Root - Prologue High up in their treetop home, Azora turns the pages in a thick, musty book. She had revelled in the art of storytelling for as long as she could understand words. Her brother, Kyvin, had been slower in learning to read, but made for a fantastic audience. Only 10 years old, she feeds him every word of her tales from the ancient tome, an heirloom from their grandfather.Root - Prologue by Waterstride-Sunrise
"Battling with selfless courage, the mysterious Root Guardians give their lives to the organization, to the defense of The Canopy, and most of all, to their ancient code." She looks up from the book at Kyvin's eyes, enraptured with the story. "Do you remember, Kyvin?"
"Oh, oh, I do!" He stutters out, before beginning the nursery rhyme, which he'd carried all his life.
"In defense of the innocent, do I take this solemn vow
In the face of greatest evil, I sw
UnthatchedAs cottages in the countryside go, it was fairly average and easy to spot, being the only one you'd find on Verylongstreet Path. The village itself was quiet in an unsettling kind of way, the type of place you look forward to leaving once you've arrived. Mrs. Bundtcake wasn't allowed to live inside the cottage itself, but she'd found herself a pleasant place just up the road, and Doctor Foole said the walk was good for her deep vein thrombosis.Unthatched by angelenroute
Her ritual was always the same, as she guessed it always would be. She knocked on the cottage door three times, and if no one told her to go away, she let herself in and made her way to the kitchen. She always turned the gas stove on first, in case it needed time to awaken, and then found her apron where she'd left it the night before.
Eggs were waiting in a basket by the icebox, left there earlier in the morning by Miss Peachfuzz, the maid. Now Mrs. Bundtcake had never met Miss Peachfuzz in the four years th
|Yarrr. These be good arts.|
Down in the DarkServe me your sorrows and there's nothing to say
I haven't had words for a while
Alone and unknown, it's back to the black
As I'm down in the dark and don't mind
As for you?
You are the one I won't ever forgive
I honestly lack any time
Idle notions entertaining
But the beat of our hearts
Hasn't rhythm to rhyme
Is it evil?
I'm a parasol twirling through places and spaces I swirl and swerve far out of sight, so no, it's more like I'm missing too much, like a crutch, upon which I lean and feel lonely
By a choice?
I can't claim it makes any sense
To seclude myself so, when all I want's to be with
- Some other
- Some one
But I might just be biding my time
Worth the wait?
These hopes, they're haphazard
Feelings that fizzle after forming up in fleets
On apathy's altar they fall
As apathy alters it all
Could I care?
The question's could I cry
And the answer's that I can't
I'm torn between pride in the pressures I overcome every day, ev
Reams of Red and RoyalCurtains of fire conceal her eyes,
Her shape consumed in drapes;
Cloaked with night, or something like,
The feel beyond her fingers.
Smoke is smeared across her arms,
Her heart all wrapped in ribbons;
It beats in tune with rising heat,
And sets her all ablaze.
She whirls and twirls and dances light,
She holds the world and steals a bite,
She shuns a scepter, runs from scythes,
And yearns to feel, and be alive...
A sapphire swing-set is all she's known,
A pendulum keeping time.
Kick hard enough, faster,
Swing round to the start.
Vertigo verges on rending her skull,
As she halts herself upside-down...
She's scared of the sky,
And the limits it poses;
Grown used to the ground,
An expansive decline.
Poised there, pausing,
She hangs in the heavens;
As gravity grabs her,
The circle is closed.
With a flowery flutter,
She forgets who she is.
In a meadow made of mirror glass,
There are red and royal roses.
They sprout from cracks, nocturnal blooms
That wither with every daw
Trapped in RealityOnce upon a never kind of time,
in another place and way,
we walked hand in hand through the magic,
delighting in moments perfected.
But that never happened.
It was always just a dream,
just a hint of a whisper of a want
of a day that never came
in a land lost to imagination.
Instead you look across the table,
and you judge me,
you watch from across the room,
and you hate me.
We had that special time together once,
in that place where my fairy tales live,
but reading all my stories
will never make them true.
just illusionSemi-sweet dances of the ethereal
mixed with the magic of ministry
and the silhouette of a dream
once seen, once found.
I walked along the foggy boardwalk
of my imagination,
danced with the past in expectation
of a future together.
We lived that night, that morning
in ways we wanted to forever,
meanings and messages around us,
living, breathing, pulsing within.
The careful obstructions remind us
why we came here in the first place,
who we arrived with and why,
and when we're scheduled to leave.
The mist is clearing, messages too,
and clarity appears like a rainbow,
a concrete sentence of truth
in a sky often filled with clouds.
The dance never ends,
nor the walk through the fog,
but together we know,
the illusion is just.