04-10-2018, 02:40 PM
She is not one of them. This land was wrought with history, she felt it vibrating from the emerald ground as she walked. Something hung in the air, like a suffocating fog. Something drastic had happened here, a change. But she is not part of it. She can’t even remember how she got here, a huge chunk of her memory a black void. On a beach she had awoken, the edges of the waves lapping at her crumpled form. Washed ashore like a battered piece of driftwood, she had blinked the gritty sand away with bleary eyes. This place was not home. And even though she knew she would be weak on her own, without the protection of a herd, she had climbed to water-weary feet, her eyes on the treeline that sprouted away from the coast.
That was awhile ago, and still she feels lost.
She can’t fit in with them. Try as she might, she has continued to be an outcast. For some reason she has found it difficult to mesh with them, her conversations feeling forced. The vibrant colors and other oddities that the residents possessed no longer alarmed her like they once did, but still she cannot help but to eye them wearily should she come across someone. She is plain compared to them. A black forelock against a black face, a black mane draping along a black neck, and black legs emerging from a black body. She is nothing but shadow, and it is no wonder that they don’t notice her.
Avoiding the summer sun that blazes in the cerulean sky above she finds herself resting beneath one of the few trees that dot the field. She is willing to give this one last try, but she cannot bring herself to approach anyone.
That was awhile ago, and still she feels lost.
She can’t fit in with them. Try as she might, she has continued to be an outcast. For some reason she has found it difficult to mesh with them, her conversations feeling forced. The vibrant colors and other oddities that the residents possessed no longer alarmed her like they once did, but still she cannot help but to eye them wearily should she come across someone. She is plain compared to them. A black forelock against a black face, a black mane draping along a black neck, and black legs emerging from a black body. She is nothing but shadow, and it is no wonder that they don’t notice her.
Avoiding the summer sun that blazes in the cerulean sky above she finds herself resting beneath one of the few trees that dot the field. She is willing to give this one last try, but she cannot bring herself to approach anyone.
briseis.
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece
you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece