"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
07-06-2015, 02:07 AM (This post was last modified: 07-06-2015, 02:08 AM by Engelsfors.)
OOC: Hope you don't mind me posting xD
If you do, I can delete?
Drink thy poison lightly dear, ♦♢♦
I wonder of dreams and nightmares, of sleepless nights and constrained thoughts, wandering along the midnight hour. I dream in black and white, my dreams are like splintered ice in my fingers, hurtful, painful. That is why I don't sleep. In the throes of the sandman, you never can truly depict reality from the celluloid thoughts. It's in my sleepless nights, I take to patrolling the boarders. Creamy locks like spun moonlight against my gilded body. I am hardly a ghost, flickering in and out of view, sliding against the bark with an unbridled elegance. Ash and dirt clings to me, claiming me furthermore for the chamber's good cause. The ash is unsettled tonight, the spirals dance around the very heart of the kingdom, like magical fingers probing the darkness.
It isn't the only thing different tonight. The beat within the ground, it has increased. Not just the dull thud you could miss without a week attuned ear. It seemed feral, unbridled in its pounding. I can imagine every bone of that proverbial rib cage had snapped with the tremors. My cerulean eyes, hauntingly bright in the midnight Rays, drink in the clearing. There's something amiss, I feel the throb of the earth, the delicate bend of the pines seen taller, guarding an unseen presence with a stronger hold than normal.
And then, the phantom appears.
I'm a paling gold in the shadows, mulling on the edge when I see her appear; she regards no boundaries and no courtesy, but the way she stands, the way the chamber seems to greet her, she is no mere stranger. My long, willowy legs peel away the earth with elongated strides, covering the ground like a stealthy wolf, until I fall upon the clearing. Ash stained gold, rippled plumes of creamy mane falling into my brilliant azure eyes, that find her then, the phantom, so casual, so real. But the pinpricks in the air make be ponder different, the cool wisps part the thick ash in the air like nothing, and the pulse in the earth has intensified. This mare is no mere unknown wanderer. The chamber regards her like s long lost lover, a confidant of many noon turns. And I give her that satisfaction with a curt grin and velvet words.
'You aren't a stranger here, not really.' my pause is eternal, gilt ears turning and catching the night noises like well spin webs. 'to me, certainly. But to the Chamber... She greets you with far more than normality.' the raging pulse throbs against my feet, the moist earth falling apart as I walk a good few paces nearer, my eyes are quaint, regarding her with the same amount of respect that the lady chamber gives. I dip my nose, salmon nares breathing in her heady scent. 'I'm Engelsfors.' because manners don't ho unnoticed, I spin them like well made threads. Eyes drinking her in, her phantom body, the crackle in the air. My eyes sparks of blue lightning, alive, torrenting spires of shrouded black magic.
♦♢♦
there are deeper and darker things than you;
professor of the chamber
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