Post by » ѕнαdσω ⚔️ on Mar 6, 2017 21:53:35 GMT -5
Here is a little something I wrote. Possibly a good opener/prologue?
Moon fire. That was all she dreamed about.
Some would take these dreams as a sign of untapped power just waiting to be scraped out and sculpted into one’s own terrible will; a foretelling of great beauty, rage, and dominance over the natural world. Yet, others would interpret it as undeniable misfortune. Fire was the destroyer, the eraser, and the claw stained in dried blood; its reach was never ending and its result was always ash. Fate would never have its day, because fate was obsolete in the presence of the great flame.
But moon fire-a fire of not sun but moon-was a peculiar shade of this destructive power. The moon was in itself, a question and an answer to the sun. What is bright, but not blinding? What is luminous, but ever-changing? The moon was not warm, but cold, and yet it changed more often than the sun, and one could safely gaze onto its pale, smooth surface and be in awe of its otherworldly beauty. Most importantly, the moon was a light in the dark, but it was not always there to provide such comforts.
This was the reality that she saw in her dreams of moon fire. An ever-changing world consumed in an un-predictable and yet calculated flame. Brilliant, graceful, and so deadly. So deadly, that she would be eaten alive by its silver conflagration.
But, the inferno would end as soon as she opened her eyes; eyes that were filled with the moon fire that she dreamed about every night until the time came for her to die. And die she did, under a moon as dark as the abyss her spirit would wander in to.
Moon fire. That was all she dreamed about.
Some would take these dreams as a sign of untapped power just waiting to be scraped out and sculpted into one’s own terrible will; a foretelling of great beauty, rage, and dominance over the natural world. Yet, others would interpret it as undeniable misfortune. Fire was the destroyer, the eraser, and the claw stained in dried blood; its reach was never ending and its result was always ash. Fate would never have its day, because fate was obsolete in the presence of the great flame.
But moon fire-a fire of not sun but moon-was a peculiar shade of this destructive power. The moon was in itself, a question and an answer to the sun. What is bright, but not blinding? What is luminous, but ever-changing? The moon was not warm, but cold, and yet it changed more often than the sun, and one could safely gaze onto its pale, smooth surface and be in awe of its otherworldly beauty. Most importantly, the moon was a light in the dark, but it was not always there to provide such comforts.
This was the reality that she saw in her dreams of moon fire. An ever-changing world consumed in an un-predictable and yet calculated flame. Brilliant, graceful, and so deadly. So deadly, that she would be eaten alive by its silver conflagration.
But, the inferno would end as soon as she opened her eyes; eyes that were filled with the moon fire that she dreamed about every night until the time came for her to die. And die she did, under a moon as dark as the abyss her spirit would wander in to.
Ah! That is so good, Shadow!!!