09-21-2019, 10:42 AM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Josefin+Sans&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.aedan_boy_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width: 550px;background: #1f3f65;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;border: 1px solid #050e49;box-shadow: 0 0 10px #050e49;}.aedan_boy_container p{margin:0;}.aedan_boy_gradient {position: absolute;z-index: 5;top: 215px;width: 550px;height: 200px;background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(31,63,101,0) 0%, rgba(31,63,101,1) 100%);background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(31,63,101,0) 0%,rgba(31,63,101,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(31,63,101,0) 0%,rgba(31,63,101,1) 100%);filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#001f3f65', endColorstr='#1f3f65',GradientType=0 );}.aedan_boy_message {width: 500px;position: relative;z-index: 10;margin-top: -80px;text-align:justify;padding: 10px 0px;color: #D3E0D5;border-top: 1px solid #050e49;border-bottom: 1px solid #050e49;}.aedan_boy_name {font: 66px 'Josefin Sans', sans-serif;color: #1f3f65;text-shadow:0 0 6px #fff;text-align: center;padding-top: 30px;}.aedan_boy_quote {position: absolute;z-index: 15;font: 14px 'Josefin Sans', sans-serif;color: #208ea9;letter-spacing: 2px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 2px #050e49;}.aedan_boy_quotetop {top: 310px;right: 150px;}.aedan_boy_quotebottom {bottom: 75px;right: 180px;}</style><center><div class="aedan_boy_container"><img src="https://k.nickpic.host/rpZoqY.jpg" style="width:550px;"><div class="aedan_boy_gradient"></div><p class="aedan_boy_quote aedan_boy_quotetop">i have loved the stars too fondly</p><div class="aedan_boy_message">He comes alive at night. His father is the sun and the day, warmth and kindness; but the son, the son is darkness and shadow, quiet and starlight. Well, maybe not so much quiet as a colt, though he can be. On a night like tonight, he is quiet. Noise is a thing of daytime, of sunlight and spring days, of running and jumping and shouting through wide open meadows. The night is different though. The night is when the truth comes out, slinking in shadows just barely seen. If you are quiet and listen, if you are still and look, you will find the truth.
What is the truth, exactly? The truth is the foundation of all fairy stories, the ones his mother tells him before bed each night; the ones that, like any child, he believes. Maybe he believes more than the average, ordinary child. After all, they are not painted with the stars as he is, they are not made of the twilight hour in which all those fairy stories live.
Long after his mother sees him off to bed, he is still awake. Aedan finds sleep in the wee hours of morning, for he cannot sleep at night. It is his favorite time, it is simply his time, and tonight he lays awake staring at the stars. It is a thing he often does at night. His days are full of exploration and adventure, but his night are quiet and he rarely strays far. Tonight, he thinks, will be one of those nights.
Ah, but the best laid plans…
He hears them then, the chimes. In the stillness of the night he would be surprised to know that most cannot hear them. The sound is clear to a boy that still believes in the fairy stories without doubt. They are almost loud, but then, very few things in the night are truly loud. He flicks an ear first, then the other, and finally turns his head as if he’d be able to see the source of the sound. A silly, childlike notion, to think he could see something so far off in the distance.
He does not see the chimes, but he sees a light. This is not strange to him. After all, he glows, and he’s used to catching his own glowing reflection in various surfaces. He looks around, trying to figure out what exactly could be causing such a reflection. The light just flickers brighter, more insistent, and no matter how hard he looks there is no water, no shining surface nearby. The light is not from him.
Aedan clambers to his feet, his legs still far too long beneath him though certainly steady by now. Every day he grows into himself a little more, finds it easier and easier to travel further and further from home. Tonight is proving to be such an adventure, but he cannot begin to dream just how far he will go.
He follows the light, a tricky thing as it flickers in and out, always skittering just out of reach and leading him further on. Excitement builds in his belly, his imagination wild with the possibilities. He becomes a character from his mother’s fairy stories, a boy lost in the wood as he followed a fairy inside. Yet he doesn’t fear getting lost (though he should). The boy in the wood gets out, after all, because Isle would never tell him the true ending of those fairy stories. The real stories rarely end with the hero winning, but he hasn’t learned this truth yet.
Perhaps tonight, he will.
He follows the light relentlessly, ignoring the growing, tired weight of his legs. Indeed, he becomes that boy from the story as the light leads him into a forest. Around him the shadows loom, reaching for him like fingers, monsters that creep through the night. He calls to the stars and their light surrounds him, allowing him to glow just a bit brighter, trying to scatter the monsters away. If only it were so easy.
Finally, the light stops. Disappears, really. He sees nothing at first, the gloom of the forest too deep. He creeps forward now, letting the stars light his path until he sees it. A door.
He’s not sure how he knows what it is. After all, there are no doors in his world, and yet he knows it clear as day. There are always doors in the stories, portals to other worlds, to the places where the monsters come from. Now he hesitates, for the first time in this little adventure he finds himself afraid and unsure. It is one thing to be a boy creeping after the light of a fairy. It is entirely another thing to walk through a <i>door</i> in the middle of the forest. He highly doubts such a door simply leads to more forest.
Still, he finds himself more curious than afraid. The door, though dark and dangerous, still calls to him. There are secrets behind that door, truths that he will never discover here. He would rather know truths and other worlds then keep himself safe. Besides, it is hard to believe himself anything but invincible. There are few children who truly understand peril until they experience it and Aedan has never had such an experience. If he’s the boy who went into the wood, certainly he will be the boy who came out again.
It is that thought that bolsters him, and he steps through. </div><p class="aedan_boy_quote aedan_boy_quotebottom">to be fearful of the night</p><p class="aedan_boy_name">aedan</p></div></center>
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#001f3f65', endColorstr='#1f3f65',GradientType=0 );}.aedan_boy_message {width: 500px;position: relative;z-index: 10;margin-top: -80px;text-align:justify;padding: 10px 0px;color: #D3E0D5;border-top: 1px solid #050e49;border-bottom: 1px solid #050e49;}.aedan_boy_name {font: 66px 'Josefin Sans', sans-serif;color: #1f3f65;text-shadow:0 0 6px #fff;text-align: center;padding-top: 30px;}.aedan_boy_quote {position: absolute;z-index: 15;font: 14px 'Josefin Sans', sans-serif;color: #208ea9;letter-spacing: 2px;text-shadow: 1px 1px 2px #050e49;}.aedan_boy_quotetop {top: 310px;right: 150px;}.aedan_boy_quotebottom {bottom: 75px;right: 180px;}</style><center><div class="aedan_boy_container"><img src="https://k.nickpic.host/rpZoqY.jpg" style="width:550px;"><div class="aedan_boy_gradient"></div><p class="aedan_boy_quote aedan_boy_quotetop">i have loved the stars too fondly</p><div class="aedan_boy_message">He comes alive at night. His father is the sun and the day, warmth and kindness; but the son, the son is darkness and shadow, quiet and starlight. Well, maybe not so much quiet as a colt, though he can be. On a night like tonight, he is quiet. Noise is a thing of daytime, of sunlight and spring days, of running and jumping and shouting through wide open meadows. The night is different though. The night is when the truth comes out, slinking in shadows just barely seen. If you are quiet and listen, if you are still and look, you will find the truth. What is the truth, exactly? The truth is the foundation of all fairy stories, the ones his mother tells him before bed each night; the ones that, like any child, he believes. Maybe he believes more than the average, ordinary child. After all, they are not painted with the stars as he is, they are not made of the twilight hour in which all those fairy stories live.
Long after his mother sees him off to bed, he is still awake. Aedan finds sleep in the wee hours of morning, for he cannot sleep at night. It is his favorite time, it is simply his time, and tonight he lays awake staring at the stars. It is a thing he often does at night. His days are full of exploration and adventure, but his night are quiet and he rarely strays far. Tonight, he thinks, will be one of those nights.
Ah, but the best laid plans…
He hears them then, the chimes. In the stillness of the night he would be surprised to know that most cannot hear them. The sound is clear to a boy that still believes in the fairy stories without doubt. They are almost loud, but then, very few things in the night are truly loud. He flicks an ear first, then the other, and finally turns his head as if he’d be able to see the source of the sound. A silly, childlike notion, to think he could see something so far off in the distance.
He does not see the chimes, but he sees a light. This is not strange to him. After all, he glows, and he’s used to catching his own glowing reflection in various surfaces. He looks around, trying to figure out what exactly could be causing such a reflection. The light just flickers brighter, more insistent, and no matter how hard he looks there is no water, no shining surface nearby. The light is not from him.
Aedan clambers to his feet, his legs still far too long beneath him though certainly steady by now. Every day he grows into himself a little more, finds it easier and easier to travel further and further from home. Tonight is proving to be such an adventure, but he cannot begin to dream just how far he will go.
He follows the light, a tricky thing as it flickers in and out, always skittering just out of reach and leading him further on. Excitement builds in his belly, his imagination wild with the possibilities. He becomes a character from his mother’s fairy stories, a boy lost in the wood as he followed a fairy inside. Yet he doesn’t fear getting lost (though he should). The boy in the wood gets out, after all, because Isle would never tell him the true ending of those fairy stories. The real stories rarely end with the hero winning, but he hasn’t learned this truth yet.
Perhaps tonight, he will.
He follows the light relentlessly, ignoring the growing, tired weight of his legs. Indeed, he becomes that boy from the story as the light leads him into a forest. Around him the shadows loom, reaching for him like fingers, monsters that creep through the night. He calls to the stars and their light surrounds him, allowing him to glow just a bit brighter, trying to scatter the monsters away. If only it were so easy.
Finally, the light stops. Disappears, really. He sees nothing at first, the gloom of the forest too deep. He creeps forward now, letting the stars light his path until he sees it. A door.
He’s not sure how he knows what it is. After all, there are no doors in his world, and yet he knows it clear as day. There are always doors in the stories, portals to other worlds, to the places where the monsters come from. Now he hesitates, for the first time in this little adventure he finds himself afraid and unsure. It is one thing to be a boy creeping after the light of a fairy. It is entirely another thing to walk through a <i>door</i> in the middle of the forest. He highly doubts such a door simply leads to more forest.
Still, he finds himself more curious than afraid. The door, though dark and dangerous, still calls to him. There are secrets behind that door, truths that he will never discover here. He would rather know truths and other worlds then keep himself safe. Besides, it is hard to believe himself anything but invincible. There are few children who truly understand peril until they experience it and Aedan has never had such an experience. If he’s the boy who went into the wood, certainly he will be the boy who came out again.
It is that thought that bolsters him, and he steps through. </div><p class="aedan_boy_quote aedan_boy_quotebottom">to be fearful of the night</p><p class="aedan_boy_name">aedan</p></div></center>
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