09-29-2017, 01:18 AM
<center><link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Parisienne|Lora" rel="stylesheet"><div style="width: 500px; background: url('http://i.imgur.com/sf1xIe4.png'); padding-top: 5px; background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: #4e4142;box-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000;border-radius: 450px 450px 0px 0px;"><div style="width: 490px; background: url('http://i.imgur.com/sf1xIe4.png'); padding-top: 10px; background-position: top; background-repeat: no-repeat; background-color: #a7a0a1; box-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #000000;border-radius: 450px 450px 0px 0px;"><div style="font-family: 'Parisienne', cursive; font-size: 70px; opacity: .86; color: #d3cac7;margin-top: 260px;padding-right: 240px;text-shadow: .5px 1px 2px #2f2b2d, 0px 0px 10px #4e4142, 0px 0px 6px #4e4142, 1px 1px 2px #817379;">Ellyse</div><div style="font-family: 'Lora', serif; color: #4e4142;text-transform:uppercase; font-size: 10px; opacity: .9;margin-top: -24px;padding-left: 100px;text-shadow: 0px 0px 1px #645b5f, .5px 1px 10px #fff;">I have the tendency of getting very physical, <br>so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.</div><div style="width:450px; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px; padding: 10px; opacity: .8; font-family: Times;color: #31292a;font-size: 12px; line-height: 140%; text-align: justify; border-radius: 0px 0px;">At last, she has found the strength to stand once more, with a weary glance given to the barren wasteland around her. She had faced no greatest monstrosity than that of her torn and unwieldy heart, and it is that which distresses her most. She had thought her heart taken, given to one and to only one, but there is a thread tethering her to the heart of another through the wide, curious eyes of a blessing that had been created of their union – she is a sentimental one, though she tries desperately to seem otherwise. Slowly, with age, she is becoming unraveled. Exposed for the tender marrow that lay behind an endless ream of bony protrusions, meant to keep her fragile heart away from the clutching grasp of another, but she is powerless to her own emotion, and thus lie her truest weakness and her greatest downfall.
It had torn apart a family. Her ego and sharp tongue had caught her eldest son in a tangled web of manipulation and captivity that had kept him away from his freshly birthed sons, pushed forth from the womb with afterbirth still clinging to their spindly, unsteady legs, left with the burden of feeling unwanted – unloved, and it had been her own doing. It would tear apart another.
She can still hear the trilling caw of the ravens that had so ravenously pecked at her gaping wound over her eye, which remain bleary and sheathed in the red of her blood. It reminded her of Dahmer.
(<i>it was </i>meant<i> to remind her of him</i>).
Crying out wordlessly to her, desperate to free not only himself but her as well – willing to make a sacrifice, but as enveloped in the nightmarish hell she too was forced to endure – away from their son, from Smoak, who held such a heavy part of her heart she can hardly bear the thought of letting him down.
The deep claw marks left by the voracious polar bear still stung and she could feel the dried blood becoming stiff across her gilded skin under the scathing sunlight. It reminded her of Ledger.
(<i>it was </i>meant<i> to remind her of him</i>).
The sight of him turning away from her, selfishly leaving her to waste away within the confinement crafted by a <i>monstrous God</i> was enough to make her simmering blood <b>boil</b> but – but. The thought of their son and daughter, still so young, curled up alongside one another does remind her of a different time, of a different place – she had been a fool to think she could have it all. Enveloped by the deep and unwavering love of a father and mother never meant to be but brought together by a mutual heartbreak and love lost that only he and she could understand, but alone all the same, somewhere along the volcanic shore.
She loves them both, she realizes now.
But she had failed them all.
Her teeth gingerly pluck and pull at her ivory feathers, stained with muck and blood entangled to the root of the hollowed bones, attempting to pull together what little of her dignity remained – and suddenly, she is all too aware she is no longer alone. There are one, two – three and <i>more</i> surrounding her, but she does not care for any of them but that of the two who held her heart – the one that had nearly died trying to save her, and the one that had left her to the wolves.
She cannot look at Ledger; her heart yearns to be near to him but the sting of betrayal and shame alike is too much (<i>not unlike his own – in his eyes, she had been unfaithful – in her own, he had left her for dead</i>) and she cannot bring her one eye to peer into his own. The heavy claw mark gouged into her eye socket has left her unsteady, but eventually she does find her way to Dahmer – as weary and as broken as she, but she does not offer any more than a gentle tug of his wing with her teeth, not willing to consider his gaze, either. The wound carved into her face is too much and her heart can think of nothing else but what a misguided mother had so foolishly left behind – her sons, her daughters – she could not be certain as to whether time had stopped, or whether the Earth had swallowed the volcanic island whole.
She cannot be certain of anything but the unshakable drive to claw her way out from the deepest, darkest pit of hell, to find her way to them once more – come what may.
When <i>He</i> comes, she is neither shaken nor surprised, though the same boiling rage simmers and festers inside of her blood, stirring the sediment of her hatred that had drifted to the pit of her knotted belly. She is tired, and spent, and she cannot do anything but bite her own tongue. She had no power against the vile, detestable God that stood before her, but had she been given sharp teeth at birth instead of the bone-bending that she had been blessed with, she would have torn out his throat then and there.
<i>Well done,</i> he says with humor and mirth, and she is left wondering the color and viscosity of a God’s blood might be, of how it might look spread across the dreary gray of his skin, soiled and in ruin. A knot of dread slowly coils within her chest, swallowing her hammering heart whole as what had once been a living and breathing creature became little more than dust in the stillness of the air, brushing softly across her skin as it slowly drifts toward the ground.
He so lavishes in hearing himself speak. He drones on for what must be <i>ages</i>, speaking of a world built of her wildest dreams and deepest, darkest fantasies, and she is so certain that what he speaks of has been her reality before she had been torn from the sea-lipped cove of her domain, from the children that looked to her for sustenance and guidance, from the love that had once overflowed.
(<i>now empty</i>)
And then, there is a wry murmur of going her own way – but she is no fool. She is tired, bleeding, and the idea of starving to death while her own children do the same without the sustenance only her breast can offer is enough to rouse her from her complacency, glowering fiercely at the arrogant God and his manipulative entertainment. Her cheek gently brushes across the ridge of Dahmer’s neck where he lay, but she does not say a word – there is nothing to be said; death lay just beyond the horizon, either in the barren wasteland that had already spent her energy and lay waste to her prowess, or at the bottom of the <i>oasis</i> so promised to them.
For what might be the first time in her wretched life, she is speechless, wordless, and with only a wary glance cast toward Ledger (<i>can he see her eye, as it oozes and bleeds? Can he see the gouged mark where Carnage had carved the mark of a vengeful bear into her socket, leaving her as scarred and as deformed as he?</i>) – and then he is <i>gone</i>, gone, gone, into the bottom of a fantasy world so promised to him.
Carnage has either grown tired of her sullen glances or he is amused by the way her wounded eye is straining to see Ledger beyond the swelling of pus and blood, but he reaches forth with an unseen force through the silence – a single beat between his carefully spun sentences – and gouges her eye out, eliciting a scream of anguish and <i>white-hot pain</i> - before its bloody, golden-flecked remnants are left rolling through the dusty bay of the wasteland, while her breathing comes in heaving gasps of rage and affliction.
She is thrust forth by her own momentum, not even stopping to consider that the crystalline water soon stained with her blood and bubbling with the cries of her anger as she falls, falls, <i>falls</i>, drowning to its very depths until suddenly she can <i>breathe</i> again and she is somewhere altogether different, altogether <i>wonderful</i> - but she is not so trusting. The suffering of her injury is almost too much for her to bear, but she desperately tries to steady herself –
The sun is gone –
– or so it would seem.
The sky is dismal and dark, with low-lying, rumbling clouds looming precariously overhead, roused with thunder echoing throughout the sky and through the very marrow of her weary bones. She is drawn deeper into the fantasy by the rolling hills of lush vegetation, of the wild and unwieldy sea churning forcefully, lapping hungrily across the shoreline of an island that was <i>all her own</i>. It is not the volcanic isle she had come to know so intimately, that she had sworn to protect. It is altogether unlike anything she had ever seen before, carved from the darkest recesses of her mind – a quiet dream that had never surfaces to the paleness of her lips, but a euphoric, invigorating sight all the same.
She is plunged deeper into the tropics, savoring the caress of the palm fronds brushing over her bruised and battered wings – (<i>the pain has become bearable now; she can hardly feel anything but the pulsating of her sore eye socket, gouged and flayed open for all to see</i>) – but she is not alone, and none stare at her with the repulsion she might have otherwise anticipated.
(<i>none see what she sees; they only see what she yearns them to see – power, prowess – unstoppable, raw femininity, loathe to bend at the will of any man</i>)
To her – broken, beaten, bleeding and bruised –
To them – glory carved in gilded muscle, with flawless wings of ivory and eyes of gleaming hazel – lined with small, bony spikes along her muzzle, spine and neck, confident, <i>whole</i>.
(<i>she will never be whole again</i>)
There are so many – black, white, copper and indigo – so many bodies, with wide, awestricken eyes boring into <i>her</i>, staring with wonderment but quick to kneel before her, crumbling to the soft and fertile soil to bow their head in admiration (<i>in FEAR</i>) and she is filled with a delight she had never thought possible.
(<i>foolish girl, she cannot no longer see the fantasy for what it is</i>)
She is drawn into a cave by another, one that must be her right-hand – she is beautiful, dappled with jaguar markings that she can only imagine is reminiscent of the beast that lay within, and Ellyse is shown the dark and stifling cavern filled with a humidity that reminded her of her past, of what she had left behind – (<I>she cannot bring herself to care; her memories are sheathed beneath the glamour of the fantasy so carefully buried deep within her psyche</i>).
There, tied with rope of twine and tethered to hefty, unmoving boulders lay a <i>plethora</i> of testosterone-fueled stallions, animalistic and stirring with a restlessness that could only be brought forth by a captivity away from the splendor of the sun, by a life of <i>sex</i> and nothing but – (<i>they are not worth anything more to her, they are heartbreak and wasted time; procreation is all that is needed of them</i>). A land of estrogen and power and <i>dominance</i> and she is almost writhing from the sheer enchantment of all that has become her own, of the <i>harem</i> kept under her sharp wit, her sharper tongue, and her brutal rule --
<font color="#4e4142"><b>”My Queen,”</b></font> the wildcat-marked mare croons to her, <font color="#4e4142"><b>”what should we do with these two?”</b></font>
And there, in the darkest corner of the deepest obscurity of the rock-laden cavern stand two silhouettes, one winged and one without an eye, gaze boring into her own, <i>unbroken</i> - angry, fearful, roused as she moves nearer to her, as thick muscle stirs across her breastplate and hips with each steady, deliberate motion forward. Through the curtain of her tangled, but pristine tresses of ivory, her hazel eyes bore into theirs, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her heart stirring in her chest with a rush of adrenaline she had not felt in many, <i>many years</i> –
(<i>how long had it been? – it doesn’t matter, it is all hers,</i> all hers)
As her mouth brushes tenderly across the cheek of Ledger, and then over the dark mouth of Dahmer, she whispers,
<b><font color="#4e4142">"<i>They are mine.</i>"</b></font>
And in the blink of an eye, it is gone.
<i>Gone</i>.
Gone like the eye, lost to a brutal wilderness and leaving a gaping eye socket in its wake – oh, the anguish, it is overwhelming and she is crying out again, writhing with anger and fury and <i>pain</i> –
And with the stinging agony of salty tears prickling at her single bleary eye remaining, she is left to the cold, shuddering realization that none of it had been real, that none of it had been what she thought it was, and what cruel and twisted fate to give her a wretched taste of what she cannot have and what <i>cannot be</i> -
She screams.
In anger, in fury, in <i>vain</i>.
</div><div style="font-family: 'Lora', serif; color: #4e4142;text-transform:uppercase; font-size: 10px; opacity: .9;text-shadow: 0px 0px 1px #645b5f, .5px 1px 10px #fff;padding-bottom: 5px;">You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone; <br>you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.</div></center>
Defect: Carnage took the eye he damaged when he branded her with the bear claw scar.
It had torn apart a family. Her ego and sharp tongue had caught her eldest son in a tangled web of manipulation and captivity that had kept him away from his freshly birthed sons, pushed forth from the womb with afterbirth still clinging to their spindly, unsteady legs, left with the burden of feeling unwanted – unloved, and it had been her own doing. It would tear apart another.
She can still hear the trilling caw of the ravens that had so ravenously pecked at her gaping wound over her eye, which remain bleary and sheathed in the red of her blood. It reminded her of Dahmer.
(<i>it was </i>meant<i> to remind her of him</i>).
Crying out wordlessly to her, desperate to free not only himself but her as well – willing to make a sacrifice, but as enveloped in the nightmarish hell she too was forced to endure – away from their son, from Smoak, who held such a heavy part of her heart she can hardly bear the thought of letting him down.
The deep claw marks left by the voracious polar bear still stung and she could feel the dried blood becoming stiff across her gilded skin under the scathing sunlight. It reminded her of Ledger.
(<i>it was </i>meant<i> to remind her of him</i>).
The sight of him turning away from her, selfishly leaving her to waste away within the confinement crafted by a <i>monstrous God</i> was enough to make her simmering blood <b>boil</b> but – but. The thought of their son and daughter, still so young, curled up alongside one another does remind her of a different time, of a different place – she had been a fool to think she could have it all. Enveloped by the deep and unwavering love of a father and mother never meant to be but brought together by a mutual heartbreak and love lost that only he and she could understand, but alone all the same, somewhere along the volcanic shore.
She loves them both, she realizes now.
But she had failed them all.
Her teeth gingerly pluck and pull at her ivory feathers, stained with muck and blood entangled to the root of the hollowed bones, attempting to pull together what little of her dignity remained – and suddenly, she is all too aware she is no longer alone. There are one, two – three and <i>more</i> surrounding her, but she does not care for any of them but that of the two who held her heart – the one that had nearly died trying to save her, and the one that had left her to the wolves.
She cannot look at Ledger; her heart yearns to be near to him but the sting of betrayal and shame alike is too much (<i>not unlike his own – in his eyes, she had been unfaithful – in her own, he had left her for dead</i>) and she cannot bring her one eye to peer into his own. The heavy claw mark gouged into her eye socket has left her unsteady, but eventually she does find her way to Dahmer – as weary and as broken as she, but she does not offer any more than a gentle tug of his wing with her teeth, not willing to consider his gaze, either. The wound carved into her face is too much and her heart can think of nothing else but what a misguided mother had so foolishly left behind – her sons, her daughters – she could not be certain as to whether time had stopped, or whether the Earth had swallowed the volcanic island whole.
She cannot be certain of anything but the unshakable drive to claw her way out from the deepest, darkest pit of hell, to find her way to them once more – come what may.
When <i>He</i> comes, she is neither shaken nor surprised, though the same boiling rage simmers and festers inside of her blood, stirring the sediment of her hatred that had drifted to the pit of her knotted belly. She is tired, and spent, and she cannot do anything but bite her own tongue. She had no power against the vile, detestable God that stood before her, but had she been given sharp teeth at birth instead of the bone-bending that she had been blessed with, she would have torn out his throat then and there.
<i>Well done,</i> he says with humor and mirth, and she is left wondering the color and viscosity of a God’s blood might be, of how it might look spread across the dreary gray of his skin, soiled and in ruin. A knot of dread slowly coils within her chest, swallowing her hammering heart whole as what had once been a living and breathing creature became little more than dust in the stillness of the air, brushing softly across her skin as it slowly drifts toward the ground.
He so lavishes in hearing himself speak. He drones on for what must be <i>ages</i>, speaking of a world built of her wildest dreams and deepest, darkest fantasies, and she is so certain that what he speaks of has been her reality before she had been torn from the sea-lipped cove of her domain, from the children that looked to her for sustenance and guidance, from the love that had once overflowed.
(<i>now empty</i>)
And then, there is a wry murmur of going her own way – but she is no fool. She is tired, bleeding, and the idea of starving to death while her own children do the same without the sustenance only her breast can offer is enough to rouse her from her complacency, glowering fiercely at the arrogant God and his manipulative entertainment. Her cheek gently brushes across the ridge of Dahmer’s neck where he lay, but she does not say a word – there is nothing to be said; death lay just beyond the horizon, either in the barren wasteland that had already spent her energy and lay waste to her prowess, or at the bottom of the <i>oasis</i> so promised to them.
For what might be the first time in her wretched life, she is speechless, wordless, and with only a wary glance cast toward Ledger (<i>can he see her eye, as it oozes and bleeds? Can he see the gouged mark where Carnage had carved the mark of a vengeful bear into her socket, leaving her as scarred and as deformed as he?</i>) – and then he is <i>gone</i>, gone, gone, into the bottom of a fantasy world so promised to him.
Carnage has either grown tired of her sullen glances or he is amused by the way her wounded eye is straining to see Ledger beyond the swelling of pus and blood, but he reaches forth with an unseen force through the silence – a single beat between his carefully spun sentences – and gouges her eye out, eliciting a scream of anguish and <i>white-hot pain</i> - before its bloody, golden-flecked remnants are left rolling through the dusty bay of the wasteland, while her breathing comes in heaving gasps of rage and affliction.
She is thrust forth by her own momentum, not even stopping to consider that the crystalline water soon stained with her blood and bubbling with the cries of her anger as she falls, falls, <i>falls</i>, drowning to its very depths until suddenly she can <i>breathe</i> again and she is somewhere altogether different, altogether <i>wonderful</i> - but she is not so trusting. The suffering of her injury is almost too much for her to bear, but she desperately tries to steady herself –
The sun is gone –
– or so it would seem.
The sky is dismal and dark, with low-lying, rumbling clouds looming precariously overhead, roused with thunder echoing throughout the sky and through the very marrow of her weary bones. She is drawn deeper into the fantasy by the rolling hills of lush vegetation, of the wild and unwieldy sea churning forcefully, lapping hungrily across the shoreline of an island that was <i>all her own</i>. It is not the volcanic isle she had come to know so intimately, that she had sworn to protect. It is altogether unlike anything she had ever seen before, carved from the darkest recesses of her mind – a quiet dream that had never surfaces to the paleness of her lips, but a euphoric, invigorating sight all the same.
She is plunged deeper into the tropics, savoring the caress of the palm fronds brushing over her bruised and battered wings – (<i>the pain has become bearable now; she can hardly feel anything but the pulsating of her sore eye socket, gouged and flayed open for all to see</i>) – but she is not alone, and none stare at her with the repulsion she might have otherwise anticipated.
(<i>none see what she sees; they only see what she yearns them to see – power, prowess – unstoppable, raw femininity, loathe to bend at the will of any man</i>)
To her – broken, beaten, bleeding and bruised –
To them – glory carved in gilded muscle, with flawless wings of ivory and eyes of gleaming hazel – lined with small, bony spikes along her muzzle, spine and neck, confident, <i>whole</i>.
(<i>she will never be whole again</i>)
There are so many – black, white, copper and indigo – so many bodies, with wide, awestricken eyes boring into <i>her</i>, staring with wonderment but quick to kneel before her, crumbling to the soft and fertile soil to bow their head in admiration (<i>in FEAR</i>) and she is filled with a delight she had never thought possible.
(<i>foolish girl, she cannot no longer see the fantasy for what it is</i>)
She is drawn into a cave by another, one that must be her right-hand – she is beautiful, dappled with jaguar markings that she can only imagine is reminiscent of the beast that lay within, and Ellyse is shown the dark and stifling cavern filled with a humidity that reminded her of her past, of what she had left behind – (<I>she cannot bring herself to care; her memories are sheathed beneath the glamour of the fantasy so carefully buried deep within her psyche</i>).
There, tied with rope of twine and tethered to hefty, unmoving boulders lay a <i>plethora</i> of testosterone-fueled stallions, animalistic and stirring with a restlessness that could only be brought forth by a captivity away from the splendor of the sun, by a life of <i>sex</i> and nothing but – (<i>they are not worth anything more to her, they are heartbreak and wasted time; procreation is all that is needed of them</i>). A land of estrogen and power and <i>dominance</i> and she is almost writhing from the sheer enchantment of all that has become her own, of the <i>harem</i> kept under her sharp wit, her sharper tongue, and her brutal rule --
<font color="#4e4142"><b>”My Queen,”</b></font> the wildcat-marked mare croons to her, <font color="#4e4142"><b>”what should we do with these two?”</b></font>
And there, in the darkest corner of the deepest obscurity of the rock-laden cavern stand two silhouettes, one winged and one without an eye, gaze boring into her own, <i>unbroken</i> - angry, fearful, roused as she moves nearer to her, as thick muscle stirs across her breastplate and hips with each steady, deliberate motion forward. Through the curtain of her tangled, but pristine tresses of ivory, her hazel eyes bore into theirs, a wicked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, her heart stirring in her chest with a rush of adrenaline she had not felt in many, <i>many years</i> –
(<i>how long had it been? – it doesn’t matter, it is all hers,</i> all hers)
As her mouth brushes tenderly across the cheek of Ledger, and then over the dark mouth of Dahmer, she whispers,
<b><font color="#4e4142">"<i>They are mine.</i>"</b></font>
And in the blink of an eye, it is gone.
<i>Gone</i>.
Gone like the eye, lost to a brutal wilderness and leaving a gaping eye socket in its wake – oh, the anguish, it is overwhelming and she is crying out again, writhing with anger and fury and <i>pain</i> –
And with the stinging agony of salty tears prickling at her single bleary eye remaining, she is left to the cold, shuddering realization that none of it had been real, that none of it had been what she thought it was, and what cruel and twisted fate to give her a wretched taste of what she cannot have and what <i>cannot be</i> -
She screams.
In anger, in fury, in <i>vain</i>.
</div><div style="font-family: 'Lora', serif; color: #4e4142;text-transform:uppercase; font-size: 10px; opacity: .9;text-shadow: 0px 0px 1px #645b5f, .5px 1px 10px #fff;padding-bottom: 5px;">You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone; <br>you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.</div></center>
Defect: Carnage took the eye he damaged when he branded her with the bear claw scar.