Author Topic: Lunar [CONCLUDED]  (Read 3097 times)

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Offline Ori

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #15 on: June 08, 2017, 11:40:43 PM »
In a fleeting moment, one millisecond of time, and the world was changed again.  You think that things are complicated, that things in your world couldn’t be rocked any harder then they have been.  You would be wrong.  You look to the sky, what was once bright, beautiful and full of bright, Red moonlight and shining White stars, is now overtaken by a color you can’t recognize.  Or rather the lack of color.  You blinked for what seemed like a moment, a millisecond, and the moon was gone, the sun... was gone.  All that was left was the dim flickering of the stars.  The stars used to accompany the moon, the constellations surrounding it, embracing it.

The moon emphasized the brightness of the stars, those flickering constellations, and without the moon they seemed lost, dim, flickering, struggling to find their light. 

However, it was the sun that gave light to the moon, and with both gone from the night sky, all seemed lost, hopeless, and dark.  As if the stars themselves had been suffocated, drowned, plucked from the sky itself.  The stars struggled to shine through the night sky without their source of light.

It was in the dark though, that light shined the brightest.  It was in times of hopelessness, which hope (as fickle as it was), though it may be crawling and maimed, bleeding, broken, and bruised, found its way back home.   

In the darkness of the meadow, staring up at the empty sky, through wet eyes (though he was unsure why he was crying), Ori saw the fireflies, his star flies, take up the place of those broken, dimmed stars. 

They lit up the meadow, flickering and shining brightly as ever. 

Offline Amalthea.

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #16 on: June 12, 2017, 04:25:42 PM »
How many more would it take before she broke?

All Amalthea had ever really wanted was for her family to be safe and there. Anything, everything, else was secondary to that one desire and yet...A scoff was lost to the wind as stared out at nothing in particular; lot of good wanting did. And yet, somewhere deep beneath that simmering anger there was determination brewing in the youth. Too absentee, too fleeting a presence, Thea knew her faults well enough and knew that if she wished to protect then her own actions must first be bettered. Be around; make herself known.

Ah, but she couldn't do it alone and she was well aware of that (too soft, too pathetic Amalthea woulds sneer at herself). Someone out there, however, would be able to help her in this endeavor and as a smile would tug at her lips the girl knew she'd only need to find them to help set her mind at ease. So then with determined steps, and heedless of the oncoming storm, she would rise and leave her den behind and with it the reclusive soul she'd started to become.

These were her people, her family, and she would find a way to keep the closest to her of them safe. This was her new goal and Thea wasn't going to let anyone stop her from turning it into a reality.

Of course, talk is all well and good but only time will truly tell if her resolve will remain firm once the storm has broken. But Amalthea? Amalthea had just this once enough faith in herself to believe that it would.

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Offline Haize

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #17 on: June 15, 2017, 03:58:17 PM »
All around her the world is changing. It’s always been changing. The desert had never stayed the same, always shifting, malleable. She clung to her anchor there as they all had, but a storm had unsettled them at last from their waypoint and scattered them to the wind. Funny, how so much always changes, but some things never do. Storms come in many different shapes and sizes, but they sure as hell come regardless, and when they do you’d better hang on or find yourself buried in their wake.

Some people didn’t have anything solid to hold on to. That never changed, either.

She’s surrounded by whipping winds and a sky gone red. She’s surrounded by old stories and new stories. She’s surrounded by crying mothers and wailing babies. The night is little comfort when the gale is upon you. She hasn’t cried since her mother died. She hasn’t prayed for longer. Gods didn’t care about the things that happened in Heaven or Earth or the liquid Inbetween. Well—there’s always room for change, isn’t there? No. Not tonight. Tonight she turns from highlands to lowlands and puts her back to the ocean, to the salt, to the spray. She turns from red sky and sun and moon. She turns from their stories and their tears. It’s just another tragedy. Another spot of blood soaking into sand.

Do you think you’re the only one that’s known loss, Gemini? This kingdom is old, but you—you are so, so young. You’ll grow. You’ll learn.

The rain starts to pour and she welcomes it. The wind picks up and she steers clear of the trees. Rain is just rain. They saw it so rarely in Tjenu. She would find shelter but the sand would not catch her, not here. Lightning crackles in the sky and thunder follows. In the flickering light, someone falls. Not her. Never her.

”Somebody? I-I-I’m s-s-sorry, I-I-I got… scared…”

She looks down at the indistinct figure in the squall. The wind whips, strong enough to strike the heavy bells in the towers. They ring, deep and ominous. She lowers her dark head—yes, Iaera, she is a chanting shadow, black as pitch—and shoves it into the fallen wolf’s shoulder. She offers a boost and a grunted, “Come on, lady, get up.

We offer a hand when the storm comes. The same was true in the desert. Strange and far flung as we might be, the sand never quite leaves your fur. Home follows you even to the farthest reaches. Funny. “Let’s get out of the rain,” she mutters, neither a mother’s sweet lullaby nor a soothing balm, but a focal point in the rising tides.

She’s an anchor. She offers Iaera a chain of woven links.

This way.
« Last Edit: September 14, 2017, 07:23:39 PM by Rhiow »

We're the underdogs in this world alone
I'm a believer, got a fever running through my bones.
We're the alley cats and they can throw their stones
They can break our hearts, they won't take our souls.

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Offline Christopher

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #18 on: June 21, 2017, 03:26:17 AM »
weak little lion man, you're not as brave as you were at the start

An undersized slave boy had turned a year old.  Many of his home had spent eons compared to him imprisoned in the same walls, the same tree trunks and red petals.  They measured time with frivolous prestige, generations sectioned by the bodies that offered up to the strangling red crown.  He almost wondered how Queen Serrate would have taken him had she still ruled.  Would he be beaten and bloody, nothing but a small severed head to decorate an overzealous sibling's wall?  Would he be swaddled and protected just like the boy king, lifted up above the crowd to watch them cheer his name.  Red tattoos burned into his face and scrawled their own markings across the bridge of his nose: WE OWN YOU, NOW.


He had prayed to every mystical fable that if anywhere, his uncle shared the same prison as nephew.  He needed him, lying lifeless within the sea of poppies, his hopes tied to the fantasy of Dexus sniffing above him.  Old, cataract-covered tattooed eyes to widen, for him to snort angrily and yell at the boy.  Yelling, even, he welcomed, just for a glimpse of his lost family.

Had he known what he'd lost, how hollow he would feel, he never would have kissed the castles and fairies goodbye.  He felt power turning the dials of fate and shouting in the face of the parasite that fattened itself with the sons of Gemini.  He charged head-on into the unknown, expecting great adventures and the shining golden globes of fireflies, the pull of his feet towards the path his heart knew to take like a keystone.  The crimson devil made itself known with a guttural chortle and swallowed him whole without another word.

The children and specters of Gemini would barely know the jutting cheekbones, the scarred eyebrows, the red scrawls that would return with the vague familiarity of a long-passed friend.  Would he ever return, the yearling boy thought now with uncertainty clouding everything, everything he could see.  Does his family think him dead, and where was Tauro?  Ah, but alas, exhaustion-induced phantoms vanished once he slept more than a blink.

He would fall into the clutches of Banshee and Vulture, spectral whispers covering his woes with SURVIVE AT ALL COST, talons tearing apart his magician's cape and his sparkling flowers.  Dragged through the mud, he could still taste the blood.

Once upon a time, he was a fool, but they made him cruel.

The boy that came back to Gemini was a shell of what he had once been.  He had been a babbling, overly excited and attached "kiddo", adorable in all ways.  Now he sobbed and lamented more, singing broken hymns and no longer reciting mystical spells.  He lay motionless below the moon, his crown of thorns tightening until he thrashed his body upward.  He saw no clear sky, but he could bathe in beams of silver from between wooden Celtic knots and thick foliage.  No longer an ugly brown gash in the poppy field, he lifted his head to the sky.

A boy prayed as a queen rose.  They witnessed her ascension.  They kissed her good night and tucked her in.  She fought for every step she took, and she took and took and kept taking until she took too much.  The rhythmic thumping of his feet drummed across the flowers.  And he uprooted, he trampled, he tore everything in his path, just to get closer to it.

To mother.  To father.  To a friend he'd never see again.  To a girl he would never quietly glance at when tears stung his cheeks.  To a struggling queen.  Dragged to a shipwreck, thrown to the wolves, a boy that changed every day screamed and accused the moon.  WHY ME?  WHY COULDN'T YOU TAKE EMAROSE OR RHODES, WHY COULDN'T YOU --

The sons kissed her forehead.  The red demon ripped his heart from his body, and fitted a volcano in its place.  Stewing, bubbling, uncontrollable.  He cried alone.  Alone.


Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be what is in your heart
Weep little lion man,
You're not as brave as you were at the start
Rate yourself and rake yourself,
Take all the courage you have left
Wasted on fixing all the problems that you made in your own head

Offline Francisca

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #19 on: July 13, 2017, 10:33:02 PM »
There was nowhere to hide in Gemini. The land lay open for the sky to sprawl out upon, for the stars to press down the those below. It was a strange truth she'd had to learn. There was nowhere to hide in Gemini, and so too was there nowhere to hide sorrow. They shared their grief here. A strange ritual, as far as she was concerned. But it lit up something inside her that Saboro had tried and failed to kill long ago. She didn't know what to call it, and she wasn't sure anyone else did either, but she was sure it was the reason Gemini existed.

And yet...

And yet, she was alone. This was how these stories went.

There was no one but Franky below the great wide sky. In every direction the horizon stretched long and lonely, broken only by the wall. This was her duty, this was her sacrifice, the winds that whipped across the exposed land was her burden. It was all she could do, wasn't it? All she knew. And a storm was not so much to bear. And it wouldn't have been, but the magnetism that caught so many souls in a single instant caused her to tilt her head up to the red sky. The moon blinked. An eye closed.

In the silence of that moment, Franky realize she couldn't remember what color her other eye had been.

There was a sorrow here, in Gemini. It wasn't hers, and it wasn't one she understood. But because it was Gemini she felt it in her bones and so she helped carry that burden. Tragedy carried in the howl of the wind and the electricity of the air. Had the eye of the sky closed so it could cry? And, as if to answer, the clouds open and pour down rain. For a moment Franky felt like the ash that had never really left her was washed out of her pelt, but only for a moment.

To answer the grief, she plucked a single red flower before the rain could trample it. Franky broke her patrol for a moment and carried the flower to the wall, where she placed it in the cracks of the stone. Maybe it would be crushed in the effort to rebuild it, but it would always be there. It was all she could think of, all she knew to do. Saboro had never taught her how to grieve.

Before she left, she cast one last glance up at the sky. In the red sky she felt afraid of something she couldn't name.

how long, baby, have i been away?
oh, it feels like ages though you say it's only days
there ain't language for the things i've seen
and the truth is stranger than my own worst dreams
the truth is stranger than all my dreams
oh, the darkness got a hold on me

i have seen what the darkness does
say goodbye to who I was
i ain't never been away so long
don't look back them days are gone
played by spearstrike

Offline ⋖Stricklander⋗

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #20 on: July 13, 2017, 11:31:29 PM »
He hadn't been here long, no. The hellhound was not a part of any family, held no ties here yet. Only just gained a rank. Stricklander paced, consumed in the thoughts of his own failures. Where could he go from here, how could he move on. Would there be anything that would keep him here, or would he leave? There's an ache in his chest he can't seem to place, a feeling he doesn't actually recognize. The darkening of the sky hadn't made the restless feeling any better either. An eclipse. A sign. Of what he wasn't even sure himself.

People have been kind to him here, in a way he'd never truly seen before. And he hated that it left the taste of ashes on his tongue.

He hadn't even noticed he'd been walking towards the border, that he'd started already on a quest to ruin what little he had. Even to reflect his feelings, the sky was pouring rain on him. Soaked from head to toe, he kept slowly trudging his way. It was stupid, he knew it was.

Lightening flashed in the distance, thunder echoed in his head. He knew nothing of the past of this land, knew nothing of it's inhabitants. And they knew not of him.

And something in him called out that he could change that. He didn't have to give into himself. It's a goddamn frame of mind and he could shift that. He could truly change himself, how he feels. If he wanted to put the work in.

Before he stepped over the border he stopped, staring up at the sky that kept uncaringly pouring rain upon him. Grinding his teeth he struggled, fighting with himself. And then he turned around.

No, he wouldn't quit before he even began. He can't. He has the power of will to succeed, he has the ability to do anything he sets his mind to. And for once he will keep trying to move forward. In the dim light of the storm, his eyes glow faintly. A ghostly vision of a hound who refused to give in to his own demons just yet.
Lie to get what I came for
Lie to get just what I need
Lie to get what I crave
Lie and smile to get what's mine

Eye on what i'm after
I don't need another friend
Nod and watch your lips move
If you need me to pretend
Because clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
I'll take just what I came for
Then I'm out the door again

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Offline ame

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #21 on: July 17, 2017, 11:50:49 PM »
[spoiler=possibly triggering sad self deprecating stuff whoops]
                                                            Why are you doing this?

You’re just looking for attention.

It wont work.

You’ll just end up looking pathetic.

You know you will, so why are you doing it?


effing stupid, what the eff are you doing?


No one likes you, why are you even here?

They see through you, you know.

Ha, you idiot.

You effing idiot.

Are you crying? You don’t deserve to cry. You don’t deserve anything.

You are worth nothing, you are less than nothing, you have nothing to add to anything you’re just a waste and a burden.

No one cares, you don’t even exist in their eyes, you don’t exist, to them you aren’t real.

Aw, look at you try. You know it means nothing, right?

Trying so hard to be nice, such a good person.

They’ll thank you, think you’re sweet for a moment, then you’re gone.

What’s your name again? Oh, gosh, did we meet already? I totally forgot.

Yeah, put on that smile. Fake it ’til you make it, right? I’m sure you can make some friends who will remember you.

But really, you’re terrible. Why would they want you there?

Isn’t it for the best?

You just embarrass yourself, look at you, trying to talk to people as if what you say matters, as if anything you do matters, as if anyone will notice.

Ah, I see what you’re doing now. Just ignore them, you don’t need them, right? Just keep doing what you’re doing, go your own way, make your own path because you’ve always been alone you don’t need anyone.

It hurts, doesn’t it?

It’s a hole deep inside of you that can’t be filled because everyone is a liar, they lie when they smile and call you friend -

Oh wait.

No one does that.

Because you are nothing.

You will always be nothing.

You have no friends because no one cares about you.

Just a burden.






i’m sorry

i’ll try harder

Why bother?

You’ll still be invisible.





i’ll try harder i promise


i don't want to be alone anymore
« Last Edit: July 17, 2017, 11:51:15 PM by ame »

Offline Witch

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #22 on: September 14, 2017, 03:46:25 PM »
------- ☾☀-------
Creation Myth
------- ☾☀-------

All the world was scarlet over darkness churning with the violent clash of waves and foam. Thunder roared from the sky, the sea, the cliffs. Someone tore the brambles and shimmering mist grounding reality from dreams asunder on his way to the stars in the deep. Patient listeners might have heard the stones mumbling, it was like this in the beginning, and it shall be again.

A new voice among ancients shot back, defiant against the surge, like he always had been and always would be. He clacked fangs forged of moonlight and grinned. 

He said, side by side with the sun— the SONS, "We'll effing see about that."

------- ☾☀-------
------- ☾☀-------

A boy who knew too much for his age sat with his paws over his face while the world fell apart outside. He could hear the stones. He could hear the whales. He could hear his brother stirring at the bottom of the sea only to die again. He could hear a slice of the sky slip into his mother's eye.

Zenith knew. He knew all along, and he was a child, and he hadn't understood. He would never dream of drowning again because now it was too late.

Oh, how he cried.

He knew she was coming, too. He knew what she wanted. Back to the beginning. It was like this then, and it would be again, and he hoped he wouldn't be alone.

"Come with me."

Eyes as dark as the deep and just as wet looked up at his sister. Did you know there were stars in the ocean, too? He did.

"Let's go."

------- ☾☀-------
Waking Alice
------- ☾☀-------

Bat Kol regarded the bloody moon, heard the storm stirring, and decided this was a dangerous place. She picked up their paws and, through the gale, raced across the highlands. She had faced ash and fire and was not afraid of hail and water. They would survive. That was what she was meant to do.

The others protested.

What are you doing!? We can't leave! Have you lost your mind?
But. But it's nice. Why?

She ignored them. They had their places, and it wasn't here. If it had been up to them, Ki Tisa wouldn't have escaped Aku. If it was up to them, Lev Malakh would not have crossed the bridge. If it was up to them, they would all be dead just like Cuivre. Do you want that? No one wants that. You can find a new family. You can't find a new you. They replaced us anyway.

That's an oversimplification and you know it.
Oh... no... she's right though...

She leapt over rabbit holes. The half restored wall was in view. If anything proved to her that this was the right choice it was seeing that and finally understanding what it meant. Another ravine. Another line of Starlings waiting to tear you apart. They had to cross the bridge while they could. The moonlight struck their red eye.

They had children. More children. Who do you think decided that? It was Kol Nidre. He was lonely. He wanted replacements. He got them. It's not difficult to understand.

It didn't just take Kol Nidre.
They're scary. They're loud...

We were never anything except dolls to hold at night. They'll make more dolls.

The shadow of the wall spread across the moon.

Look, it makes me angry too. But what do you think will happen when Ki Tisa wakes up? He'll just come back here, you idiot.

Then perhaps he should stay asleep. I'm sorry, Ki Tisa.

Also, don't call me an idiot.

Oh.... oh... that's... that's so terrible...

Be quiet. I don't want to trip.

Bat KOL!
Ki, Ki, I...

I said be quiet. We'll discuss this later, when it's safe. Inaria would be a fine place to rest before deciding where to go.

She bounded over a low point in the construction, and the center of Gemini began to fall away.

Another girl tore through another field. This one was red, and full of poppies, and the sky was dark and heavy but wouldn't break. In the distance there was a fire and the scream of a boy pinned beneath a tree. Always always always he was burning and dying but never dead, never dead. Her paws were sooty and bleeding and ropes of saliva hung in chords by her chin. She was panting raspy air, her eyes were wide and rolling, her heart shook her body, and on thin, trembling legs she took off in a mad dash.

"KI TISA," she shrieked. Ein was searching too, elsewhere, but he was quiet. Ein was crafty and sly and didn't want Bat Kol to see. Daka didn't care, didn't care one bit, Bat Kol could see the whole thing and she didn't CARE.


Of course she knew she knew she knew yelling wouldn't work, wouldn't wake him up, it never did, she TRIED, SO MANY TIMES.



A small voice. It was so small. HE was so small. She stood over the boy with foam dripping from her lips, big bad teeth shining through shade, lungs wheezing. He looked up at her, bleeding too. From his throat. From his face. From so many places. Yachol lifted his nose and touched the base of her neck.

She gave a broken sigh, tears rushing down her cheeks.

"I think... he's over here," he whispered, pausing to cough. "I'll show you."

He turned and lead her through the flowers. In the center, hidden well, was one of Kol Nidre's first sons, curled and still.

"NO," Daka wailed. "DEAD"

"No... sleeping. I think. Um," Yachol said, looking up at her. He didn't know what to do. Ki Tisa would not want to touch him.

Daka did not know either, but she never really did. She stood over Ki Tisa, wild with terror. Yelling never worked. One time she bit him, and that didn't work either. What else was there? What could save them? She didn't know, she didn't know, she didn't, didn't, dddd—

She laid on him, chest heaving, heart bursting, and cried. Cuivre cried too. Bat Kol wanted to kill Cuivre so he wouldn't suffer but Ki Tisa wouldn't let her and now he cried forever in the back, in the field, in dreams and thoughts and, and—

Ki Tisa said no.

"NO, SAY NO," she pleaded, burying her face in his scruff. Yachol watched, silent. "NO NO NO."

His eyes snapped open, his body startled.

Ki Tisa stood in the lowlands beneath a bloody red moon. He was soaked, and his feet hurt. He blinked once, twice, and then glanced behind him to see the wall a good ways off. Grimacing, he turned, and he made his way back home.

He said no.

------- ☾☀-------
------- ☾☀-------

The King stood atop the wall and watched Ki Tisa pass on the greener side of it.

"KI TISA!" she called. He looked up at her. "Hole up somewhere, would you?!"

 It was a bad place to be—the winds were vicious. She decided, after the dark made it too difficult to see any other lost packmates anyway, that she did not want to plummet off the top today.

She descended down her stairs. Luck held for once, and she made it to flooding grass. Rose gaze turned to the moon, she felt that before her stretched some kind of new oblivion. It was different than the crushing shock of seeing the inside of Tauro's throat spilled on the ground. It was more like the moment before addressing Gemini, holding her brother's crown and placing it on her head. She had given her own to her mother, and she had thought if I don't say I'm queen, maybe she won't die.

Akira regarded the moon and held her tail tip to the storm.

"Jonas," she said. Of course he was there. Where else would he be?

"Do you love me?"

------- ☾☀-------
------- ☾☀-------

Akki was red under the red moon. He stood in the storm and watched the clouds and felt small. The world, he knew, was dark and incomprehensible. He wished it wasn't. He wished, too, that misery would leave him alone just for a little while. It's hard, when the people who used to chase it away start bringing it back.

What a tiny thing, he knew, in the face of the terrible grandeur before him. Ghosts trail after him as they fall from his shoulders. If only it was so easy. He heard a whisper in his ear. A hungry little boy who died in the cold. He hoped, pointlessly, that no children would die that day.

He raised his head, and to the rift in the moon he sung. It was a dour, echoing melody that rose above the wind.

If you are lost, it hummed. I'll help you find your way.

------- ☾☀-------
------- ☾☀-------

A shadow in the dark is nothing special, and so Kai was nothing at all while standing on the moors, screaming obscenities to wind that drowned them out. Aeon would have thought this crap was real cool. Eira would have thought this crap was real cool. Amen, his dad, his pop, all would have thought this crap was REALLY COOL. But he couldn't get behind it because he was nothing.

He cried as he screamed, about his parents and their quiet fights, about his dead sister, about the friends he left behind, about the older sibling that didn't want anything to do with him, about the time he almost killed Akki.

A howl struck him, and he couldn't help himself. He threw his head back and reared onto his hind paws, adding his own voice to it. It hurt, it hurt, but it was sweet. How it echoed, how it filled the moors, how it overcame the thunder.

He only stopped when he heard someone coming.  Turning silver eyes to her, he tilted his head, then draw a sharp gasp through tears. She was never very good at being quiet.

------- ☾☀-------
Of Love
------- ☾☀-------

He knew when he saw the empty hollow. He knew when he followed the trail of bloodied saliva through the cavernous roots of the Old Tree and out the mouth, into the storm. He knew then, as he knew before—when his life was snow, and light, and smallness—that someone important to him had gone away to die.

Hawthorne stood at the ending. The howling squall beaconed him into its yawning abyss. He stepped outside and let its violence stream over him.

This was something he did not do when his mother Went Away. He woke to find her spot beside him as cold as the snow of their cave and a single pawprint, indented so purposefully, towards the exit. Outside, a blizzard had raged.  He stayed still, alone, knowing that he would still be alone after the storm. His mother's print would be gone once the den they shared together was gone. They did not have skulls to hang on trees. It was up to him to carry her memory rather than a willow branch.

 Hawthorne braced against the wind and followed what he thought was Kariya's death march. He would not interfere. Serrate had her own traditions, and he honored them, but these were his. They were quiet, and they were sad, and they left nothing behind. Beneath the wide, open sky, the North would embrace you.

Oh... I'm so sorry...

He couldn't help his son. He couldn't help his mother. There were so many things in this life one person could not do. Face turned to the moon and the clouds and the violence, he drew his ears tight against his skull and wondered why they bothered to form Gemini. Why go through this, time and time again, what is the point of love and home when it brought horror and heartache? Was it worth it? Was a mountain this high and treacherous worth a peak that may not even have anything on it?

This is what he wanted. To be a part of something greater.

Do you like it?

He stood under the red moon, small, just a wolf, no one important in the grand scheme of things, and missed his son. Missed his mother. Missed his mate before he knew things he wished he didn't. Missed the parts of the story that made him feel hope. He cried, like so many were crying, and no one could hear him.

Hawthorne did not notice when the rain stopped—not at first. It was the blue that finally drew his eyes from the ground. He lifted his head and, there—

Heaven burst into color. Blues and greens and purples flowed together in gentle pulses only to whip, and ripple, rolling with the clouds so far below them. But it was the blue that was the brightest, the clearest, the strongest. It was gentle, a ribbon, a curl, a ballet, a cold night in a warm den with a voice that never left him. It was a peak on a mountain well worth climbing.

Then, a smaller streak of blue. Together, together, they spiraled and spun, and the storm could not touch them because they were Beyond.

What's your favorite color? Mine is blue.

Hawthorne could not stop the tears, but he was smiling, and when the wolfsong filled the packlands, he threw back his own head and howled. High and soft and thankful and full, above all,

of love.

« Last Edit: October 10, 2017, 03:16:20 PM by Witch »

Offline .Jonas.

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #23 on: September 16, 2017, 03:24:04 PM »
She stood at the top. He formed the base. All was as it should be. The Don must always stand above. Even when the storm is fierce and the winds whistle and shriek. This is known. It is known, but still he looked up in the face of the oncoming rain and wished that this time, she would come down.

It wasn’t his place to say it. It was his place to stand and to wait. To be there. Because of course he was. Where else would he be? This was where he belonged. At her heels. In the wings. In the depths of her shadow. It was long and dark. He wore it well. That, too, was known. Jonas was no King. Jonas was no Don.

She yells for wayward travelers, the lighthouse that beckons them home. The wind was getting stronger. Again, he wished that this time, she would come down. He does not say it. He could not say it. He stands his ground and he waits, eclipse washing him in a pale blush. Akira, he could have said, and she would know what he meant was please come down. She always knew. He never said.

The clouds roll in. They hide the moon. Akira, he could have said. You’re pushing it again. This time he doesn’t have to. She descends. The Don knows best. They stand above for a reason. He steps aside to let her pass.


He dips his head to her and turns into the storm as the sky opens up above them. The rain falls and swallows his answer, “Akira.

“Do you love me?”

Before him stands the King. The rain falls and soaks into her fur, and she grows dark in the dead of night. This is the Don and he is compelled to answer but finds in his infinite inferiority that he does not have the words. Not the ones that she wanted to hear, though he couldn’t begin to presume that he knew what she WANTED to hear.

She was beyond comprehension. She was the highest rung of a ladder he’d only barely begun to climb. He took a slender silver crown from her because she asked it of him, but this was leagues above his understanding. She is a wolf, and wolves were always beyond him, and yet as the rain falls, he knows somewhere in his marrow that he is compelled. He has always been compelled. SHE is COMPELLING.

In the darkness she is shapes, tall ears, slender tapering muzzle, slim legs and narrow ankles. She reminds him of stepping from his birthing den into the sunlight for the first time. He can barely breathe. She reminds him of the girl in the distance with her shape. The Lionhearted who his father called daughter though she was different. Exotic. She is like the wolf that didn’t belong. Now it was him amongst the pack.

Yes, he loved her all along.

He loved her in the stripes of the zebra she promised to bring down when he could cover her with a single paw.

He loved her in the breadth of his back when he ferried her kin through seas of grain and over lakes of salt.

He loved her in the rose he plucked from a tower window.

He loved her in the empty eyes of the poisoned head they buried beneath a tree because, of course, it was the right thing to do.

He loved her in the death of the sun that he could not protect her from. He loved her in her twilight that followed. She was the Don.

He loved her when she asked of him what he did not think he could do. Stand tall. Speak with her voice. Be Don through proxy. He would do it. He would try.

He sang her the song his mother sang to him while she cried.

”Do you love me?”

The sky is red. Rain is wet.

He said it all the time in a thousand different ways.

We should get out of the storm.

Of course he did.

Offline Emarose.

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #24 on: September 16, 2017, 04:20:22 PM »
Things are changing again. Things have always been changing since the First Days in the land of fire and sulphur. She can barely remember it now, but she still remembers. In little fits and starts. Ghosts made of ash. The feel of her milk brothers and sisters. The sweet lilt of song that must have been mother, once. Water dewing on fur in the jungle steam. Uncle’s scars. Father’s long legs. Tales from home.

All around her the world is changing. It’s always been changing. She remembers Uncle’s scars. She remembers Father’s long legs. She remembers the sky above changing as she fell in and out of sleep. What a long journey that had been for someone so young. It is more of a feeling than a memory, but she feels it in the depths of her heart. In the end, the place she was born was not the home she was made for, but she was strung between like so many delicate spider webs. Tight, sticky, seen only at dawn, at dusk.

She remembers a brother. A sister. She remembers the first day they came tumbling to a stop in this place of sweet grass and old bones. She remembers as they went their separate directions. Sister, where are you going? Brother, where are you going? Uncle, where are you going? Father, where are you going?

But, things are always changing. They are ALWAYS changing.

The months travel by and she remembers them like old, distant friends. Uncle was gone. Brother was gone. Rain came. Rain went. The wall rose, stone by backbreaking stone. She was as a ghost was to this land, except somehow she was less. She is not heard. She is not seen. The dead make themselves a home. Life is strange that way.

She makes herself heard to Father, though. He hides amongst the old trunks and their whispers. She finds him in the creaking wood and she makes sure he remembers her name. Say it with her. Emarose. She’s Emarose. She’ll always be Emarose. Uncle may be gone. Brother may be gone. Things may always be changing, but she is Emarose. She will always be the same.

(That’s a lie we tell ourselves as seasons come and seasons go. At least I will never change.)

It starts slowly, like gentle flakes of snow heralding the blizzard to come. Burrs catch in her fur. Her legs are getting long now. Like Father’s. Uncle is still gone. Brother is still gone. She catches fewer burrs and loses more fur to the wood. Little locks of cream catch the wind and they say, Emarose has been here. She’s still here.

The sun has died. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know the skulls upon the wall. Things are always changing. She is patchwork now, haggard and tired. Father, do you remember my name? I’m still Emarose, Father. Uncle is gone. Brother is gone. But I am still here. Don’t forget me, Father. Okay? Things are changing again but I am still here.

Things are changing again. They’re changing quickly now. The realm mourns and she whispers her name to herself so that she won’t forget who she is. She tries to recall her tales from home, though it was never home to her. The white falls all around and she lives in a nest of it, holed away in the things she used to be. I’m still Emarose. I’m still here. I’ve been here all along. I’ll never change. I’m still Emarose.


The sun meets the moon in the sky. The land is red. She remembers, as if from the bottom of the ocean, she remembers something else that was red. It’s so dull. So dark. She doesn’t call to it because it’s so far away. It would never hear her. In a different time and different place, a princess changes. She stares at her reflection in a still pool and does not recognize who she is any longer.


She has no pool to delve into. She has a den packed with creamy white fur, lined like a bird nest. She has no shell to break through. She has only a thin, tight, sticky web at the entrance. It tries to hold her but she pushes through, ink on oil as she disappears into the night. A prince plummets. A queen sees. Sons and daughters everywhere cry. Faces change and the lost find their way home, wherever that may be. Things are always changing. It begins to rain.

She goes where she always does. The wood that breathes. It gasps as if dying in the throes of the storm, branches clacking against each other and telling her no-- you shouldn’t. No-- not tonight. The home of royalty looms in the distance as the ground pitches beneath her and tries to throw her away. I am not a flea! I am Emarose! I will always be Emarose! I will never change!

She digs her claws in and slips between the roots, dark in the rain and dark in the damp. She finds the wil-o-wisps and she follows them, begging them to stop, blue ghosts in the dying summer, foxfire calling her home. She stops when they do, and she calls to them and tries to bring them back as the world screams and changes around her, “Father?

Father, it’s me. You remember? It’s me. Emarose.
« Last Edit: September 16, 2017, 04:33:05 PM by Rhiow »

Offline Nathan

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #25 on: September 16, 2017, 04:47:21 PM »
He remembers what it is to forget – but not enough—

never enough.

The woods have long whispered to him of his disgrace and his failures, loud in their silence, mocking in their insistence that this is reality, now. That there is no volcano overhead to spew sulphur and ash; that there is clean dirt beneath his paws and soft grass to lie his aching limbs upon and sigh in an echo of the fantasy of home. Home is scored earth and wide eyes; home is blood between his teeth; home is a lie on his lips and a heart like a machine, and the recollection of red eyes in the dark.

Home is not children, or fairy tales, or Gemini. It is, on better days, the soft whisper of Emarose on the breeze, and the spectral sensation of bodies beside his, and of warmth, and of touch. What a fool he had been to think he could ever belong. What a fool he had been to think he could do better, could love harder, could plant something good in the world when all he knows to sew is bitterness and disappointment – and he cannot forget their faces even though the land has forgotten him, of Christopher and Rhodes, of Raylan and Lucas and Rosanna, and of Micah – and of Estein, too vicious, too proud – and Dexus, lost – and Silas – and Jericho—

Their names like an elegy, their faces locked in time, and he wishes for the ability to forget.

He rises in the darkness, in the land washed red in the wood that breathes, more alive among the wheezing roots and shaking ground than in the rolling plains and sweeping seasides – and he lifts his head, crooked, ignoble, eyes a startling blue set within the gaunt hollows of his narrow skull – and he looks to her, his mirror, his whisper, a light herself among dancing lights. The star on her brow, familiar, a will-o-wisp itself. The light in her eyes, known.

“Ema,” Nathan sighs—

 and her name sounds like home.

blood-shot, your eyes drop
and the skin's all wearing thin
there's no one here to tell you
       'bout the depth of the water
or the trouble that you're in.

Offline Rhiow

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Re: Lunar [Open*]
« Reply #26 on: September 16, 2017, 04:53:59 PM »
Celestial bodies resume their eternal orbit as different times different places different people come together. Each story is a thread and each story has its very own vivid color. They weave together from mothers dreaming, from golden shores far away, from behind the looking glass, from all things sweet and all things bitter.
Story is God. But we are the ones who wrote it. Together we took our individual threads and together we made them into a long, unbroken rope. What do you suppose that makes us?
All things in Gemini come in at least two. Where individual threads along the rope peel away and fray, the rest hold it strong together. We could not have hoped, wished, dreamed, not alone. Thank goodness we aren’t alone in the liquid Inbetween.
This is but a single night. A single grain of sand counting the seconds. This is but a single night, a single day, a single week, a single month, a single year. Oh, my god. The time is flying.

The Observatory
"Formerly" known as Serrate/Fortune/Sevena!