of the liquid, she froze at the sight of seeing the light gray of the fabric darken to a near black. “Sybil-!” She heard from above her; and, upon looking up, she saw two things. The first: Aredius reaching towards her to help her up. The second: a soldier raising his spear to her friend’s heart. “Look out!” She screamed, but the warning came too late. The air rushed out of her lungs, failing to enter again as she watched the spear push through Aredius’s back and exit through his chest. The soldier yanked out the spear with a forceful pull, and his body slumped lifeless to the ground.

“No, no no no,” Sybil whispered in desperation, crawling the few feet to his body and placing her hands over the wound in a frantic attempt to stop the bleeding. Her efforts were to no avail; Aredius was dead. The soldier, thinking the princess to be simply another citizen with her dirtied, torn attire, raised the spear again. Perhaps he knew she was the princess and was simply ready to carry out her father’s orders. Sybil looked at the colorless world filled with violence around her again before making eye contact with the soldier, knowing that she was no match against the man. Just as the soldier wound up to plunge the spear into her, the unthinkable happened. A dagger flew right into the soldier’s heart, exactly in the spot where he had thrust the spear through Aredius. As the soldier crumpled to the ground, the princess whipped around to face her rescuer.

The person was a man, judging from the tall yet slim build of his body. He was dressed in all black, a hood even covering his head. He tilted his head down slightly to look at her, allowing her to see some of the face beneath the hood. In that fateful moment, their eyes met. A shooting burst of mild pain exploded behind her eyes, as though the start of a headache was forming. However, the sensation instantly faded away, leaving her vision to see things she had never comprehended before in her life: colors. She knew not which each one was, but she did know their names thanks to her mother’s teachings. The first things Sybil saw in color was her rescuer’s eyes. They likened the color of the sky above them, but it was not quite the same hue. She knew not what to call it. She knew not what to do in that moment. Her mind could only think of her dead friend beside her. Her gaze ripped away from the man she did not know – whose importance she had not yet realized – and landed back on Aredius. Her gaze passed over his still body, taking in with horror the glassy film of his eyes and the blood that still spouted from his chest. The princess knew this color – it was red. Blood was red, her mother taught her. She despised it immediately. All of this was so new to her – she was seeing things she had never seen before in the middle of a battlefield next to the dead body of her only friend. Instantly, her heart began to race, her breaths coming out in shorter pants as she tried to suck in air. Sybil looked down at herself and let out a wail of despair as she realized she was now covered in that accursed red color – in Aredius’s blood. She was panicking. The princess was experiencing the very thing feared by those who still saw the world in monochrome: manifest shock. Suddenly, the calloused hands of the man that saved her landed on her shoulders, and Sybil jumped in surprise. “Close your eyes,” he commanded lowly, and in her confusion all the young woman could do was obey. The man pulled her up from the ground and half-guided, half-dragged her a little way away from the carnage. When Sybil opened her eyes again, they were in an alleyway. The two were surrounded by stone buildings, which equaled the simple, blessed color of gray nearly everywhere the royal looked. Here, she stopped to catch her breath and regain her bearings. By the looks of it, it seemed at though the hooded figure was taking this all in as well. With a start, Sybil realized exactly what the situation they were in meant.

“You’re… you’re my… right?” She said slowly, leaning against the cool stone of the building at her back before slumping down into sitting again. Her shaking legs could barely hold her up so she would sit, royal princess etiquette be damned. “It would appear that way, yes,” came his slow reply. He had not faced her yet, instead choosing to face the street as though to watch for any incoming threats. His hood shielded his face from her and kept her from evaluating his expression. His tone gave nothing away. For a long moment, the two remained completely silent; only the cacophony of the battle rang out nearby. Sybil shifted slightly to peer out at the street, her eyes quickly focusing on the still body of her recently departed friend. After staring for a few seconds, the princess pushed herself to her feet once more. She moved to leave the safety of the alleyway and reenter the street, only to have the tall man step quickly in front of her. “Where are you going,” he stated more-so than asked, and the young woman tilted her head up slightly to meet his gaze. “It was my closest friend’s final wish that I get out of the city safely. I intend to fulfill that goal.”


“By yourself?” The man sneered quietly, his unusual eyes narrowing slightly at her words. She nodded simply in response before deciding that explaining herself was more proper a response. “We sit here in silence, dancing around the fact that we now see color after meeting. I will not waste my time if you do not wish to speak about it or acknowledge it. The city is unsafe and I will leave it as quickly as possible, with or without help.” Sybil attempted to go around him, but the man smoothly sidestepped and blocked her way once more. “You will last all but three seconds out there by yourself,” he countered. “As if you would care,” she responded curtly. Slowly, the stranger’s gaze lifted heavenwards, as though asking the gods to grant him patience as he answered. “Contrary to your belief, Princess, I am very interested in the preserving of your life. After all, you are not the only one here to fulfill another’s final wish.”

“What do you mean by that?” The female’s curiosity was piqued, and although she crossed her arms to give the appearance of annoyance and impatience, her ears were listening closely. “A… group I am involved in, you could say,” the man started, “we were enlisted by your mother before she died to keep you safe. To see you to your proper place on the throne. It is time that you come under our protection until we can strategize our next move.”

Sybil was floored. She never would have expected an action like this from her mother: a gentle, timid woman. There was no way she conspired against the King without his knowledge, but then again… anything was possible she supposed. The mother had always done her best to keep her daughter safe; it made some tiny bit of sense that the Queen had made a plan to protect her daughter from beyond the grave. “How can I know you are telling the truth?” Sybil asked, clearly still dubious of this shocking claim. Without hesitation, the man reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a necklace. It held a bright blue gem on its golden chain, and it would have been just an ornate item of jewelry had there not also been her mother’s family crest on a separate charm hanging closely to the gemstone. It was her mother’s, of this Sybil was certain. After the Queen’s death, the young woman had searched the castle high and low for this one necklace that her mother had always worn. “Here, it is yours,” the man said upon noting the recognition in her eyes. He gestured for her to turn around, and after she had done so he clasped the necklace around her neck. “I believe you,” Sybil spoke then, her voice containing a slight shake it had not had before as she held back tears of sadness over missing her mother. “So, what happens now?”
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❖ ᴀᴄʜʀᴏᴏᴜs

Thu May 16, 2019 1:22 pm

ACHROOUS
(n.) colourless; achromatic.

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helata, sybil, ray,
warnings
blood, death, graphic description of
murder, slightly sadistic tendencies
words
1,161
          • Colours were a mystery. Born into a world of greys, not a single day passed by without him thinking about what shades filled the universe around him, desperately pouring through his family's books which could provide answers to a selected few of his questions. One by one, his childhood friends came to know what life truly looked like, spending hours to describe the beauty of Ipswich to his starved mind. It was as painful as it was exhilarating; hearing about what he couldn't experience, imagining the moment he would see everything. But the day never came and he was still looking at an eerie world filled with blacks, whites and greys; even as he was forced to leave all of it behind and flee, embracing the scorching, unwelcoming kingdom of France. As time passed by, colours were quick to become a nuisance. With age, he came to ignore the greys altogether.

            Even now, as he kept on moving through the chaotic village of the barbarians, he paid no attention to the blurred sea of grey around him. The woman rushing behind him was all that mattered and his lack of colours would play no role in his failure to keep the young noble out of harm's way. One quick glance at the bloodied held tightly between his pale fingers was enough to remind him of the impossible luck he still possessed; the battlefield was already horrifying without its notorious colours; few people had the blessing to remain blissfully unaware of its true nature and the deep shade of crimson always following it. Colours would be a distraction he harboured no need for; a merciless beast like him did not deserve to see their beauty.

            But life was a fickle thing. He would not have been foolish to expect something going wrong on that day. When a cold hand wrapped around his ebony hair, pulling the man backwards, it was enough for his instincts to kick in. Even though his mind was screaming at the man to keep the Princess safe, giving up his own life if that was needed, he could only look at the world exploding in colour around him, the vividness of it blinding him. It howled louder than any wolf ever could, sinking its grip into his exposed skin and bringing his spirit to the very ground as his eyes started to water. He was unable to blink, watching the female barbarian in front of him as she rounded the man destined to be her one and only. But she was their enemy.

            He let go of the Princess' gentle wrists, his fingers tightly wrapped around the cold hilts of his daggers, focusing on the dark, astonished face of the warrior. Life had fooled him into believing that everything would seem blank after the first meeting of the one destined to be his destiny, but, in the end, it proved to be as large of a nuisance as he had come to think. The woman was dull enough to step forward, her dark brown eyes focused on his pale face, a hot tear rolling down her tanned skin as she tried to understand the chaotic scene around them. She was nothing like him, but she tried to understand. Tried to give him a chance to accept their destiny. Her mace fell to the ground, her hands turned upwards as she moved towards the man.

            "I am Helata, daughter of Niefgar and the next guardian of this village," she looked at him, unaware of the serious and rather determined expression present on the black-haired man's face. Even if the crowds were roaring around them, watching the pair interact, they looked hesitant to advance as she spoke to the man. "Can you see the beauty of this world, stranger? You have given me a wonderful gift and I hope we can share it together. I will let your companion go if you stay."

            He looked at the woman, sparing a quick glance at the young noble standing behind him, watching the barbarian with fear reflected in her doe-like eyes. While the assassin could understand the foreign tongue, she was a stranger to the lands and had no one to translate for her. Closing his eyes in order to focus his thoughts and pick the right choice, blocking out all of those new distractions coming from the outside world. He opened his eyes after what felt like a century, looking at the barbarian in front of him with an apathetic, cold and weary expression. There was no mercy or anything close to it visible in his eyes.

            "No," was all that he said, raising the blood-stained dagger higher. "I fear your words make little sense to me, wench."

            He lunged forward before anyone could react, piercing the youth's neck with his blade as if it was a hot knife slicing through butter. In spite of being a renowned killer, it was unusual for him to look at the crimson liquid pouring onto his hands as the lean barbarian's hands flew to her skin, desperately clutching at the gash. It dripped onto the ground as the woman fell down, her eyes looking at him with many unsaid questions reflected in that frightened, confused gaze. As the assassin stood there, watching the scene unfold, he waited for the colours to disappear and leave him in peace; it was no secret that whenever one's destiny passed away, the beautiful shades would also vanish. But they remained, taunting him as the crowds around the pair began rioting once more, causing the Princess to tug at his armour. But he stood, watching his bloodied hands intensely.

            "Let's go, please!" The Princess begged quietly, walking around them and stepping away from the motionless body of the woman; much like him just seconds ago, she could only look at the mix of greys, unaware of the commotion roaring inside of his mind. She wanted to escape back to her home. "Why are you just standing there? We'll get killed if we stay here!"

            Slowly, he raised his bluish-green eyes to look at the brunette, tracing her gentle features with his eyes as the Princess looked at him questioningly, not knowing how to react to his thoughtful expression. For a moment, it seemed as if the lean man was completely unaware of the barbarians surrounding them, only looking at the look on her face and the blood dripping from his hands and the blade still clutched between his pale fingers. Finally, he laughed quietly and moved towards her, standing in front of the woman with a calm, almost serene glint in his eyes as the roaring warriors rushed towards them, frantically trying to grab their young leader's killer. The assassin's next words were barely above a whisper, but she read them falling from his lips as if the words were breathed into her ear. His tone was amused, yet, she could hear it was also rather bittersweet.

            "It's red."
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