04-21-2019, 11:02 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allura' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .wonderstatic_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; height: auto; background: #959273; width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 2px #3f342b; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .wonderstatic_container p { margin: 0; } .wonderstatic_image { position: relative; z-index: 8; width: 600px; } .wonderstatic_gradient { position: absolute; z-index: 8; top: 150px; width: 600px; height: 200px; background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(149, 146, 115, 0) 0%, rgba(149, 146, 115, 1) 100%); background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(149, 146, 115, 0) 0%, rgba(149, 146, 115, 1) 100%); background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(149, 146, 115, 0) 0%, rgba(149, 146, 115, 1) 100%); filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient(startColorstr='#00959273', endColorstr='#959273', GradientType=0); } .wonderstatic_text { position: relative; z-index: 9; width: 560px; margin-top: -10px; } .wonderstatic_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #000; padding: 30px; background-color: #a39772; border: solid 1px #635b47; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .wonderstatic_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #3f342b; font: 20px 'Allura', cursive; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 20px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #635b47; } .wonderstatic_name { position: absolute; z-index: 11; color: #635b47; text-align: center; font: 90px 'Allura', cursive; margin-top: 250px; margin-left: 30px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #635b47; } </style> <center> <div class="wonderstatic_container"> <div class="wonderstatic_name">Wonder</div> <img class="wonderstatic_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/X7F37P8w/wonder.png"> <div class="wonderstatic_gradient"></div> <div class="wonderstatic_text"> <p class="wonderstatic_message">At first she thinks it is only in her bones, exhaustion so real it takes her within its grasp and shakes her until she is unsteady on those pale, opal hooves. But then the rumble grows louder, a sound as if from a wild beast, growing and deepening until she can feel that, too, inside her body. She cries out and stumbles backwards, shocked by the sound of ruptured, groaning earth and the shatter of stone as it is pried so violently apart around her. For a moment it is beyond her understanding, beyond anything she can begin to piece together until she finds the place with those wild teal eyes, a tear in the mountain not unlike the ones her antlers had left in the chest of the child she left behind.
It grows, this crack, in length and width until she is scrambling to find purchase on a ground that breathes and heaves and bucks so wildly beneath her. She feels horrified, like perhaps this is how this story ends. Swallowed and trapped in the belly of the mountain, a grave beside a ghost she will never truly put to rest. But as the crumbling chases her further and the crack yawns into something vast and dark to behold, she finds a path into the madness, a thing so strange she knows it must be for her.
She dashes for it wildly, scared that the mountain will drag her from it if she is still for too long. But she pauses for a moment at the edge of the path, turning with tears on her feverish face to a world she no longer recognizes. Everything she knew is dark and stained with the fog that had clung to the mountain, soaked in the strange, ugly plague-magic that had shown her the dead and her nightmares and turned her lungs to wet tissue in her chest. She feels so helpless, so heartbroken, finds that she is trapped by fear for her parents and her siblings, for her beautiful brother. For Nightlock, whose face is still silently looking back at her when she closes her eyes in the quiet dark.
It is in them that she finds the strength to keep going, to turn to the path instead of turning home to make sure they are all okay.
She stumbles down the narrow trail, and immediately she can feel the wrongness of sick magic here. She nearly stops again, recoiling at the sensation of drowning in it, at the way it flares inside her - too big for the little body to which it is tethered. <i>It’s okay,</i> she tries to promise herself, <i>don’t be scared.</i> But she is scared, and it only gets worse when her skin suddenly pulls tight and ragged around new bones emerging through her swollen flesh. She cries out and stumbles to a stop - or would have, but the bone wedges against itself, stained red with her bright blood, and threatens to lock her limbs in place at the joint of hip and shoulder. She is scared imagining these bones as a trap, this body as a prison while the heart of beqanna dies somewhere beneath her spiraling path, scared that if she does stop she’ll lack the momentum to move again.
So she struggles onwards as the bone armor in her skin grows thicker and more intricate, severs her flesh in long bladed sweeps to make more room. She can feel the pain of every wound in each beat of her heart as it forces more blood out onto the surface of skin so slick and warm. Even her antlers seem poisoned by the strange sick of the magic as they grow and grow so rapidly, only to fall from her brow and tangle in her hooves as she steps past. They start growing again abruptly, shoving with a punch back up through her forehead to repeat the cycle of abuse.
It goes on like this until she reaches the bottom, reaches the heart, and the items fall still and inanimate around her. She is exhausted beyond anything she has ever known before - used up entirely inside and out. But she forces herself to finish the task she came to do, fights limbs that feel as though they are made from wood and each step she takes cracks fissures through her being. One by one she picks each item up and surrenders them to the heart that beats so sadly at her, a heart she can barely see beneath the thorny darkness choking it, until the last sacrifice to make are the tears of her own blood running from the wounds down her face. They fall and gather, gifted in their red, aching sorrow, until she bows her bleeding head and whispers, <i>“I am so sorry you suffer because of us.”</i>
</p> <p class="wonderstatic_quote">i am brambles but i am tangled in your love</p> </div> </div> </center>
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient(startColorstr='#00959273', endColorstr='#959273', GradientType=0); } .wonderstatic_text { position: relative; z-index: 9; width: 560px; margin-top: -10px; } .wonderstatic_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #000; padding: 30px; background-color: #a39772; border: solid 1px #635b47; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .wonderstatic_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #3f342b; font: 20px 'Allura', cursive; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 20px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #635b47; } .wonderstatic_name { position: absolute; z-index: 11; color: #635b47; text-align: center; font: 90px 'Allura', cursive; margin-top: 250px; margin-left: 30px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #635b47; } </style> <center> <div class="wonderstatic_container"> <div class="wonderstatic_name">Wonder</div> <img class="wonderstatic_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/X7F37P8w/wonder.png"> <div class="wonderstatic_gradient"></div> <div class="wonderstatic_text"> <p class="wonderstatic_message">At first she thinks it is only in her bones, exhaustion so real it takes her within its grasp and shakes her until she is unsteady on those pale, opal hooves. But then the rumble grows louder, a sound as if from a wild beast, growing and deepening until she can feel that, too, inside her body. She cries out and stumbles backwards, shocked by the sound of ruptured, groaning earth and the shatter of stone as it is pried so violently apart around her. For a moment it is beyond her understanding, beyond anything she can begin to piece together until she finds the place with those wild teal eyes, a tear in the mountain not unlike the ones her antlers had left in the chest of the child she left behind.It grows, this crack, in length and width until she is scrambling to find purchase on a ground that breathes and heaves and bucks so wildly beneath her. She feels horrified, like perhaps this is how this story ends. Swallowed and trapped in the belly of the mountain, a grave beside a ghost she will never truly put to rest. But as the crumbling chases her further and the crack yawns into something vast and dark to behold, she finds a path into the madness, a thing so strange she knows it must be for her.
She dashes for it wildly, scared that the mountain will drag her from it if she is still for too long. But she pauses for a moment at the edge of the path, turning with tears on her feverish face to a world she no longer recognizes. Everything she knew is dark and stained with the fog that had clung to the mountain, soaked in the strange, ugly plague-magic that had shown her the dead and her nightmares and turned her lungs to wet tissue in her chest. She feels so helpless, so heartbroken, finds that she is trapped by fear for her parents and her siblings, for her beautiful brother. For Nightlock, whose face is still silently looking back at her when she closes her eyes in the quiet dark.
It is in them that she finds the strength to keep going, to turn to the path instead of turning home to make sure they are all okay.
She stumbles down the narrow trail, and immediately she can feel the wrongness of sick magic here. She nearly stops again, recoiling at the sensation of drowning in it, at the way it flares inside her - too big for the little body to which it is tethered. <i>It’s okay,</i> she tries to promise herself, <i>don’t be scared.</i> But she is scared, and it only gets worse when her skin suddenly pulls tight and ragged around new bones emerging through her swollen flesh. She cries out and stumbles to a stop - or would have, but the bone wedges against itself, stained red with her bright blood, and threatens to lock her limbs in place at the joint of hip and shoulder. She is scared imagining these bones as a trap, this body as a prison while the heart of beqanna dies somewhere beneath her spiraling path, scared that if she does stop she’ll lack the momentum to move again.
So she struggles onwards as the bone armor in her skin grows thicker and more intricate, severs her flesh in long bladed sweeps to make more room. She can feel the pain of every wound in each beat of her heart as it forces more blood out onto the surface of skin so slick and warm. Even her antlers seem poisoned by the strange sick of the magic as they grow and grow so rapidly, only to fall from her brow and tangle in her hooves as she steps past. They start growing again abruptly, shoving with a punch back up through her forehead to repeat the cycle of abuse.
It goes on like this until she reaches the bottom, reaches the heart, and the items fall still and inanimate around her. She is exhausted beyond anything she has ever known before - used up entirely inside and out. But she forces herself to finish the task she came to do, fights limbs that feel as though they are made from wood and each step she takes cracks fissures through her being. One by one she picks each item up and surrenders them to the heart that beats so sadly at her, a heart she can barely see beneath the thorny darkness choking it, until the last sacrifice to make are the tears of her own blood running from the wounds down her face. They fall and gather, gifted in their red, aching sorrow, until she bows her bleeding head and whispers, <i>“I am so sorry you suffer because of us.”</i>
</p> <p class="wonderstatic_quote">i am brambles but i am tangled in your love</p> </div> </div> </center>