08-07-2020, 10:55 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Satisfy" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.c3l_container1 {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 540px;padding: 0px 6px 0px 6px;background: #fff url('https://i.pinimg.com/564x/f4/1b/a1/f41ba1135a4829c8a3ebe0a1413b01c9.jpg');border: 2px solid #0a1a38;border-radius: 25px;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;}.c3l_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 0px 10px 0px 10px;background: #0D1518;border-left: 2px solid #241c26;border-right: 2px solid #241c26;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;border-radius: 25px;}.c3l_container p {margin: 0;}.c3l_image {height: 650px;border-radius: 25px 25px 0px 0px;}.c3l_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 5px 20px;color: #bab2bd;border-top: 2px solid #1b161d;border-bottom: 2px solid #1b161d;background: rgba(30, 24, 32, 0.53);box-shadow: 0 0 2em #000;}.c3l_quote {text-align: center;font: 15px 'Satisfy', cursive;color: #bab2bd;padding: 10px;}</style><center><div class="c3l_container1"><div class="c3l_container"><img class="c3l_image" src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/5f36bf7feb533c48e2a50ca43efa735e/tumblr_p10ewjr6du1smku65o1_540.jpg"><p class="c3l_message">
She is aimless.
Maybe if she hadn't been wandering the red-clay wasteland, she wouldn't have come to his call. Maybe if curiosity about her father hadn't sparked her fickle interest, her future would be entirely different.
But because it suits her fancy that day, she heeds the summons like an obedient dog. She doesn't mind playing by the rules now and then, and the beach isn't far from where she wanders - a garish, teal speck on the red plains.
Tangerine had said her father was a god, but when she sees him, Celest is vaguely underwhelmed. Underwhelmed, but not surprised. Her mother had always possessed a flair for the dramatic and an attachment to long-winded stories.
As she arrives Carnage begins to speak, almost as if he had waited for her. But as his intentions register, she realizes she may have made a mistake. This was not a place for a girl like her; she wasn't one for quests, and this wasn't how she was supposed to die.
She had seen that.
With a snort, the gem-toned mare tries to step back, but finds she is rooted. She is helpless as the ocean reaches up, snapping iron-clad shackles around her delicate ankles. She no longer doubts the power of her father as the screams begin to echo around her, but the others seem to fade as the water continues to rise around her legs.
Taking it's time, the deadly tide inches higher, slowly covering every place of her, haunches, withers, throatlatch. The iron-rich dust of her travels colors the water around her a sickly-orange, and the air is thick with the scent of her fear. Relentless, the sea ranges on, covering her eyes and finally her mouth and nose. Violet eyes wide below the surface, her head lifts, her muzzle reaches for the grey sky. Of course, it is not enough. She fights for one last, deep breath, but as her heart hammers, less than a minute passes before her body is forcing open the passages of her throat and nose in a desperate attempt to get her the oxygen she needs. Her body overrides her mind. Gasping, she drinks deeply of the saltwater as it snakes down her throat, filling parts of her that should never have been filled.
The panic fades with her consciousness; on her cheek, she feels the gentle warmth of a kiss from her mother, the soft, I love you, from a should-have-been lover.
For once, her gemstone eyes are softened as she casts hesitant glances left and right, and sees nothing but the ghostly-plain, and the spirits of those she had just stood shoulder-to-shoulder with in the life she lost.
</p><p class="c3l_quote">I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin</p></div></center>
She is aimless.
Maybe if she hadn't been wandering the red-clay wasteland, she wouldn't have come to his call. Maybe if curiosity about her father hadn't sparked her fickle interest, her future would be entirely different.
But because it suits her fancy that day, she heeds the summons like an obedient dog. She doesn't mind playing by the rules now and then, and the beach isn't far from where she wanders - a garish, teal speck on the red plains.
Tangerine had said her father was a god, but when she sees him, Celest is vaguely underwhelmed. Underwhelmed, but not surprised. Her mother had always possessed a flair for the dramatic and an attachment to long-winded stories.
As she arrives Carnage begins to speak, almost as if he had waited for her. But as his intentions register, she realizes she may have made a mistake. This was not a place for a girl like her; she wasn't one for quests, and this wasn't how she was supposed to die.
She had seen that.
With a snort, the gem-toned mare tries to step back, but finds she is rooted. She is helpless as the ocean reaches up, snapping iron-clad shackles around her delicate ankles. She no longer doubts the power of her father as the screams begin to echo around her, but the others seem to fade as the water continues to rise around her legs.
Taking it's time, the deadly tide inches higher, slowly covering every place of her, haunches, withers, throatlatch. The iron-rich dust of her travels colors the water around her a sickly-orange, and the air is thick with the scent of her fear. Relentless, the sea ranges on, covering her eyes and finally her mouth and nose. Violet eyes wide below the surface, her head lifts, her muzzle reaches for the grey sky. Of course, it is not enough. She fights for one last, deep breath, but as her heart hammers, less than a minute passes before her body is forcing open the passages of her throat and nose in a desperate attempt to get her the oxygen she needs. Her body overrides her mind. Gasping, she drinks deeply of the saltwater as it snakes down her throat, filling parts of her that should never have been filled.
The panic fades with her consciousness; on her cheek, she feels the gentle warmth of a kiss from her mother, the soft, I love you, from a should-have-been lover.
For once, her gemstone eyes are softened as she casts hesitant glances left and right, and sees nothing but the ghostly-plain, and the spirits of those she had just stood shoulder-to-shoulder with in the life she lost.
</p><p class="c3l_quote">I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin</p></div></center>
![[Image: celest_by_cowgirlconrad-dcolc1l.png]](https://orig00.deviantart.net/bc93/f/2018/277/3/d/celest_by_cowgirlconrad-dcolc1l.png)