06-08-2020, 10:08 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lora&display=swap" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.iri_container {position: relative; z-index: 1;width: 600px;background: #f0efeb; font: 13px 'Times', serif; line-height: 1.5; border: 2px solid #001f33; box-shadow: 0 0 10px #133259; }.iri_container p { margin: 0;padding: 0;}.iri_message {text-align: justify; padding: 30px 35px;color: #ab676e;}.iri_name {font-size: 26px; color: #91333e; }.iri_quote {position: relative; z-index: 10;top: -10px;color: #d1979c; letter-spacing: 2px; }</style><center><div class="iri_container"><div class="iri_message">
The magic finds her differently than it finds the rest, hidden away as she is with no true shape, no true form, no real tangibility to her little body. She exists only because her mothers know of her, only because Indius can remember being curled beside her in the dark before they ever truly existed.
It is strange to exist only as a memory, as a concept, but she is grateful for it nonetheless.
She is asleep when the magic finds her - and if only she knew it were magic that found her, that picked her out of anyone else to give something beautiful to, she would feel such gentle joy! But instead she sleeps through the moment, napping among the soft petals of a giant pink flower, basking in sunlight that is soft and gold and hazy, with clouds that caress her skin in the gentle touch she misses from her mothers so much. She changes, but she is unaware of it even happening.
When she wakes and yawns, climbing out of her summer nest to stretch languidly and flex those beautiful red and blue wings, she glances down and sees a pair of hooves so delicate and cloven and better suited to the quiet does who dream of shady forests and apples beneath tall trees. But she doesn’t even understand that they are new, that they weren’t already hers. She looks down and feels a flicker of curiosity, and then the quiet of acceptance that of course these little split hooves are hers. What else would they be?
It is the way of things in the dreamscape, the quiet acceptance of things that, perhaps sometime later when reflected back upon, will make no sense at all. But for now she accepts, and with the sun warm on her face and dandelion seeds the size of head floating past and tickling her skin, she is happy in this make-believe body. This conceptual existence, cloven hooves and all.
</div><p class="iri_name">iridian</p><p class="iri_quote">we are infinite as the universe we hold inside</p></div></center>
iridian is claiming cloven hooves, thank you! <3
The magic finds her differently than it finds the rest, hidden away as she is with no true shape, no true form, no real tangibility to her little body. She exists only because her mothers know of her, only because Indius can remember being curled beside her in the dark before they ever truly existed.
It is strange to exist only as a memory, as a concept, but she is grateful for it nonetheless.
She is asleep when the magic finds her - and if only she knew it were magic that found her, that picked her out of anyone else to give something beautiful to, she would feel such gentle joy! But instead she sleeps through the moment, napping among the soft petals of a giant pink flower, basking in sunlight that is soft and gold and hazy, with clouds that caress her skin in the gentle touch she misses from her mothers so much. She changes, but she is unaware of it even happening.
When she wakes and yawns, climbing out of her summer nest to stretch languidly and flex those beautiful red and blue wings, she glances down and sees a pair of hooves so delicate and cloven and better suited to the quiet does who dream of shady forests and apples beneath tall trees. But she doesn’t even understand that they are new, that they weren’t already hers. She looks down and feels a flicker of curiosity, and then the quiet of acceptance that of course these little split hooves are hers. What else would they be?
It is the way of things in the dreamscape, the quiet acceptance of things that, perhaps sometime later when reflected back upon, will make no sense at all. But for now she accepts, and with the sun warm on her face and dandelion seeds the size of head floating past and tickling her skin, she is happy in this make-believe body. This conceptual existence, cloven hooves and all.
</div><p class="iri_name">iridian</p><p class="iri_quote">we are infinite as the universe we hold inside</p></div></center>
iridian is claiming cloven hooves, thank you! <3