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Basilisk 3: Don't Wait For Me The snow had long ago stopped and instead Scoops found himself among the nearly dead trees of Risholi. The landscape was as barren as Lumeria now that the Autumn goddess had died, and the few leaves still attached to the branches were rendered brittle and brown like its already fallen companions. No longer were there the showers of beautiful shades of red, yellow, and orange, and somehow he felt gypped of the experience.
Then again, he wasn't sure he'd know difference between the red leaves and the blood.
As he rested against a thick tree under a canopy of bare branches, he stared down at the pool of his own blood as it collected around him. He'd been lucky enough not to encounter anymore Sunspawn, but it appeared the strain of traveling so far in unrelenting weather took its toll on his body. He saw it coming, knowing fully w
Empty WordsI love to tell you how my day was
but you never listen
I love to wake and see your smile
but your never there
I love the way you make me laugh
but its been awhile now
I love it when you stay with me all night
but now your never there
I love the little things that you used to do that showed you cared
You tell me that you love me
but your words are empty
You tell me that's not true
but you never change
White Sunday 171: Abaddonin dark and sparked glimpse we fight our fears.
moments now turn to days and decades raged,
the passions that pass into legends, tears
of the first kiss, we miss the bliss we caged
that time still holds hostage, uncertain prayers
we speak, sotto voce, we hide until
we kill the essence of dreams and nightmares
that once we shared, a birth made still and chill
in the pale pick and flaw, hearts elastic
to pull and pinch of barriers rising.
the guard is hard and stands erect to stick
fist in the air and defiantly sing
anthems of anathema and the fold
fabrics we wrap ourselves in against cold.
William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More