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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


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    [open]  leave me in my winter [ here i am powerful ]
    #1

    The frigid, clutching, grasp of Winter, had never touched him. The frozen fingers of bone hands didn’t phase the warmth of his being- perhaps because it did not penetrate him, he never felt the rush of cold air. Never had it made the fragile skin beneath his coat prickle with gooseflesh, nor left him shaking as it passed, cloaked like a sheet of ice against his back. All thanks to his parents, the gift they themselves had left him, forged like cold, steely iron within his DNA. The children of Weir and Eira, they were like endless snow capped mountain- unmoving, unyielding to Winter.

    Snow falls from the skies in thick, fat flurries this day, clinging to the fine hair of his lashes- tracing crystal tiara’s against his eyes. Others trail along his back, dappling his chestnut coat and clinging unmelted when they find themselves against the frozen ice of his mane. Looking closely, one would be able to discern each pattern of flake, awe at the intricacies of their unmatched shapes.

    It was like diamonds, his hair, strands of fine tinsel- frosted breath tousled into cords. Something that set him apart from others, made him stand out, it made him different but only in the eyes of those outside his family circle. So common and usual in their bloodline, to know snow and ice so very intimately as they did- some more than others, but each had their way. Snow and Ice, for certain and yet, there was one other piece of knowledge they treasured and kept safe. 

    Merriment and Joy, Christmas Father called it, and he was the very idol of the season himself. 

    Scholar finds his time spent on Icicle Isle, a place unparalleled with beauty, with great granite mountains with frosted peaks and miles of coniferous trees. Pines, he loved the smell, fresh breaths of air- they smelled like home to him, for a moment he thought She had smelled like home too.

    His night with Jingle passing before he knew it and so, he was once again contemplating the meaning of life- as he often did, he could not help but mull over and dissect several unrelated occurrences.

    Scholar
    my philosophy is that worrying means you suffer twice
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    leave me in my winter [ here i am powerful ] - by Scholar - 12-20-2018, 04:48 PM



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