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The Oneironaut - 01On the other side of the glass, in the world proper, the woman watched through the corner of her eye. The hallway of the abandoned little house was dark, but she hadn't needed any light to see the white-furred ghost reflected in the mirror. To call it a fox would be to mar the reputation of foxes everywhere; the nogitsune were terrible creatures, cunning and devious, with a seemingly unquenchable thirst for mortal suffering and intrigue.
"You didn't do it?" It had asked, tilting its painted face.
"I gave my word." She tilted the revolver in her hand, causing the image of something small and gold to dance upward over the glass.
The ghost spoke seductively enough to make the woman turn to face it, and it looked to her in kind. "I would have broken it."
"That's because you're not me," the woman said evenly to her reflection, "We're not the same person. I've forgotten that for so long."
"Do you even remember your name?"
Our Seperate Ways
It wasn't supposed to be all for you.
I challenged the laws of Kings. I burned Hell to the ground. I brought the Devil to his knees. It wasn't supposed to be all for you, but now it all comes down to these last few breaths. So long as you live, I'll always have a reason to fight the impossible odds and stand laughing into the face of the storm. You always gave me a reason to push brazenly forward, even knowing the consequences of my actions. You trusted me, and now I have to live up to the expectations you have of me, otherwise it's all for nothing.
Perhaps that's why I hunted down the ghosts and demons. It was the least I could do, especially since you'll never forgive me for this. Even now, it all comes down to this one moment. Everyone else is far away and gone, and I can't harbor your trust anymore. Without you I'm lost, but if I stay I could never forgive myself.
Her Father's Daughter"I see you've told Father."
The Alchemist continued to twist the bolt down, speaking without looking up. In the doorway to the workroom, the Acolyte turned to face him. He raised his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses before moving on to a second pinion. A smell like wood smoke, cold steel and struck matches lingered in the air, and to the Alchemist it smelled like home. To the Acolyte, it smelled of things unlike magic, and it made her shudder to consider the lethality of the Marksman's creations. Surely these things, these mechanical objects, were an affront to all Gods but one alone.
It was the whim of that one God that troubled her.
"He wouldn't hear me." She whispered bitterly, watching as he twisted wire together with his remaining hand. She wished that whoever had taken his left arm had bothered to finish the job they had started, but such dreams often went unfulfilled. Her own h
Vanguard, Chapter 1: DuncanDuncan's Journal: Day 1288
I consider myself a good man. I respect women, elders, my equals, and the dead. I say a morning prayer, and an evening one. Hell, I even thank the gods for a meal, instead of immediately chowing down in the voracious manner as the other soldiers here do. By all logical means, I should be in paradise. No really, not just because I'm a good man, but also because I should be dead by now. So I ask myself: why, oh gods up there, have I ended up in hell?
1288 days. 1288 days of my life have been spent in this misery, and I'm beginning to lose faith in the glory I was promised. Some of the rookies still live in their ignorant bliss, but I've lived long enough to realize that there's not much glory to find here. “Sing the songs of glory and march into battle—-join The Crusade today!”. Such were the words of the posters The Crusade has spread all over The Mortal Realm. Gullible fools practically stand in line for these songs of glory that th
LatreuophobiaI wash off sick-sweet orange lipstick in front of a mirror as dusty as gothic romances. It tastes like oblivion, that is to say, like nothing my tongue can detect.
The door opens with a creak no private restroom could emulate. Some chick with blue bobbed hair and smeared eyeliner. I looked like that once. Ten years ago.
Getting the beer out of my hair is harder. Some men just can't take it when I'd rather they not kiss my feet or call me an angel or-
“Dayum girl, you look like a goddess.”
I gulp, taste of acid.
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More