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    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


    we all believe in something that'll rip us into shreds; laura pony
    #3



    If asked, she would call herself cursed, too, though her curse had no real specifics. Was it a curse, to have been seen by Him, to have been beckoned to His lair, where she would spend years dying in every conceivable way, years of being torn apart and pieced together? A curse, or simply bad luck, a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, falling under the gaze of the wrong god.
    Was it a curse, to know a love so profound it rearranges you, only to have her die and you, for all your useless magic, can’t bring her back?
    (Or was it a blessing, to know a love so profound? Can something be both?)
    And what’s the curse, now? This endless boredom interspaced with grief, a pale existence where she wanders and means little to anyone and they mean even less to her? Sometimes she finds scraps (a distant relation, like a hint of gold glimmering in rushing water), but they are gone quickly and then she is back to her Sisyphean task of existing.
    (She’d thought about letting the monsters take her. About dropping the electricity and letting them rend her to shreds. But she’s fought too long to die in such a way. When she goes, she thinks, she will go out fighting.)

    She notices him as quickly as he notices her. He is gold, but brightly so, and dappled in spots. Gold and silver, again, and she sighs. He comes closer and then he sighs, too, and she wonders about him. She can sense something in him, something wretched, and her own skin flares. She does not think he is dangerous – not yet – but he
    could be, and that is enough to make her wary.
    Yet she does not chase him off. Maybe she wants a fight. Or maybe she just wants someone to talk to. Some noise that’s not the awful, familiar sound of the river.
    “Hello,” she says, then, “you look tired.”
    Politeness was never her strong suit.

    I’ll touch you all and make damn sure

    Cordis

    that no one touches me

    picture © horseryder.deviantart.com


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    RE: we all believe in something that'll rip us into shreds; laura pony - by Cordis - 04-12-2021, 07:03 PM



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