illie, sap sipper
she/her
27
september 23rd
snowpoint city, sinnoh
bi curious
geneticist, alchemist
head professor
you caged me and then you called me crazy; i am what i am 'cause you trained me.
TAG WITH @illeana
illeana reyes
break me
POSTED ON Jul 7, 2020 7:31:52 GMT
[attr="class","illiepost"] [attr="class","illieicon"] [attr="class","illie b"] [attr="class","illie i"]there's a word spoken in a language long since deceased that comes to mind as she weaves through headstones. noctivagus. night-wandering. fitting, perhaps, on a night like this where her feet moved before her mind could succumb to anything else but the overwhelming urge to move, to wander, to go and never return. she finds herself wandering back to mt. pyre more times than she'd like to admit. before, it had always been meteor falls, where the beginnings of dragons are said to belong. where the stars above meet the ground below with craters like bullet wounds marring the earth. and somehow, the change of pace is almost welcome. sometimes... sometimes it lets her feel like her lost golett is calling her home. and sometimes, just sometimes, that is enough for her to never look back. "anything?" she murmurs and it's almost as if she's talking to thin air, to shadows that lick across every inch of this graveyard. and yet, a rumble echoes around her. here, there, everywhere all at once. a golurk emerges from a cloak of shadows moments later and off-colored clay barely glistens in the dim moonlight. wherever she goes now, there's always something in the stretch of darkness at her back. whether it's ironic or poetic or foreboding is lost on her. instead, all she knows is the safety it provides. the comfort, the security. the haunting presence could enough to quell even the strongest of nightmares if it knew where to hide but the shadows and darkness of her mind are not so easily accessed. not my the automaton, not by anyone. no, they haunt her and only her. and perhaps, just for tonight, she wants to be haunted by a different kind of darkness. one of ghoulish descent, of spirits halfway between worlds and realms and yet still lingering in her presence. maybe then she'll feel a little better about not bringing flowers to a grave. it's a nice thought but... she'll never quite be able to shake that feeling that she wouldn't have to bring flowers or mourn or shatter like porcelain on tiles if she had just been stronger. [attr="class","illietag"]solo. [newclass=.illiepost] width:350px; text-transform:lowercase; text-align:justify; font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; padding-left:10px; [/newclass] [newclass=.illieicon] height:100px; width: 100px; float:left; padding-right:5px; [/newclass] [newclass=.illie b] color:#E37474; [/newclass] [newclass=.illie i] text-decoration: underline dotted #E37474; [/newclass] [newclass=.illietag] width:300px; text-transform:lowercase; font-family:georgia; font-size:12px; text-align:right; [/newclass] [newclass=.illiepoke] width:300px; text-align:right; [/newclass]
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