Post by Iadali {Paolynn} Aerandir on Jan 24, 2011 14:22:02 GMT -5
IADALI PAOLYNN AERANDIR
" I keep on walking, though my soul was meant for flying;
my heart pumps blood right through the walls of
your desire: my heart pumps blood right through it. "
the basics,
»»character full name: Iadali Paolynn Aerandir
»»Nickname: Lynn, by most. Dali, by closer friends.
»»age: 14.
»»sexual orientation: She's just starting to notice boys ~.^
»»alignment: Light.
»»position: Herb Gatherer. Apprentice Healer.
»»gender: Female.
»»power: Earth: the ground shivers. Air: the wind howls. Water; rain falls. Fire, Light: lightning strikes. Shadow: thunder growls like a hungry beast.The storm paws at the ground, ready to charge --- an element does not stand alone -- they are simply different faces of the same creature, a different facet that expresses itself in myriad ways. When a storm howls, it is not just one element, but all that bind together and create havoc -- so in a way, Iadali is aware of all elements. Her power is earth, air, water, fire, light, shadow. Does she have power over the storms? Of course not. She simply knows -- she can feel it when the elements are binding together and darkness is coming. She can sing it to sleep -- it is in her nature to soothe, to pacify, not to wreak havoc. So this grand power is only that: the ability to lull the violent nature of storms into a peaceful murmur. Singing is her conduit. If she is sad, and she sings, it rains. Compassion has set her apart: she is part element herself, knowing that human courage and passion is a sort of element, too. In a way, she is the daughter of Mother Nature. In a way, the whole world is.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Grey, that sharpens into sea-green.
»»markings: Behind her left ear begins a long scar in the shape of claws, where she had been attacked by a mutant animal when she was younger.
»»height: 5'1
»»weight: 105 lbs.
»»general appearance: Dali is a very small girl, obviously right on the cusp of adulthood, though she lingers on the shorter side for women. Still, she is a darling thing to behold -- if you miss certain details that set her apart. At 5'1, and weighing in at 105 pounds, Dali is slender, built much like a reed: but there is the element of a willow in the way she moves, the way she acts, as if she were in a constant state of changing, and this form, right now, is simply the beginning. That sentiment is often applied to her; with narrow bird-like shoulders and a small chest, she is not something many would look at; given the slightest cinch in her waist and the lean turn of her hips and legs -- it is quite obvious she is not something that invokes lust. But then, that too, is part of her nature.
She is almost ethereal, a fey girl in a coop of chickens: where others are husky and voluptuous, cunning in the flirtatious turn of their eyebrows, lashes, smiles, Dali is simply not. She walks with her back straight, her small, fragile bird-like shoulder blades pinching out of her back. In many ways, while others look hardened by their life in the village, Dali still maintains that delicacy and doll-like fragility dentrimental to life alone. But she manages. Her skin is pale, untouched by any tanning (though that in itself is odd), smooth and soft like a child's.
But that's not really what sets her apart: it's her hair, her eyes, the serene curve of her smile. The happiness. It is the long locks of white hair that fall down her back in glorious layers -- it is the color, more pure than snow, glittering in the sunlight. It it the way the bangs fall about her face, framing her in heart-shaped delight. It's the surreal cast of her eyes, grey and blue, as bright as the stars. She is a burning creature, cast in ice. She is odd, with her wide-set, luminous eyes framed in white hair, white skin. Like jewels they shimmer and gleam, pure, where others have begun to adapt to darker magics. Her purity is soul-deep, and it shines in her face with calm, innocence, strength. There is mettle in her bones, in the straight way she walks, the careful way that one foot goes in front of the other: as if she were dancing, as if there was a path she knew she had to walk -- and others didn't.
She is set apart by the grace that bends her structure: the way she seems to glide instead of walk. The way that wind plays with her hair; the way that light caresses her face. She is clean -- there is no blood on her hands. No dirt under her finger nails. Often wearing a gown of white with little cuffs at her wrists and thigh-length socks on her legs -- she knows the only color is her eyes. And the red. Little glimpses of red here and there: a ribbon in her cuff, her shoes, a ribbon around her neck. These are the delicacies, the weak little girl playing dress up, though she'll only smile if you say it.
There is a scar, on her back, crawling up the otherwise clean line of her neck where a forest cat had nearly killed her; she had been saved, but it marred the curve of her back.
the personality,
»»likes:
x the idea of love
x warmth
x happiness
x calm
x tenderness
x friends (though she has none)
x flowers
x honey
x the color white
x moonlight
x helping others
x animals
x compassion, kindness, friendliness
x singing
x the stars
x playfulness
»»dislikes:
x violence
x amity
x arguments
x ruthlessness
x loneliness
x seriousness
x grudges
x cold
x cloudy days
x storms (hah)
»»strengths:
x Temperament: she never loses her cool, and is always able to think straight. Very few things frazzle her.
x Steady: not only her temperament, but her hands are always steady; if she is needed for things, she is very good with her hand, and reliable.
x Unbiased: even if she does not like a person, she does not spite them, but will help if she feels they are in the right. If anyone is hurt or needs help, she will do so, without pause.
x Singing: she can sing storms to sleep, of course. Rather self-explanatory.
»»weaknesses:
x Compassion: because of her compassionate nature she is easily taken advantage of. In a situation where she knows she will be taken advantage of, she will still help, feeling that a little good is better than nothing at all.
x Personality: because of how she carries herself, others often misjudge her for acting above her station, and she is often ignored or bullied until she is needed.
x Her beliefs: it is common knowledge what she thinks about the mutated animals (how even they need her help) and not only does it create tension in the village, but is a topic of much scorn.
xHeritage: Dali is often labeled because of her parents.
»»secrets:
x She knows the secrets to using Dark Magic.
»»general personality:
Young, bright slender girl; she smiles because she cares -- there is no false modesty, there is no cunning other than the cunning of kindness. Dali exists in a world of darkness, but persists in seeing only the bright. It is her strength, this inability to bow down against words, against the harsh path that has opened up before her feet. It is her world, and she cherishes every moment of it. She knows the pain of loss, knows grief, terror, fear -- but it does not stop her from acting, it does not freeze her limbs. Dali can still hold her head up high and smile in that tender way she has, her eyes crinkling at the ends, because when ti comes down to it, she cherishes life most of all.
Others are addicted to the pulse of their element, influenced and drugged on the power that flows through their veins and distorts their vision. Dali, only sees the truth as she knows it: once compassion dies, there is nothing left to live for. So she gives with all her heart, hurts herself for the sake of another as long as a little bit of happiness, a little bit of good has come out from the shadows. There is no point in waiting -- violence will only beget violence, and she knows best of all. Animals are mutated, tempers are flaring -- a circle of protectors has risen, but it doesn't stop life from going on. It doesn't stop the badness, the evil that festers in everyone's soul.
Dali is a creature made of light and purity: her hands are as clean as her smile, without a shadow of uncertainty. A zealot of kindness, for a helping hand, she ignores what she perceives to be the filthier emotions: lust, anger, frost of arrogance. She puts it aside and still smiles so prettily. Unbiased and compassionate, she'll help with everything she has because it is in her nature to do so. She soothes, she touches, she consoles: her soul isn't for war, isn't for destruction. Healing is her calling, and she embraces it with the passion that most pick up a weapon. There is healing in a smile; there is only death at the end of a sword.
In tune with emotions, Dali is perfectly synchronized with the weather, feeling the shifting moods and temperaments that flash out -- she feels the storm in her heart and lulls it back to sleep. Others look at her and perceive her kindness as a front for the darker emotions she must be hiding: but she is not her mother. She is not her father. It is why she remains so unbiased -- from personal experience she has known the consequences of being a victim of a parent's sins. It should not pass down. Grievances should be laid to rest. Easily forgiving, playful, thoughtful -- she is very much the owl caught in the farmer's chicken coop. There is wisdom in her heart, though she is so young. There is truth before her eyes and she is not afraid to see it. There are those who are playing with dark magic: she knows it, but remains silent. She is moved by emotion, by the whims of warmth, of tenderness: she dreams of love, fosters a romantic obsession with someone who could see past the eyes, the hair, the complexion: see past the sins of the father and the mother and see only the girl, only the quiet, but never stoic young girl. She is not as strong as they think she is.
Dali gets lonely. She cries. She sings when the sadness is too much. She is alone, so alone, but she will always smile -- and continue to smile until there is someone out there who will help her. It is her dream to feel such a tragic love, to know the feeling of her heart hammering in her ears, of her face flushed from embarrassment: these are the things she wants, but she knows it could never be, and so she is as she is. The social pariah giving kindness where she could, when she could, trying to convince others with her actions how serious she is -- and burying the playful, mirthful girl that she is. She wants to dance in the rain -- but what would they think? So she doesn't. No, no, she is not as strong as everyone thinks. Dali wants someone to depend on, but she doesn't have the strength to reach out and do it: she knows she will fall, for who would ever catch her if she jumped?
the history,
»»mother: Lianeo Aerandir
»»father: Eroh Aerandir
»»siblings: None.
»»others: None.
»»background: It was different when the adults were still alive; it was different when there was no real death hidden in every branch, ever sliver of shadow that fell across your path. Different, and easier -- easier to laugh, to smile, to dance under the sunshine and pick flowers to put in your hair. Iadali wasn't the darling daughter coddled by her parents -- she was an anomaly from the start. Adorable, perhaps; loved, perhaps; but there was always that wonder, and worry -- that little bit of disappointment that she could have been something, someone great and she never did make it. Lia and Eroh weren't unkind; they simply existed, and loved, to an extent the daughter they conceived -- but it was, truly, only the beginning.
It had been different, and easier when the adults were alive -- but it was also the adults who destroyed everything. Black magic was just a coined phrase adopted afterward; at the time, it was simply a notion, a little idea that slowly, but inevitably took hold in Lia's mind. It festered, and grew, and her powers warped, her ability to help, to do something worthwhile over running the rational sense that would have stopped it before it got out of control. She experimented, and her daughter watched, learned -- first hand, knowing how to warp the element in your heart, in her veins and use it for controlling lesser creatures. Dali can still remember her mother's bright smile, flashing eyes as she said, "Think of all the good!" but that was only in the beginning. When Eroh began to use, and abuse the power -- Dali was no longer able to watch.
Closeted out, and disconnected from her family, Iadali grew up on her own, but she was always curious, always wanting to know what her parents did behind the locked door: when she finally managed to claw her way in while they were out at a council meeting, she found only death on the other side. Rotted corpses dumped in bins, cages of forest cats mutated and ferocious -- but drugged, watching her through heavy lidded, sleepy eyes. She could not stop herself from edging closer to the cage, from touching the heavy paw, the sheathed claws -- it did not react. Filled with compassion for the wretched thing, she found the keys to the padlock and opened the door: it did not react. So she left it, turning her back, her hand on the doorknob: but that was when the near-corpse came to life and lunged at her back -- slicing her from neck to the small of her back. Her parents came right as she was destined for death -- parting the two, her mother took her to the clinic while Eroh took control of the creature and put it back in it's cage (even attacking his own daughter, it was too valuable for death).
The story was generalized and covered: the stupid girl had gone out into the forest and was attacked. She was too scared to say anything.
When the population of mutated beasts became too much to hide, Eroh and Lia spread the world of dark magic -- spreading out the confusion and the suspicion on anyone. But it was too late to fix and hide the problem. Eventually it came back to haunt them, and branded as users of black magic, they were sentenced to death --- but the phenomena had already begun, and the Council members were too late. Within days, Lia and Eroh were dead. Within weeks, the rest of the adults went with them. Within months, only those under the age of twenty one survived.
Caught in the shadow of her parents' sin, Dali struggles daily to make everyone forget what could never be forgotten; she never whispers a word about knowing how to manipulate the dark magic, frightened of being cast out into the woods for death.
the player,
»»alias: Rin. Mika. Alicia. Dali ;3
»»age: 21.
»»contact: PM, email, aim ;3
»»rp sample:
Password:~Admin Edit~
How did you find us?: I was here when she had the lightbulb moment xD
" I keep on walking, though my soul was meant for flying;
my heart pumps blood right through the walls of
your desire: my heart pumps blood right through it. "
the basics,
»»character full name: Iadali Paolynn Aerandir
»»Nickname: Lynn, by most. Dali, by closer friends.
»»age: 14.
»»sexual orientation: She's just starting to notice boys ~.^
»»alignment: Light.
»»position: Herb Gatherer. Apprentice Healer.
»»gender: Female.
»»power: Earth: the ground shivers. Air: the wind howls. Water; rain falls. Fire, Light: lightning strikes. Shadow: thunder growls like a hungry beast.The storm paws at the ground, ready to charge --- an element does not stand alone -- they are simply different faces of the same creature, a different facet that expresses itself in myriad ways. When a storm howls, it is not just one element, but all that bind together and create havoc -- so in a way, Iadali is aware of all elements. Her power is earth, air, water, fire, light, shadow. Does she have power over the storms? Of course not. She simply knows -- she can feel it when the elements are binding together and darkness is coming. She can sing it to sleep -- it is in her nature to soothe, to pacify, not to wreak havoc. So this grand power is only that: the ability to lull the violent nature of storms into a peaceful murmur. Singing is her conduit. If she is sad, and she sings, it rains. Compassion has set her apart: she is part element herself, knowing that human courage and passion is a sort of element, too. In a way, she is the daughter of Mother Nature. In a way, the whole world is.
the appearance,
»»eyes: Grey, that sharpens into sea-green.
»»markings: Behind her left ear begins a long scar in the shape of claws, where she had been attacked by a mutant animal when she was younger.
»»height: 5'1
»»weight: 105 lbs.
»»general appearance: Dali is a very small girl, obviously right on the cusp of adulthood, though she lingers on the shorter side for women. Still, she is a darling thing to behold -- if you miss certain details that set her apart. At 5'1, and weighing in at 105 pounds, Dali is slender, built much like a reed: but there is the element of a willow in the way she moves, the way she acts, as if she were in a constant state of changing, and this form, right now, is simply the beginning. That sentiment is often applied to her; with narrow bird-like shoulders and a small chest, she is not something many would look at; given the slightest cinch in her waist and the lean turn of her hips and legs -- it is quite obvious she is not something that invokes lust. But then, that too, is part of her nature.
She is almost ethereal, a fey girl in a coop of chickens: where others are husky and voluptuous, cunning in the flirtatious turn of their eyebrows, lashes, smiles, Dali is simply not. She walks with her back straight, her small, fragile bird-like shoulder blades pinching out of her back. In many ways, while others look hardened by their life in the village, Dali still maintains that delicacy and doll-like fragility dentrimental to life alone. But she manages. Her skin is pale, untouched by any tanning (though that in itself is odd), smooth and soft like a child's.
But that's not really what sets her apart: it's her hair, her eyes, the serene curve of her smile. The happiness. It is the long locks of white hair that fall down her back in glorious layers -- it is the color, more pure than snow, glittering in the sunlight. It it the way the bangs fall about her face, framing her in heart-shaped delight. It's the surreal cast of her eyes, grey and blue, as bright as the stars. She is a burning creature, cast in ice. She is odd, with her wide-set, luminous eyes framed in white hair, white skin. Like jewels they shimmer and gleam, pure, where others have begun to adapt to darker magics. Her purity is soul-deep, and it shines in her face with calm, innocence, strength. There is mettle in her bones, in the straight way she walks, the careful way that one foot goes in front of the other: as if she were dancing, as if there was a path she knew she had to walk -- and others didn't.
She is set apart by the grace that bends her structure: the way she seems to glide instead of walk. The way that wind plays with her hair; the way that light caresses her face. She is clean -- there is no blood on her hands. No dirt under her finger nails. Often wearing a gown of white with little cuffs at her wrists and thigh-length socks on her legs -- she knows the only color is her eyes. And the red. Little glimpses of red here and there: a ribbon in her cuff, her shoes, a ribbon around her neck. These are the delicacies, the weak little girl playing dress up, though she'll only smile if you say it.
There is a scar, on her back, crawling up the otherwise clean line of her neck where a forest cat had nearly killed her; she had been saved, but it marred the curve of her back.
the personality,
»»likes:
x the idea of love
x warmth
x happiness
x calm
x tenderness
x friends (though she has none)
x flowers
x honey
x the color white
x moonlight
x helping others
x animals
x compassion, kindness, friendliness
x singing
x the stars
x playfulness
»»dislikes:
x violence
x amity
x arguments
x ruthlessness
x loneliness
x seriousness
x grudges
x cold
x cloudy days
x storms (hah)
»»strengths:
x Temperament: she never loses her cool, and is always able to think straight. Very few things frazzle her.
x Steady: not only her temperament, but her hands are always steady; if she is needed for things, she is very good with her hand, and reliable.
x Unbiased: even if she does not like a person, she does not spite them, but will help if she feels they are in the right. If anyone is hurt or needs help, she will do so, without pause.
x Singing: she can sing storms to sleep, of course. Rather self-explanatory.
»»weaknesses:
x Compassion: because of her compassionate nature she is easily taken advantage of. In a situation where she knows she will be taken advantage of, she will still help, feeling that a little good is better than nothing at all.
x Personality: because of how she carries herself, others often misjudge her for acting above her station, and she is often ignored or bullied until she is needed.
x Her beliefs: it is common knowledge what she thinks about the mutated animals (how even they need her help) and not only does it create tension in the village, but is a topic of much scorn.
xHeritage: Dali is often labeled because of her parents.
»»secrets:
x She knows the secrets to using Dark Magic.
»»general personality:
Young, bright slender girl; she smiles because she cares -- there is no false modesty, there is no cunning other than the cunning of kindness. Dali exists in a world of darkness, but persists in seeing only the bright. It is her strength, this inability to bow down against words, against the harsh path that has opened up before her feet. It is her world, and she cherishes every moment of it. She knows the pain of loss, knows grief, terror, fear -- but it does not stop her from acting, it does not freeze her limbs. Dali can still hold her head up high and smile in that tender way she has, her eyes crinkling at the ends, because when ti comes down to it, she cherishes life most of all.
Others are addicted to the pulse of their element, influenced and drugged on the power that flows through their veins and distorts their vision. Dali, only sees the truth as she knows it: once compassion dies, there is nothing left to live for. So she gives with all her heart, hurts herself for the sake of another as long as a little bit of happiness, a little bit of good has come out from the shadows. There is no point in waiting -- violence will only beget violence, and she knows best of all. Animals are mutated, tempers are flaring -- a circle of protectors has risen, but it doesn't stop life from going on. It doesn't stop the badness, the evil that festers in everyone's soul.
Dali is a creature made of light and purity: her hands are as clean as her smile, without a shadow of uncertainty. A zealot of kindness, for a helping hand, she ignores what she perceives to be the filthier emotions: lust, anger, frost of arrogance. She puts it aside and still smiles so prettily. Unbiased and compassionate, she'll help with everything she has because it is in her nature to do so. She soothes, she touches, she consoles: her soul isn't for war, isn't for destruction. Healing is her calling, and she embraces it with the passion that most pick up a weapon. There is healing in a smile; there is only death at the end of a sword.
In tune with emotions, Dali is perfectly synchronized with the weather, feeling the shifting moods and temperaments that flash out -- she feels the storm in her heart and lulls it back to sleep. Others look at her and perceive her kindness as a front for the darker emotions she must be hiding: but she is not her mother. She is not her father. It is why she remains so unbiased -- from personal experience she has known the consequences of being a victim of a parent's sins. It should not pass down. Grievances should be laid to rest. Easily forgiving, playful, thoughtful -- she is very much the owl caught in the farmer's chicken coop. There is wisdom in her heart, though she is so young. There is truth before her eyes and she is not afraid to see it. There are those who are playing with dark magic: she knows it, but remains silent. She is moved by emotion, by the whims of warmth, of tenderness: she dreams of love, fosters a romantic obsession with someone who could see past the eyes, the hair, the complexion: see past the sins of the father and the mother and see only the girl, only the quiet, but never stoic young girl. She is not as strong as they think she is.
Dali gets lonely. She cries. She sings when the sadness is too much. She is alone, so alone, but she will always smile -- and continue to smile until there is someone out there who will help her. It is her dream to feel such a tragic love, to know the feeling of her heart hammering in her ears, of her face flushed from embarrassment: these are the things she wants, but she knows it could never be, and so she is as she is. The social pariah giving kindness where she could, when she could, trying to convince others with her actions how serious she is -- and burying the playful, mirthful girl that she is. She wants to dance in the rain -- but what would they think? So she doesn't. No, no, she is not as strong as everyone thinks. Dali wants someone to depend on, but she doesn't have the strength to reach out and do it: she knows she will fall, for who would ever catch her if she jumped?
the history,
»»mother: Lianeo Aerandir
»»father: Eroh Aerandir
»»siblings: None.
»»others: None.
»»background: It was different when the adults were still alive; it was different when there was no real death hidden in every branch, ever sliver of shadow that fell across your path. Different, and easier -- easier to laugh, to smile, to dance under the sunshine and pick flowers to put in your hair. Iadali wasn't the darling daughter coddled by her parents -- she was an anomaly from the start. Adorable, perhaps; loved, perhaps; but there was always that wonder, and worry -- that little bit of disappointment that she could have been something, someone great and she never did make it. Lia and Eroh weren't unkind; they simply existed, and loved, to an extent the daughter they conceived -- but it was, truly, only the beginning.
It had been different, and easier when the adults were alive -- but it was also the adults who destroyed everything. Black magic was just a coined phrase adopted afterward; at the time, it was simply a notion, a little idea that slowly, but inevitably took hold in Lia's mind. It festered, and grew, and her powers warped, her ability to help, to do something worthwhile over running the rational sense that would have stopped it before it got out of control. She experimented, and her daughter watched, learned -- first hand, knowing how to warp the element in your heart, in her veins and use it for controlling lesser creatures. Dali can still remember her mother's bright smile, flashing eyes as she said, "Think of all the good!" but that was only in the beginning. When Eroh began to use, and abuse the power -- Dali was no longer able to watch.
Closeted out, and disconnected from her family, Iadali grew up on her own, but she was always curious, always wanting to know what her parents did behind the locked door: when she finally managed to claw her way in while they were out at a council meeting, she found only death on the other side. Rotted corpses dumped in bins, cages of forest cats mutated and ferocious -- but drugged, watching her through heavy lidded, sleepy eyes. She could not stop herself from edging closer to the cage, from touching the heavy paw, the sheathed claws -- it did not react. Filled with compassion for the wretched thing, she found the keys to the padlock and opened the door: it did not react. So she left it, turning her back, her hand on the doorknob: but that was when the near-corpse came to life and lunged at her back -- slicing her from neck to the small of her back. Her parents came right as she was destined for death -- parting the two, her mother took her to the clinic while Eroh took control of the creature and put it back in it's cage (even attacking his own daughter, it was too valuable for death).
The story was generalized and covered: the stupid girl had gone out into the forest and was attacked. She was too scared to say anything.
When the population of mutated beasts became too much to hide, Eroh and Lia spread the world of dark magic -- spreading out the confusion and the suspicion on anyone. But it was too late to fix and hide the problem. Eventually it came back to haunt them, and branded as users of black magic, they were sentenced to death --- but the phenomena had already begun, and the Council members were too late. Within days, Lia and Eroh were dead. Within weeks, the rest of the adults went with them. Within months, only those under the age of twenty one survived.
Caught in the shadow of her parents' sin, Dali struggles daily to make everyone forget what could never be forgotten; she never whispers a word about knowing how to manipulate the dark magic, frightened of being cast out into the woods for death.
the player,
»»alias: Rin. Mika. Alicia. Dali ;3
»»age: 21.
»»contact: PM, email, aim ;3
»»rp sample:
For a while, there is no emotion -- only solitude unraveling it's wings around her. For a moment, there is only silence. Ever expanding, ever quiet: it is the hand of death that reaches out to silence your voice. It is Fate, that slips her delicate hands into your tiny skull and forces you into another shape -- taking the path that your feet must walk and warping it into darkness. For a while, there isn't even Lucy, who stands so quietly, so intently numb -- focused on each particle of rain that drops down on her skin, each cold kiss that heightens her awareness and erases each morbid surge of pain in her heart.
She is alone: it is evident in the faces she sees as she passes. Evident in the way her hands are still at her sides, her eyes a constant shift -- from one strange face to the other. Is there even hatred left in her heart? She is full of ash, twisting and distorting what could have been innocent and beautiful. This is Lucy, inhuman, hateful Lucy -- and there is only loneliness here. Only a child's perception on a world that had spurned her. If she had been stronger, she could have protected him. So instead, she is walking down roads, getting lost in the very heart Tokyo. --- no, no, getting lost in the maze that exists under her breast.
There she is -- for all to see, but it is a painful thing to behold, a pitiful thing. Eyes slip away from the ruffled curls in her hair, from the hard line of silence that quivers on the edges of her lips. Maybe they would have spoken to her, if she had tried to open up -- if she were not treading a dangerous line between life, and death, a death of voices, crying in her ears. A death of insanity, screaming at her, urging her to relinquish her hold on sanity and destroy, to hold so tenderly, the wicked string that links flesh to body. It's there, a niggling tug, slipping along the edges of her consciousness: the whispers, the intent, dark as poison, and just as vile. Danger vibrates through her muscles, but she is made of liquid stone -- she walks as if there is no agony ripping her into shreds. She walks, as if every moment that goes by does not have Kouta's face glimpsed in each person, his voice heard in the rumbling, tumbling mob of Tokyo's finest -- and worst.
Is there a point in wondering about the past? Lucy tilts her head up, caressed by wind and rain, dark burgeoning clouds filling up the grey sky. It's coming, a storm to rip free her emotions -- a storm as dark and nefarious as the clouds that ruffle about in playful menace. She feels it in her fingers, in the numbness that centralizes the purity of her longing. She cannot escape this fate, any more than she can change who she is.
A weapon cast aside has more purpose than this woman; this darling, lonely girl on the verge of delirium. Has she sickened from the cold? Has she found herself a path, at last? There is only darkness before her, darkness behind her. She can open her hands and only darkness will pool in her palms -- thus she has become, as poisonous as the insidious whispers of whimsical need. She craves destruction, feels the pulsing addiction on her tongue as she rolls it around; the rain has made her mute.
It falls, and she falls with it, her heart glimpsed between the shattered pieces of her depression. Lips falling apart, her fingers slip into the heaviness of her hair, pushing it back, those hated bangs, as she stares into the sky; eyelids fluttering closed as the water erases her tears. For a moment, she struggles. For a moment, the silence of eternity is too much to bear.
"H-hey, are you okay?" her eyes flick over, red, so red, yet muted, dulled by the ever-expanding wings of misfortune. She does not smile as her vectors slips out from their sheathes, invisible, deadly extensions that slip through that poor boy's body, caressing the beating of his heart, as she stares, stares, sees a flutter of unease before she tears it all apart. There is no pause -- one moment, there are men and women, boys, girls, dogs, slipping away, running from the rain, the next, there is blood raining down, blood slipping over her skin to dilute in water running around their feet. Shocked silence, cries of terror -- but Lucy is in her own world, her own universe, held suspended by hated strings, a puppet to despair. Lucy is gone, gone, her hands reaching out for the one thing she can see, and watches the rivulets of someone else's blood slide down her fingers and palms.
She is alone: it is evident in the faces she sees as she passes. Evident in the way her hands are still at her sides, her eyes a constant shift -- from one strange face to the other. Is there even hatred left in her heart? She is full of ash, twisting and distorting what could have been innocent and beautiful. This is Lucy, inhuman, hateful Lucy -- and there is only loneliness here. Only a child's perception on a world that had spurned her. If she had been stronger, she could have protected him. So instead, she is walking down roads, getting lost in the very heart Tokyo. --- no, no, getting lost in the maze that exists under her breast.
There she is -- for all to see, but it is a painful thing to behold, a pitiful thing. Eyes slip away from the ruffled curls in her hair, from the hard line of silence that quivers on the edges of her lips. Maybe they would have spoken to her, if she had tried to open up -- if she were not treading a dangerous line between life, and death, a death of voices, crying in her ears. A death of insanity, screaming at her, urging her to relinquish her hold on sanity and destroy, to hold so tenderly, the wicked string that links flesh to body. It's there, a niggling tug, slipping along the edges of her consciousness: the whispers, the intent, dark as poison, and just as vile. Danger vibrates through her muscles, but she is made of liquid stone -- she walks as if there is no agony ripping her into shreds. She walks, as if every moment that goes by does not have Kouta's face glimpsed in each person, his voice heard in the rumbling, tumbling mob of Tokyo's finest -- and worst.
Is there a point in wondering about the past? Lucy tilts her head up, caressed by wind and rain, dark burgeoning clouds filling up the grey sky. It's coming, a storm to rip free her emotions -- a storm as dark and nefarious as the clouds that ruffle about in playful menace. She feels it in her fingers, in the numbness that centralizes the purity of her longing. She cannot escape this fate, any more than she can change who she is.
A weapon cast aside has more purpose than this woman; this darling, lonely girl on the verge of delirium. Has she sickened from the cold? Has she found herself a path, at last? There is only darkness before her, darkness behind her. She can open her hands and only darkness will pool in her palms -- thus she has become, as poisonous as the insidious whispers of whimsical need. She craves destruction, feels the pulsing addiction on her tongue as she rolls it around; the rain has made her mute.
It falls, and she falls with it, her heart glimpsed between the shattered pieces of her depression. Lips falling apart, her fingers slip into the heaviness of her hair, pushing it back, those hated bangs, as she stares into the sky; eyelids fluttering closed as the water erases her tears. For a moment, she struggles. For a moment, the silence of eternity is too much to bear.
"H-hey, are you okay?" her eyes flick over, red, so red, yet muted, dulled by the ever-expanding wings of misfortune. She does not smile as her vectors slips out from their sheathes, invisible, deadly extensions that slip through that poor boy's body, caressing the beating of his heart, as she stares, stares, sees a flutter of unease before she tears it all apart. There is no pause -- one moment, there are men and women, boys, girls, dogs, slipping away, running from the rain, the next, there is blood raining down, blood slipping over her skin to dilute in water running around their feet. Shocked silence, cries of terror -- but Lucy is in her own world, her own universe, held suspended by hated strings, a puppet to despair. Lucy is gone, gone, her hands reaching out for the one thing she can see, and watches the rivulets of someone else's blood slide down her fingers and palms.
Password:~Admin Edit~
How did you find us?: I was here when she had the lightbulb moment xD
