I would like to note I have no rights over the song (Eraser by Ed Sheeran)
I was born inside a small town, I lost that state of mind
Learned to sing inside the Lord's house, but stopped at the age of nine
I forget when I get awards now the wave I had to ride
The paving stones I played upon, they kept me on the grind
Quiet sobbing could be heard from the other side of a propped open door, a dark shadow cast over the hallway carpet. The room seemed to be a bathroom, for the floor was cold tile, and on the cold tile lay a small ginger man, who for his age, seemed look no older than about 15. There were a mixture of empty and full ale bottles and a pipe with a suspicious looking powder spilling out from the top, and the pipe was...
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The huff from the horse was only heard, it’s hoof’s pressing against the cold, winter snow. Various sounds were heard about the forest, but none more surprising than the sounds of a few birds. Had winter been coming to an end so soon, Vivienne thought. No.
“Lance,” Vivienne started, giving a silent sigh. “I suppose we should arrive sometime soon and out of this cold weather, don’t you think?” The horse nevertheless responded with a neigh, a sound that Vivienne loved about horses. Lance, being that he was almost old and ready to pass from the world, had always obeyed Vivienne and Vivienne knew his different neigh’s and what they each meant, and she ultimately knew that this certain neigh was a yes.
Gazing up to the sky, Vivienne...
♩ ♪ ♫ ♬
The shadow of the new moon cast its umber gaze upon the encampment of curiosities. The embers of the dwindling bonfire leaked warmth to those who encircled it, the dancers and acrobats basking in the summer night. Surrounding them were those in chains and shackles, coughing and shivering in their circle of the unwanted, the outcast. Beyond those freaks of nature, in a black box of obsidian with a gate ladened with mage crystal enwrapped with chains of silver and iron one creature was kept in solitary confinement. So cursed was he that even bound and caged was he kept from all.
The ringmaster and his comrades were drunk, rambling and ranting to whilst their slaves slept. They cared not for the sleep of those beneath them no...
- - -
- - -
"No winter last forever;
no spring skips its turn."
- Hal Borland
- - -
How winter had come and gone, leaving its snowy time of thoughts behind. No more was there an excuse to stay holed up inside the house, pondering the last summer, spring, and fall with contempt, instead the sun shining brightly and inviting all out of their boring households. Though it had not yet come, the lingering smell of salty ocean promised groggy wake ups from humid mornings that always came in the late spring. For now though, only the rainfalls melted the nighty frost off of the leaves sprouting on tree branches and filled the basins of bird baths that sat in estate gardens, polished by servants who finally felt awake for the first time in...
Her breathing stopped, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she died, the moment she did, a bright light engulfed her. She had been in pain, but such a pain screeched to a halt as she was enveloped. She saw herself flying South, towards Hadar up to the mountain in which the Dragons resided. She saw the golden gates, they flung open for her and she walked in, looking around in awe, she was in paradise.
The city was beautiful, Allar all around her were happy, skipping around in pure white robes, she soon realized she was wearing her armor, in all of its glory. It looked shiny, pearlescent even, her shield strapped firmly onto her arm and her sword buckled to her belt, neat. She had the incentive to walk forward, towards the...
ＡＭＢＩＡＮＣＥ
▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬
"The weak are meat and the strong do eat.
The strong eat the weak...
...but what about parasites?
One who uses a host for their own survival...
Is that guilty?"
▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬
What a familiar feeling... the restrictiveness of the hù̴̢̙̱͔͓̬̔̅̀̽̏mȧ̴̤͕̔̑̃͂̑͛̅̿͌n bő̵̹̝͖̞̣̹̦͋̾͂̄̈̈̀̚͜͝ͅd̷̗̬̰̓͗̓̐̀̆͘y̵̹͓̠͔̳̣̮͂
To see through your eyes, the world around you still looks no different to me.
But it's what you desire that brought you here, and these are the things I'm blind to.
Something is telling me:
This is what we have in common, but so different at the same time.
A body destroyed; a physicality regained...
Two-hundred sixty. The year of my transformation.
A baby chicken I was, breaking through to...
The faintest scent of sea salt had been lost to the smoke the billowed from the bonfire her father had set up. Mother carefully stoked the fire, keeping herself close to the flames to stay warm. I remember watching the clouds cover up the moon, only for it's sliver light to pierce it's way through again. The bitter cold sea let out gentle whispers as waves pressed themselves along the edge of the shore. I wanted to step out into it, but knew father would scold me if I tried.
"Could I just go back onto the ship to grab my favorite blanket?" I asked, curling up beside him with my best beggar's eyes.
"No, Mani." He said, quite simply, and continued to smoke from his long pipe.
I remember crossing my arms with a huff before mother added...
----
----
Fireworks from the few that managed to get their hands onto them shot into the Regalian sky as midnight bells tolled the New Year. 208 AC had arrived onto Aloria, at least onto this piece of it finally as others waited for the time to arrive for themselves, and further others had already crawled into bed from their earlier celebrations.
A certain Harhold leaned onto the sill of her bedroom window, having long sense pulled said window open so that she could watch the distant celebration. Like many, she did not plan to actually celebrate until the following weekend when unstopping work was put at a short pause for weekend rest- even a brand new year was no reason for work to end. Of course, that wouldn’t stop her from...
Sentiment. Sentiment frequents the mind and aches the heart. Memories of friends long gone, times long past- perhaps even dreams and ambitions formerly possessed. More often than not, yours truly is susceptible to such belligerent nostalgia. Though not particularly in accordance to any of the aforementioned scenarios. Instead, a far more common notion makes its presence known with the grumbling of a stomach and the wetting of ones mouth. A far more human affection.
Hunger.
Moreover, proper appetite.
Crisp, cut wedges of russet potatoes- lightly sprinkled finely with rosemary and a dash of dried Daendroq pepper powder. Mildly charcoal on its edges, yet sizzling golden-brown along every other surface. A superb crunch on it outermost...
Einh. leaving the city, consequently me leaving Massive on hiatus.
Om̴̨̢̺̪̘̹̅̄̇͋̋͗̆̀͗͜n̶̢̡̦̦̆̃͋͐͋͒̎͝î̶̧̼̲̟̬s̴̨̡̬̲̲̃̈͂̅̃̅̋̋̕c̵̛̻̖͕̔̄͛̈́̍i̴̻̔e̵̢̱̺̞̫̤͙̩̭̍̉̐̈͗̒́͝n̴̖͚̙̥̮̿̿̃̃̓̈͘t̵̞̰̞͎̝̑͜ ̸̧͓̹͋̔Re̸͍̣̖̳̊̿͘͜͝a̷̺̹̦̫̥̜͒̈́͗̈̔͌̆͝d̷̳͖̍͒͝ȇ̵̲̟͜ŗ̴̛͚̞̝̱͖̙̭̋́̃̐̄̾̈́͂,
Brilliant lights, pubs, Man
Holy City; Aloria,
Simple, befuddled Url.
As Url dare to dream—
restraining expectations.
Really, a nightmare.
Tired, exhausted.
eyes shut; nary warning
Elusive slumber.
Through forest expanse;
as zephyr caresses body,
The forest beckons.
Omniscient Reader,
Url travels afar; turmoiled,
He wishes peace of mind.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛ ✠ ┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓ ✠ ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
OOC Notes:
Some haiku-esque thing I tried out, if I did...
He could still remember their exchanged words as he stood on that balcony again, feeling the light breeze against his tanned, scarred skin. The conversation and events that happened as they stood there that night, it was all still clear in his head as if it were branded to his mind. He let out a quiet sigh, further recalling that moment.
Many times she showed him her guilt. That she, along with her own presence, was the one responsible for his suffering. Inside, he knew it was true. The path that he walked upon by choosing to stand by her side, it only got rougher as time passed. The branding of the Crimson Lions on his right hand, wrapped and concealed with gauze, it was because he was standing by her side. The amount of times his...
Music
((OOC note: Feel free to respond ICly or OOCly if you see it fit. As I always say: If you feel that the weight of this is too much to handle, please leave. For those who think they can brave through, please continue as you have been warned.))
A Letter from Home
As the spring rain gently tapped against the roof and the windows of Connak's house, the Sundial sat beside a flickering torch in his lounge over looking a letter. Connak would set the letter down on the table as the tears strolled down his face. "Mama, I don't want to be alone again." Connak quietly says through his tears. The letter reads as follows:
A lot has happened since you've been in Regalia. Your father has passed away and I've been growing ever more sick. Your...
Music
((OOC note: Feel free to respond ICly or OOCly if you see it fit. As I always say: If you feel that the weight of this is too much to handle, please leave. For those who think they can brave through, please continue as you have been warned.))
The Sound of Silence
"It's the same old story, all over again. I can't sleep, I can't focus on much, these voices need to go." Is what a paranoid Connak whispers into the night as he lies awake in bed, with the echos of the voices in his head.
"You are NOTHING!!!"
"Don't give in Dack..."
"We're here for you my love."
The Sundial would let out a loud sigh as the voices continued. "When will it end? When will it bloody end?" He'd again whisper.
"Soon." A new voice would softly speak in a...
Juane wakes up, her hair twisted and kept in a bun. Small beams of sunlight shine through her curtains.
With an annoyed sigh, the Songaskia removes her sheets and moves towards the side of the bed where she would sit for a good five minutes. "Damn," she curses in Sofaal. This year, she dislikes the idea of Wintertide. Not that the cold bothers her in any way, but all the festivities that come along with it. It all annoys her this year, and not without reason. After debating whether she should go back to bed or get dressed, Juane decides to go with the latter. After spending twenty minutes in the bathroom, the Songaskia goes for breakfast. After that's all and done, she goes for a walk, getting some fresh air.
While wandering through...
Sometimes if she thought hard and long enough, she could picture it. Fen’nan could picture when her world changed. Or when she thought it did. But in truth it started when she was born, she knew. Venalaris had told it long ago, and she’d heard and listened, believed. But she thought it was much easier to blame him then fate. Or whatever the gods had planned. Less dreadful to think this was what fate planned.
Fen’nan begrudgingly got up from her bed, moving as stiffly and as quietly as possible so as not to stir her company, grabbing her black tunic shirt off the floor, throwing it over herself before padding across the room to stand on the balcony, midnight air kissing her face as she leaned over the railing, emitting a weary sigh. It...
A small, groggy groan came from her lips.
The doctor slowly opened her eyes, taking several blinks to get her eyes wider, and then the ringing set in. A loud ringing sounded off like strings of bells between her ears. Her vision was split. It took a moment or two for her mind to settle down, for the ringing to silence, and for her vision to become one again. She stood up in the bed- no... Cot? Yes, cot that she was laying down on. She scanned the surroundings for her glasses, and after a while found them on the table next to the cot. She reached down, picked them up, and gently placed them on her face. Her vision was focused on her surroundings, but she noticed something was wrong. She shifted her vision from the room to her glasses...
Here's a short little lore story that's essentially Cieli's response to some recent things.
Deep within the cellar of her home, Cieli stood with a stave in each hand. In her right, she held a stave with a shaft adorned with various nature and stallion symbols. In her opinion, it was a weapon that was better suited for ceremonial events than every day fighting. But, even so, it was still a fine weapon. In her left hand, she held a much more worn stave made of sturdy, ebony wood and steel. The shaft of this weapon bore her last name, and was quite worn from use. The Altalar took one last look at each, a forlorn expression on her face, then placed them down. She then picked up a third stave that had been lying within her basement, for...
The atmosphere in the Nook felt an equal combination of both calm, but also a tad tiresome. It had long been emptied, the last patron taking their leave shortly after the other employees. Only Milo remained in the empty tavern behind the counter, clutching a bottle of sake. He tried to keep the amount of memories of certain events to a minimum. That way he would not have to worry about it crossing his mind.
But alas, certain ghosts of the past tend to revisit the Brood, reminding him of an old flame; one that he thought had been snuffed out, like a candle that had lost its flare. And along with the memories of the times spent in the past, of his crimson eye gazing into chocolate brown ones, where he thought he felt himself smile each...
The city was particularly dark in his eyes. A man who came to this city to do good, to try and strengthen the Synod. Instead he arrived just for it to fall.
Of course this was conflicted in the paladin’s head, as he had failed his duty, but it was the will of the Spirit. All he had known was gone with a snap of his fingers, one night of sleeping and life for Unionists everywhere had changed.
He had awoken as he always did, his children waking him for breakfast. Honey rolls was the plan, though the news his eldest son carried was tragic, and honey rolls no longer seemed appropriate.
His eldest son was preparing to be sent to the school of Sancella, his dream to be a reverend, so it was only natural he had heard the news. He spoke in...
The room was dark and was only lit by a burning candle. Wilhelm sat crouched in his chair as he was writing an epistle to the Reverends in the Archrevery of Salvation. It was written in his home language, though he was not quite satisfied. He had an appointment that day to meet with someone who could write well and was a Leutz-Vixe so he could translate his epistle to Leutz-Vixe. The Synod had troubles maintaining the loyalty of some of its Archreveries and Wilhelm hoped to inspire that lacked trait in the Archrevery his home was influenced by.
The sounds of steps echoed across the hall and Wilhelm picked up his head to see who it was. One of his younger Curates stood in front of him, panting and sweating. "Father Hiberson, the...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ailleann was never one to get in the way of someone’s happiness, but it has never been this hard before. She was sitting at her desk surrounded by dozens of open books. She had a quill in her hand, parchment in front of her, and her reading glasses which were slipped low on her nose, though she did nothing to fix them.
With tired eyes she sighed and leaned back in her chair, setting her quill down on her desk and bringing her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth; something that had become a source of comfort for her while she was away from Regalia. When she pulled up her scarf she was expecting a cardinal red tone and a hint of the Nook she loved so much,
but...
Theme
Loyalty:
Loiəltē
Noun:
“A strong feeling of support or allegiance.”
Swinging the axe downwards, the log was cut into halves and soon clattered into the twin piles on either side of the stump. Seraphina rubbed her gloved thumbs over the sheen coating of the handle of the axe. A frown creased her features as she caught sight of her distorted reflection in the blade. Tired eyes, a red-tipped nose and generally a dreary and exhausted look was to her, only made far worse by the distortion of the metal.
Her breath came away in a white mist as she hooked the axe into a belt hoop. Leaning down, she gathered the piles under her arms and began her trek back towards the looming form of the Vauclain homestead. Tired eyes examined the...
He reread it for a moment, making sure it looked alright. He'd been up fir a while, writing. Something he'd not done in some time. After looking over it once more, he stood from his seat, stepping over to the desk on the other side of the room. Upon placing the slip of paper on the desk, he went back downstairs, taking a step outside for now.
~·~
Like the clear river
As similar to a breeze
Be at ease and flow
But some waters rush
The winds can make haste with rage
Hard to be at ease
But do keep your calm
Don't let anger consume you
Please remain at ease
I've watched but still watch
Really, you have me worried
The reason I write
Don't cage yourself in
Regain your trust in others
You still have mine
If feelings cause tears
Carry...
William's head rang as the latest blow of many rocked him, knocking him against the wall he was now cornered into for perhaps the fiftieth time that day. The last vestiges of air from his lungs escaped with a violent huff as his back met the stone, exiting his lips in a jet of steam that seemed to match the colour of the snow dredged about them.
As all exhausted men do, his legs gave way beneath him as his breath left him, vision spinning like a small boat in a great storm as he sat. Snow crunched about him even as he descended, the blistering cold hardly noticeable to him as he glanced up to focus his vision on his assailant. He hardly heard what the Orc had said, seeing only the movement of lips and the cautious approach that no...
Fen’nan assessed the damage.
It felt like deja vu for a moment. With the last slice of her blade she was the only life left in the room. It was so familiar, Ithanian floors and furnishings. The dark bedrooms. The smell of drying blood. So much blood. It was on her, but it blended in with the fitting, dark leathers she wore, so she knew she could skip out unseen. But it wasn’t covered here.
She could see it everywhere.
Even in the dark bedroom, where only moonlight from the windows at her back streamed in and gave her the ability to see. She could see everything. There was blood all over the once white bed, it pooled and spilled from the fresh corpse of the slashed throat of a dead woman, her silvery-blonde hair soaked in red, like...
There were many things that made up what she was. Who she was. Like a gem with too many angles and perspectives, where light could hit it differently.
Hurt had never come to mind when she thought of herself.
It didn’t, until tonight at least. She was now. She couldn’t breathe. Not as she stormed through the snow, nearly running as she hugged herself and stomped her way through the snow. It hurt, physically. Everything hurt. She wasn’t supposed to hurt. She wanted to scream, and run, and cry and...hurt. She wanted to hurt other people, mostly. She knew she did, so she kept moving. Kept running. She just had to run.
Fen’nan thought if she stopped for just one moment it would all hit and she couldn’t let that happen. Her red hair...
Five years had passed since that day at the abandoned Tavern.
“Where are we going, Henry?”
“You’ll see. It’s very special.”
The Kathar smiled as he held his adopted child’s hand, leading her down a long, decorative path, away from the gang and into the forest. Flowers were blooming on the sides, some even sprouting from between the cracks on the ancient cobblestone road. Trees hovered above them, their leaves rustling peacefully in the summer wind. The path would take them on a hike to the top of a mountain, where they’d finally reach their destination, a cliff with a beautiful view of Essalonia’s vast forests, rivers and mountains. The sun was just setting, its rays luminating a bright pink shade across the sky. And in...
♩ ♪ ♫ ♬
It had been years since Olivia had donned her cloak of violet and black, hiding the colors of her house beneath silks dyed in the hues of a slumbering sky. She swept through the underworld of Regalia with her hood drawn tight. Chestnut curls peeking out from the shadows and resting on her chest as the Ombre matriarch made her way to the docks.
She was cautious, keeping her identity unknown as she made unsavory purchases. There was no need, her name seemingly forgotten to the annals of history and consequence of failure; yet there was precedent. Olivia had known the city and its inhabitants through times of peace and turmoil and in either state there was always a hand to be dealt. Whether or not that hand was in your favor was...
{ x }
“Wait -- wait, okay, what’s that one, then?”
A low sigh mingled in with the cricket chirps that filled the flower-filled field behind the Silva plantation and, for a moment, she swore she was going to strangle him before he even left. Her head, cushioned by one of her arms, tilted to the side to view the young Daen with equal parts annoyance and fondness.
“I just told you… That one is Oxoron.”
“No, I thought you said the one over there was Oxoron!”
The Daen boy’s arm flailed for a moment and pointed in the opposite direction that her own was pointed, which garnered another exasperated sigh from the Sihai.
“I swear to the Stars, why do I bother with you?”
“Because I leave for the academy tomorrow and you’re going to...
OOC: This Lore Story is divided between three perspectives of characters that I have played or am playing on MassiveCraft. Please understand that the perspective of those that I have played are merely only there to give a proper send-off to those characters and to make the story more entertaining to read. This story also contains gothic elements as well as mature themes such as coping with loss and depression. If you are unable to handle these mature themes, please click away. You have been warned.
~(+)~
~(+)~
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~(+)~
Author's Note: With these two characters being sent off (Andreas and Xayn), I think it time to say that the "Fractured Light" series has taken on a more darker tone as Dalerak takes up the mantle. I will also be...
The high pitched whimpers persisted, coming from behind the bar’s chipped wooden counter. Henry’s frozen heart immediately felt a churning from the guilt… He gave Frank a quick, disbelieving glance before carefully making his way to the source of the crying… There was no doubt about it, a small toddler was cradled in a pile of blankets underneath the counter, fussing about for its mother. The Kathar stared at her, his hands trembling. He lost grip of his sword, throwing it to the side, before falling to his knees.
He couldn’t believe it… This made everything so much worse. Why did they have to have a kid? Why would they birth a child in such a terrible situation? They knew they’d be hunted… And now Henry just made an orphan. His...
Music
((OOC NOTE: As I always say: If you feel that the weight of this is too much to handle, please leave. For those who think they can brave through, please continue as you have been warned.))
Voices
It's yet another sleepless night, and Connak lays on the bloodied floor of his dark basement.
"You are broken... You are alone... You are cursed... You are NOTHING!"
A voice echoes through the darkest depths of his head. Connak silently agrees with the voice and closes his eyes as he lays where he is. For being in an emmence amount of pain, Connak softly weeps.
"Andre... Alessa... I need both of you more then ever."
Is all Connak can say before he starts crying. Filled with sadness and emptiness, the voice echoes again.
"Go...
(This is part one of an origin story for one of my characters. Expect the next few parts anywhere from later tonight to a week from now)
“You… You’re hopeless, you know that, Henry...?”
The words still lingered in the back of the Kathar’s mind, tormenting him to the very core. The only person in the world that mattered to him, the only one who ever made him feel anything other than hate, had died muttering these words in her final breaths. It had been a whole decade since the duo met in Essalonia, and at least five years since Henry’s lover passed away, yet he still couldn’t get her out of his damn head. But, he had work to do, he’d just have to keep ignoring it.
Henry happens to be in a gang known as The Family, a group...
Lily Janssen is not known to get in fights. Especially fights with several Kathar, all at once. Sadly, luck was not on her side on that day.
Lily decided to take a trip down to the Newtown Clinic to see if anyone needed assistance, or if there were supplies the Medical Regiment needed at Greygate that were available for purchase.
Mistake one: She went alone.
She found no one and no supplies. Either the Newtown Clinic was in a really bad situation and burned through their supplies, or a thief decided to visit the clinic. Lily chose to go with the second option as she picked up a needle and thread.
Mistake two: She took a shortcut.
Lily had been gone for longer than she should have, so she decided to take a run through Oldtown to...
Author's Note: This was meant to be originally released on the 30th of November (yesterday), but due to real life, it will be posted today. This continues on from the previous day and contains the same themes. You have been warned.
~(+)~
"There was always a beast within you, Dalerak. You just never noticed it slumbering in your soul until now."
Dalerak was never really good to begin with, but the feeling of his soul splintering and fracturing akin to stone being smashed with a blunt hammer was enough to crush whatever light remained within the darkness. There was no good left in him and it would show as he started to feel...
...nothing anymore. No emotions came bubbling to the surface as if they were cut off or just nearly impossible...
- - -
“She bled unspoken words from her fingers,
Watched as they fell from the ends of her hands,
Until the paper beneath her was smothered,
In thoughts she could not understand”
- e.h.
- - -
In the Harhold estate, through the halls and up staircases, the youngest of the house was hard at work. Wintertide was only a few weeks away, and so many needed their gifts from her. Haeddi was busy writing out a neatly cursive tag when the idea appeared to her.
Studying her handwriting- the looping ‘From Haeddi Harhold’ that marked the paper- she couldn’t help but lean back and give heavy consideration. Gifts were scattered across her bedroom floor in neat towers, others were unwrapped items resting on the windowsill of her room next to a few...
(OOC: Letters were already delivered just wanted to show them off)
Upon inspection, hidden within the leather cover of a familiar leather journal was several letters stuffed between the bindings.
◈ ━━━━━━ ⸙ ━━━━━━ ◈
-=+=-
◈ ━━━━━━ ⸙ ━━━━━━ ◈
"A writing intentionally made to be my last. Bidding a farewell to those that matter most. I had learnt in my few months away from home, how troubled and unpredictable the streets of Regalia is growing to be. So I wanted to practice writing what I would say to those I loved most. Just a draft! I don’t plan on finishing it, why would I?"
For Synne Lykke. My beloved older sister. I first want to say how sorry I'm with where I went. I know I had disappointed you greatly. You always spoke highly...
Author's Note: "The Darkness Within" is meant to dictate the days of meditation that Dalerak Xyan undergoes as he realigns. This story does contain dark/gothic themes as well as some mature themes such as dealing with depression and loss. This is another trilogy in the "Fractured Light" series where this will take you deep into the progression that would help to give definition to Dalerak's personality and immerse yourself in what happens when your whole world goes dark, shattering like glass. If you are unable to handle depression or loss, please click away. You have been warned.
~(+)~
"Did you believe that you were divine?"
It was never going to be easy dealing with the news of their murder and the dark beast within Dalerak's core...
Atticus wheezed, the exhale shuddering and uneven. He gingerly rolled over onto his left side, cautious of the fresh wound that tore across his opposite shoulder, and his narrowed eyes sought out the two figures that had begun to retreat further into the wood. With blurred vision that only threatened to grow weaker, he barely made out the tearful look that Hope had shot him from her perch within one of the departing women's grasp.
A growl slipped out from between gritted teeth, one that indicated unspoken agony, and with a hefty grimace, Atty forced his torso to rise from the earth. Hope's whimpering gradually drew quieter as the trio progressed deeper into the dark forest and out of sight, giving way to the persistent chatter of...
The following is an account of my character's youth, in flashes of memories, letters, diary entries, and otherwise! I'll ( hopefully ) be posting every so often, as I use this as a writing exercise and a way of fleshing out details ( inconsequential or otherwise ).