Latest Posts by selenorites - Page 3

what are your honest thought about your muse’s canon?

what’s the best inspiration ?

how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood ?

* MUNDAY ASKS .

29. what are your honest thoughts about your muse’s canon ?

anyone who has talked more than five minutes with me knows that my opinions are critical on her wasted potential. i think the basic concepts are interesting, i already liked her KG counterpart and i connected with her through those 30 minutes in-game screentime she had more than any other character, and that's exactly why i was so saddened that she was so awfully neglected. she could have been impactful, and not an subject of memes about how 'clingy' she is about a boy she met once. so in short : beautiful character, awfully handled, deserved a yuna arc.

38. what’s the best inspiration for your muse ?

aside from music, classical paintings and mythology, a big inspiration is the expansion of the lore ( with a little fnc and pitioss tied in ) i made years ago with a few friends back when i wrote leviathan more actively. although i don't have contact with most of them anymore, it's still a very important part of my ffxv character portrayals, and probably will be for as long as i write them.

40. ask anything // how much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood ?

is the moon made out of cheese

yes, mozzarella specifically.

munday asks!!!

at what age did you start RPing?

do you RP anywhere else, other than tumblr?

on what platform did you start RPing?

what made you choose this muse?

is there any other muse in this fandom you RP?

is there any other muse in this fandom you’d like to RP?

is there a muse you played on more platforms or in different moments of your life? 

did you have a muse you tried to play, but didn’t feel connected to?

did you have muse you tried to play, but ended up dropping for various reasons? (the rpc wasn’t active, you lost interest, etc)

would you be interested into playing a crossover? if yes, do you have any limits?

would you be interested into playing with doubles? 

what do you think about AUs?

what do you think about OCs?

what do you think about roleplaying with personals?

what do you think about roleplaying with anons?

what’s the best way to approach you to start playing together?

what was your first muse?

did you ever play a muse for more than a year?

do you have ship bias?

what’s a ship you don’t want to roleplay at all with this muse? (except Bad Illegal And Gross Stuff, of course)

what do you think of your muse’s popular fandom ship?

what do you think of your muse’s canon ship, if they have one?

would you play a OC x canon ship?

would you play a crossover ship?

do you play smut? do you play it only with characters you’re shipping with, or are you open for “one night stands”?

are you multiship?

are you interested into poly relationships for your muse?

is your muse canon divergent in any way?

what are your honest thought about your muse’s canon?

what are your favorite RP tropes to play? (angst, hurt-comfort, etc…)

do you regularly play crack?

do you regularly do dash commentaries?

what are your thoughts on dash commentary?

what are your thoughts on reblog karma?

if you aren’t a native english speaker, do you play in your first language too?

do you feel similar to your muse in any way?

do you feel different to your muse in any way?

what’s the best inspiration for your muse?

what’s a song that reminds you of your muse?

[ OBLIGATORY FREE SPACE!!! Ask anything you’d like! ]

                                                         come back                                                    even as a shadow                                                      even as a dream

Giulio Aristide Sartorio - Isaotta nel bosco/Fata Morgana, c. 1895

darling moon

* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐏𝐀𝐋 // there is strength in softness and no one knows this better than you. no one knows cruelty it took for you to learn to be so vulnerable. your sensitivity is your armor. you refuse to let the world crush you. you refuse to stop seeing beauty in broken things. you will always look for the light in the darkness. people underestimate you. they think you are far too delicate. but they don't know your gentleness was forged from hardship. there are depths beneath your smiles no one will know. when was the last time you did let someone know, though ? when was the last time you let yourself cry, when was the last time you didn't bury your anger ? you're more than what you give to others.

Tagged by: @reginrokkr Tagging: whoever wants to do this !

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘ i seek scandal and low companionship. ’     //    @leadingmcn

𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄’𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐏 ;    and neither seethed its owner with scornfulness, although this could have been a matter of personal grudge. through wide-open windows leaked nocturnal breeze, beddings all undone and disorderly, pearls and gems scattered across invaded tilings ;  those were witnesses to a criminal scene which succeeded not according to its plunderish schemes.  this lady’s heritage was both sheltered and targeted, her belongings rumoured and sought after, and within merely a question of ' when ' would she fall victim to games to this extend --- this much she could fathom and for this much she prepared. 

one night, to her dismay, she failed to read the warning signs : the silence of owls, the flutter of crows, the peering balcony-glares shadowing behind her tender shoulder before she rested ‘pon her familiar mattress, all that ignored only for them to wake her with a rustling of treasures.  the following miniscule wrestle amounted to a moment ‘twixt oddly opposing personas of parallel nobility, and the grin of yours ; a mischief, socially offensive like any other theatric trickster in tales, pinned against ornamental walls.   “ and you concluded to find those by trespassing my private chamber ?  well, at the very least, you are an intriguing character, albeit a thieving one. ”    cold jest, dry lips, bruised dignity. lungs may be pressed by inconvenience, but her hands, firmly clenched 'round weapon's pole, shan’t afford to waver nor shiver.   

“ you have accomplished the scandal ; now, the latter explains the pitiful deeds. ”

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍.    dawn-gold burned its way into lineage, honey lit in cosmogenic lustre 'pon the fingertips of freyja-women.  gullveig had not borne the first mouthpiece's name, yet they would christen her so, anointed as substitute for two, under the parasite of night and daemonic hunger.  wingless and graceless grandeur but a phantomic mirror    (  crestfallen selene knew only the fall )    their chins yet were situated with proud poise.     " my troubles are that of my people.  how shall i guide them out of the dark alone, when the gods still sleep and our chosen king has left us?  how am i to bear this...?  "

Laments and prayers alike ceased not to reverberate within this fallen seraph’s mind even if her wings were torn away and abandoned to drown in her shame and reduced to a residue bound to be forgotten by time. ❝Speak thy mind. I can sense something troubling thee.❞ Of course, that includes hearing the burdens of the Oracle even though the maiden of light might not believe it to be possible.

@moonichor ⚚

But where was my body? Where was I in these words? What of this belonged to me?

Jasminne Méndez, from Night-Blooming Jasmin(n)e: Personal Essays and Poetry (via lifeinpoetry)

𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 , 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐘𝐄 , 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.    a specter fragment transcending beyond gaia's memoria, she should not be perceivable and, of course, you noticed this not.  alike any other maiden among the living was she so meekly approached ;  her and her canine companions, harbingers of a promised place.  without the almost-touch upon the dark hound would its ears perk in anticipation, and she so encouragingly gestured for affirmation.    " of course, little one, you may.  it appears he likes you.  his name is umbra. “ curiosity piqued for the mere fact of this exchange, she rarely believed in pure happenstance.

@moonichor / have a cute thing you didn't ask for.

Almost too happily, the child starts to reach out towards the unfamiliar dog she spots, only to pull her hand back before her fingers reach soft fur.

Almost shyly, she seeks some approval in doing so with a simple question.

"Hey miss...? Is it okay to pet your doggy...?"

𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃.    t’was between sisters where angels fell on deaf ears, where their choirs ceased so abruptly it rendered time breathless, drowned out by humming bird songs.  as seemingly humble nothings meant everything amid cosmic malediction, what else could she do than accept sweet offers, which may, one day, stand still at a moment's notice ?    “ how could i say no ?  i am in the mood for a little adventure today, and this book can certainly wait.  to what wondrous place will you guide me, i wonder ? ”

It’s not the whisper of a hymn or a hallowed prayer, but the breath of a dying melody curled along the oracle’s tongue in a hushed hum.  ❝ Would you have time to partake in a sightseeing walk with me, Luna ?  There’s a lovely spot not far from the town. It is but a short carriage ride away. ❞ — @moonichor

  *  //  𝐀𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐒​.

           “   And what model are you supposed to be, huh? Jeez …  ”   Averting his gaze after staring perhaps a second too long. In truth, he admired the increasing adaptability of these androids – Though still rather apprehensive. In the absence of the glowing light on her temple, he might have believed she was real.   “  Well? don’t just stand there … go … make me coffee .. or somethin’…  ”   His voice trailed off, as he fell back into reading notes about the current investigation on his computer screen.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 :    objectively real, a mathematical existence encoded into automaton-parts.  pulsating electricity wired within each component, tangible enough to comprehend a silhouette outlining a nothing-lady, not organic enough for authenticity of skin or hair or nails.  she was real, and she was not.  prepared for a brusque welcome on the first day for this very reason, with a friendly smile she artificially countered mannerisms of sore origins.  raw tune, as she noted, betrayed a burdened mind.    “ i am a system assistant for data management  –  RK 400  –  but i do not only help you keep track of your files ;  my calculation features are optimized for this field of work specifically to form predictions of criminal activity and civil unrest according to said collected data.  i also offer medical care, if necessary.  hereby, i regret to inform you, lieutenant, it is not included in my programming to serve beverages, but i shall request one cup of coffee for you.  perchance, that will lift your spirits for the rest of the day. ”

Aphelion • Jesper Kyd feat. Melissa Kaplan

The past beats inside me like a second heart.

John Banville (via quotemadness)

Amano Yoshitaka / Shojokyuu

𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄’𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 , 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐄.    the girl too young    /    the cross too large    /    the divinations too terrible to be bound to.  though, devastating to hear your plea, there was no such thing as a saying in the dictation of your sister's upbringing, no power over decisions she could dare make independently. and still, tomorrow,  would she invent an illusion of choice, for if she did not, how ought a bird thrive in captivity ?  how ought a flower bloom without the light ?  how ought selene illuminate the night without the sun and without the stars ?  “ stella… ”    a whisper so soft t’was barely voice-borne as she grasped two small hands with her own, gently enough she might, any moment, break apart.    “ i’m sorry… i wish i could stay, really… ”    (  i want to stay here, with you, with ravus, with mother.  i want to stay, but i can only obey.  )    “ we’ll be spending all of the upcoming week together before i depart, alright ? ”

❝ that's not fair, sister. i need you way more then solheim, why do you have to go ? solheim is way too far and way tooo boring, you just should stay here. i will hide you in my closet, it's plenty big. ❞ @moonichor

👁️👄👁️ excuse me sis, do you have the time to talk about our lord and savior : bhunivelze. 👁️👄👁️

luna vc : why yes sis, i serve him 👁️👄👁️

*  𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 // 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐈 : 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . 

i.    latin is the most common language eosian nobility and royalty have derived their names from.  nonetheless, the fleuret line, at times, does also use a variety of freyja’s names for their daughters.  the norse goddess freyja had gone by several identities during her voyage in search for her lost husband, as well as those that she assumed as she was impaled and burned three times by the aesir and then happens to be reborn each instance.  

this includes names such as :    gef / gefn  ( the giver ) ,  hörn  ( flaxen ) ,  mardöll  ( sea brightener, or the one who makes the sea swell ) ,  skjálf  ( shaker ) ,  vanadis ( the dis / fate spirit of the vanir ) ,  gullveig  ( gold-thread ) ,  and heidr ( bright, clear ).

not every child would have been bestowed a name that referenced freyja, however, here could be examples of this practice :

gullveig was the first healer-oracle after aera and ardyn’s demise, and built the fleuret royalty.

lunafreya may be partly named after her maternal grandmother freyja.  an oracle who could have immensely committed to the purification of the dead, and was therefore occasionally nicknamed valfreyja  ( the lady of the slain ).  she had two daughters :  sylva and hnoss. 

the mysterious oracle whose temporary successor was a lucian king could have had one of frejya's names, like mardöll.

ii.    the standard arm of the oracles is a trident, the symbolism of which is found in lunafreya’s name entirely.  it primarily comes from the connection between freyja’s father being the sea god njördr and the greco-roman equivalent of the oceanic god poseidon / neptune whose iconic weapon is the trident, in addition with the fact that the moon has magnetic control over the tides.  

iii.    the trident is not the only tie to water that is evident for the fleuret house. the sylleblossom as a native flower to tenebrae, en masse, resembles a whole sea in the clouds.  this opens the door for the assumption that societies and cultures in the tenebraen lands used to have a deep spiritual connection with water and the seas, as opposed to the ancient peoples of solheim, who worshipped the fire ; and the earlier oracles, perchance, still were tethered too those beliefs to praise water’s purifying qualities that would cleanse the souls of those that perished of the still wide-spread disease. water is both purifying and symbolized death for the ancients, which is visually portrayed within luna's death sequence.

iv. those of fleuret blood are semi-immune to the flames of the lucii ring.  while the ring drains slowly the vitality of the king who wears it, the holy fire is a defense mechanism for those unworthy and would claim their life either instantly, or as a price for the temporary use of its power.  there are two instances of exceptions that were spared from this.  ravus nox fleuret, who was of fleuret blood and unworthy, would be branded but not wholly engulfed.  and ignis, who was of no particular blood, but was given the power as a necessity to protect its true bearer, and was as reward excused with the price of his sight.

Forugh Farrokhzad, Deevar (The Wall); from ‘Lost’, tr. Sholeh Wolpé

1. “The Super Blood Wolf Moon is seen beside statues in Brussels.”

2. “The moon is seen beside a quadriga on the top of the Cinquantenaire arch during a total lunar eclipse known as the "Super Blood Wolf Moon", in Brussels. Photo: Reuters.”

𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎    /    𝐀 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐌.    quietly, its hymns resounded within her very anatomy. a flicker's rush through spectral atoms as the familiarity of such concept would nudge on the heart ;  a loose memory, too stubborn to be adjusted smoothly into entire recollection.  she pondered on fragmented nostalgia, and a gentle kind of curiosity bloomed from the corners of an unrecorded woe.    “ it does sound demanding, enormously so.  yet, in spite of such strain, you speak so fondly of them.  do you share an affection with your aeons ? ”

❛       aspiring summoners pray to the fayth ————   it can take days for the fayth to respond. if they respond at all. the amount of mental fortitude a summoner requires is astronomical. but if one does succeed,  the fayth heed your call & grant their power. that is how aeons came to be. it's a strong connection that cannot be replicated or broken. every aeon is special. every fayth, unique.     ❜    @moonichor

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘ i say this out of pure selfishness. ’    //    @peacedog​ / kazuhira.

𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆     /    𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐖𝐍.    we may hide this like a nakedness, thought that covering it came close to a selfless, principled act.  but most likely it was just that.  acting.  at times, the lunar pearl, who so silently observed us like an indifferent eye, did wonder herself if this simply made us forget who we were  ---  or if our obscured self shall be left bare, popping out wrathful and mortified and exposed through our agape mouths.  and yes, agape itself consisted of selfishness, too.  we would turn to our god, angry and spiteful about our unacknowledged sacrifices, like neglected children begging for attention.  at least, you were honest enough to admit it out loud.    “ no doubt you do.  but i sense a fraction of bitterness, too.  be careful with it. “    she had warned you many times, and never packaged she it in mockery.  rather... concern than anything else.  if only she was better than this, but you never knew her without her set of needle-words ;  gently, so gently piercing into the flesh.    “ ire is a hungry, growing creature.  i shall loathe to see you more befallen by it than you already happen to be.  it would…  sadden me. ” 

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘  i can offer you my heart, though i have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. ’    //    @fenrirch​

𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 ?    mayhaps, because she was never meant for either ;  a woman too holy to stay    /    too holy for life.  promised to the dictated cause, engaged with demise.  she'd liked to make an exception.  just this once, if she may.  once in private where the night of the living enshrouded mene, clung and held her ever-tightly, and she, in her pure besottedness, let it all happen.  all over again which could lead to a second confession and a third, until the guilt out-wore itself like an ill-fitting dress stripped from her hips, finished and scrapped from the obligation list.  she let this happen :    your arms needy and desperate around her waist.  all the whispers which only dim lights would bear witness to, and all the touches exuding scandal, shielded by the generous curtains of the hotel room from a stalking, hierarchical gaze.  she begged not for forgiveness, she did not apologize for the single action that might have kept her alive in place, when, otherwise, she would have so effortlessly slipped away from our fingers.

“ plenty of them, i hope. ”    a laugh pushed through a forced sicle-shape, the embarrassed flush of her cheeks no less romantic in nature.  it’s grit teeth rather than amusement.  the jaw clenched briefly, the sinew of her tender neck tense against your comforting breath.  how could one think of it as anything other than torment, knowing she would take that warrior’s heart with her into the grave, instead of soothing its harrow grief ?  yes, confessions were this terrible.  and still, she had counted your battle scars, the magic trails, each flaw and scratch.  lithe fingertips followed worn tissue to the crux of a violent pulse.  her hand atop, resting, because ophelia wanted something else than to float in the pond.  it was too cold in there.  she'd rather crawl ashore and be warmed up by another foolish jest of yours.  her sweet, heedless soldier with an eroding hero-complex.    “ you are such a silly man  —  why must you be this dramatic ? ”    though not overdone, for she simply did not wish to admit it.  but a holy woman was not meant for confessions, or for clumsy dancing after too many a glass of wine, or for a tender peck after too sweet a girlish giggle.  so you said what you said and tried your hardest to not kill her with it.  because love, as always, equated to religion, and religion called for death.  of course, you’d never let her go this far, but she would and you would indeed go this far, and you both knew this.

▬ ❝ On my honour as Oracle, I will not rest until the darkness is banished from our world and the light is restored.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  ;  x.

𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄.    indeed, to wrestle fate ferociously, with denial riddled by intensity ;  to belabor, and repeat, and reiterate the possibilities  —  what else was more human, so brazenly natural, than this ?  within such matters she only could but come to the conclusion that : while you gained in humanity, wayward angel that you were, she must have lost her own on the way, somewhere at the wake of forlorn sites and behind the morning fog which hovered each collapsed civilization.  that, or she was driven by naught more than cowardice, feigning conviction.  and what conviction had any meaning within a firmly clenched, divine fist, if that same hand could soften within another’s grasp ?  the aether of creation touching the moon.  she has been situated into the hollows of memory like this before. a blend of almosts, the nevers and desires, all the same.  few centuries ago, beneath the khaenri’ahn vault.    “ as always so humble, aren’t you ?  if i am to permit myself to indulge in nostalgia, so should you allow yourself a little more self-recognition.  would that not sound like an agreeable deal ?  ”    a justified validation.  sincere, too, certainly.  but with a smile, and a response via a most tender tug of your hands, she shaped a distraction.  a distraction from marred lands, from cold dull sands, from selenic caters unbeknownst to the average beholder.  face to face, she’d drawn you closer for a sweet peck against the cheek.   “  though you faltered, you survived all of it.  many a man would not emerge from despair again. underestimate yourself not. ” // @reginrokkr

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 ;    some sacred agonies were simply overbearing, over-gobbling, the cosmos eager to sunder and disassemble.  one side too real, the other too dead.  too holy, too eldritch.  they took root and vine as rotten artery-roads through a gilded body.  though your words rang true, your softness lied.  always, always were there lies. ( like hers, like anyone else's.  ) along with the ghosts you soothed you faded before her, and to this, she was regrettably blind.  oh, what feats she would undertake  ---  moving mountains, parting the seas, bending the skies for her twinkling asteria's happiness !  perhaps, this might have been the reason she shan’t know the hidden meaning. your ailment a secret by volition of cold light.    “ fear does even plague ghosts, it is unfortunate such inflicts those who have yet to meet their end, in turn.  ”   herein the irony manifested between two fleuret women and their empathic attributes, their shared compounds tempering sorrow like a balm to a bruise.  hers, a gift to the living    /    yours, to the unliving.  she did rather not admit her particular understanding of a ghost's reasoning for its lingering obstinacy, and that in her own dismays she would stir waters to tremendous dimensions.    “ even so —  i could not blame them.  the light of yonder is too bright and terrifying, too cryptic for them.  what else will it cleanse aside from memory ?  some may not be able to let go of their pain… ”    and their wailing may never be heard, in silence they must weep. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 for those whose eyes sees the unknown. the markings of a goddess, it’s plague clouding her vision towards a death-screamed spiral. it suffocates her. the desperation of fallen corpses clinging onto her soul : hungry for vengeance, craving for existence, and when they speak it was honey sung words reaped with veiled treachery. the chaos in her eyes is marred with blood stained tears, yet the night star no longer mourns for its injustice. instead, she carries on pretending she is unbothered / pretending she is above the terror which torments the earth. smile, play her role, she has always been good at acting and running away.  ❝  ——  hmm, what do you think they say ?  ❞  look how patiently the stars deflects their response. her dialect spoken with an air of spacious wonder, dancing on the cusp of religious taboo, with falsehood innocence to match.  ❝  the dead who remains... often feels very wronged.  ❞  there will always be some semblance of truth to her words, but because you are her holy sister, she offers you nothing less than sincerity.  ❝  they do not want to part with the living, so they choose to ignore the summoning of the light above. it hurts them too you see, so they hurt others. or at least some of them do. many of them simply hides. ❞

“ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 , 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 ?  are they reveling in bliss, or do they agonize? “ // @asterites