09-22-2019, 06:16 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allura' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .larketwo_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: url('https://i.postimg.cc/Y24jrMd5/larketwo-bg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 3px #e0e2e6; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .larketwo_container p { margin: 0; } .larketwo_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .larketwo_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -325px; border: solid 1px #e0e2e6; border-bottom: none; } .larketwo_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #444a4a; padding: 30px; } .larketwo_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; bottom: -25px; right: 20px; color: #c3c4c6; font: 100px 'Allura', cursive; text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #242924; opacity: 0.8; } .larketwo_quote { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #798482; text-align: left; font-style: italic; padding-top: 30px; padding-left: 30px; line-height: 1.3; } .larketwo_quotetwo { font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #798482; text-align: right; font-style: italic; padding-right: 30px; line-height: 1.3; } </style> <center> <div class="larketwo_container"> <div class="larketwo_text"> <p class="larketwo_quote">carried by the current of the morning <br>miles below the surface of the dawn<p> <p class="larketwo_message"> Her life has been a sheltered thing, although she rests on the precipice of it.
She is no longer just a girl, but being just two means that she not yet fully grown either. Instead, she rests somewhere on the edge of maturity. Her body has begun to shed the soft curves of youth, leaving some of the angles of adulthood. Her coat is no longer the deep black that it was when she was born but has already begun to gray and dapple, leaving everything but the inky darkness of her mane and tail alone.
And her heart remains untouched—unchanged.
It rests in her chest, as guarded and hopeful and naive as the day she took her first breath.
So perhaps it is not surprising that she hears the chime. That she lifts her head upon its first ringing, her lovely features creasing with thought as she angles her head, sage green eyes thoughtful. It does not take her long to see the light, to wonder at the way that it pulses and glows, like a star brought to earth. It does not dull the edge of her wonder as she stares at it, letting its milky glow bathe her as she studies it.
When it begins to move, she does not hesitate to follow.
Larke has never been one to hunger for adventure—she is content to sit in the shadows, to watch those more bold and interesting than her—but she has a heart that does not stop expanding for wonder. She longs for such things of beauty and magic and she does not stop herself from following the star.
She lifts her nose toward it, but it dances just out of her reach.
So she smiles, dropping her head down, content to know that it is near.
They walk, the pair of them, for a while. She barely registers where they are. She has no great head for directions and has not ventured outside of the Western kingdom enough to truly learn the rest of Beqanna. So perhaps it doesn’t matter as she crosses brook and field, as the sky changes above her. Perhaps it doesn’t matter as much as the light that continues to dance away, that continues to lead her forward.
Until it doesn’t.
She finds herself facing the door and something within her clenches just slightly with fear—with worry. Her delicate features crease with concern as she studies the door, the shadows that linger, and she looks over her shoulder once more—as if hoping to see that brilliant light of her mother walking through a portal or the relived features of her father coming to bring her home. But neither come.
It is just her and a door and the decision.
Seconds pass, then minutes, and she still stands there.
Until she thinks of her brother and how quickly he would have already stepped across the threshold and something within her glows warm with the confidence. Lifting her chin, she steps forward into the dark. </p> <p class="larketwo_quotetwo">this is not the place that I was born in <br>but it doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong<p> </div> <div class="larketwo_name">larke</div> <img class="larketwo_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/sf8ywW98/larketwo.png"> </div> </center>
She is no longer just a girl, but being just two means that she not yet fully grown either. Instead, she rests somewhere on the edge of maturity. Her body has begun to shed the soft curves of youth, leaving some of the angles of adulthood. Her coat is no longer the deep black that it was when she was born but has already begun to gray and dapple, leaving everything but the inky darkness of her mane and tail alone.
And her heart remains untouched—unchanged.
It rests in her chest, as guarded and hopeful and naive as the day she took her first breath.
So perhaps it is not surprising that she hears the chime. That she lifts her head upon its first ringing, her lovely features creasing with thought as she angles her head, sage green eyes thoughtful. It does not take her long to see the light, to wonder at the way that it pulses and glows, like a star brought to earth. It does not dull the edge of her wonder as she stares at it, letting its milky glow bathe her as she studies it.
When it begins to move, she does not hesitate to follow.
Larke has never been one to hunger for adventure—she is content to sit in the shadows, to watch those more bold and interesting than her—but she has a heart that does not stop expanding for wonder. She longs for such things of beauty and magic and she does not stop herself from following the star.
She lifts her nose toward it, but it dances just out of her reach.
So she smiles, dropping her head down, content to know that it is near.
They walk, the pair of them, for a while. She barely registers where they are. She has no great head for directions and has not ventured outside of the Western kingdom enough to truly learn the rest of Beqanna. So perhaps it doesn’t matter as she crosses brook and field, as the sky changes above her. Perhaps it doesn’t matter as much as the light that continues to dance away, that continues to lead her forward.
Until it doesn’t.
She finds herself facing the door and something within her clenches just slightly with fear—with worry. Her delicate features crease with concern as she studies the door, the shadows that linger, and she looks over her shoulder once more—as if hoping to see that brilliant light of her mother walking through a portal or the relived features of her father coming to bring her home. But neither come.
It is just her and a door and the decision.
Seconds pass, then minutes, and she still stands there.
Until she thinks of her brother and how quickly he would have already stepped across the threshold and something within her glows warm with the confidence. Lifting her chin, she steps forward into the dark. </p> <p class="larketwo_quotetwo">this is not the place that I was born in <br>but it doesn't mean it's not the place where I belong<p> </div> <div class="larketwo_name">larke</div> <img class="larketwo_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/sf8ywW98/larketwo.png"> </div> </center>