“When a falling star lands, it creates a catastrophic event.
And from the crater it makes, a celestial body is formed
Not perfect in any way, but exhibits an otherworldly energy that lights up the atmosphere of any room.
Knowing they can never go back to the sky which they belong
They make themselves at home
And become greater than they ever were
For it’s the Exiled Stars, that truly shine upon humanity.”
━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━
It was a quiet night out at sea. A thick, foggy haze of grey clouds covered the sky, with only the brilliant light of the full moon being able to shine through. The soft smell of salty waters crashed into the side of the sailing ship whilst it finished its final tow. And there Lorelei Luxford stood, on...
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
-
Inventory Split Incoming
MassiveCraft will be implementing an inventory split across game modes to improve fairness, balance, and player experience. Each game mode (Roleplay and Survival) will have its own dedicated inventory going forward. To help players prepare, we’ve opened a special storage system to safeguard important items during the transition. For full details, read the announcement here: Game Mode Inventory Split blog post.
Your current inventories, backpacks, and ender chest are in the shared Medieval inventory. When the new Roleplay inventory is created and assigned to the roleplay world(s) you will lose access to your currently stored items.
Important Dates
- April 1: Trunk storage opens.
- May 25: Final day to submit items for storage.
- June 1: Inventories are officially split.
Please make sure to submit any items you wish to preserve in the trunk storage or one of the roleplay worlds before the deadline. After the split, inventories will no longer carry over between game modes.
Player Stories
Filters
Show only:
Loading…
"And even though.. whenever I close my eyes I still see that knife, or that pack of wolves.. I still have some sort of peace. It's a peace because I've been on the other side of life. /Death/. And I'm no longer scared of that. You don't know what death holds. That is a fear, and you need to accept it. Don't let it have power over your life. It's gonna be okay. Breathe. It's okay to not be fine. You have to wake up and live with the fact that.. shit happens, okay? People get hurt, they cry, they kiss, they drink, whatever. That's life. And life is a gift." Darcy speaks with intention, and humbleness.
She smiles.
She is at peace.
Even if she's traumatized.
Even if her Mom is dead.
Even if she was attacked by wolves.
Even if she was...
Once upon a time, the nightmares had more substance to them. They might have not been obvious, no, but there was more to them than there was now. There would be the purple lightning, monstrous versions of her friends, or leering, hateful beings that she could not describe. Somehow, though, that was less terrifying than what they had become.
Somewhere between the clickers and the vault, the recurring terrors had changed. They went from having things to having nothing. Blackness. There would be a sense of running, sometimes of fighting back, but the enemy was always unseen. They could be heard, though. Sometimes there were the sounds of loud, thumping footsteps, other times the sound of ominous clicks. Hearing hissing, whispering, and...
Khaal Dzekh'aar Estate
---
"They still cry, you know," the Kathar spoke, turning to face the crowd set before him. "They weep for the misery and death that has been brought upon them."
His eyes, a constellation of crimson pinpricks on a moonless sky. A pale-gloved hand, stained with freshly-spilt blood wiped at his mouth, streaking against his sharp features as he continued to speak.
"You say that I cheat -- that I acted dishonorably in this duel, and stained the sanctity of its meaning -- yet here we are, standing in a celebration of renewal for this Khaal, built from the ashes of Petalcourt." He scoffed at the notion, tossing a blacksteel dagger to the wayside, landing near its former wielder. His shadowed cloak billowed along...
The forest rang with music as the carved wood of wedding pews lined the lush clearing near the Alfonse family home. Before the rows of pews lay a small overhang shading a Altar carved from black stone resembling a violinist in preparation to play within an Orchestra. Each string of the statue's violin could be picked out just as ever button was distinct upon its coat , yet amidst the hundreds of details, most striking was the statue’s face. Carved like a black masquerade mask it was dotted with eight spider-like eyes that looked out into the audience.
At the bottom of the odd masterpiece lay an inscription in common:
Alucard stood in front of this shrine, his fingers mimicking his racing heart beat as they drummed upon the dark red...
My eyes blink rapidly as I regain consiousness. How long was I out? It's dark outside, but it's the kind of dark that is eerie. The clouds are this depressing shade of grey, and the wind blows at just the right time to make you think there's a ghost around. And I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if there was- this house is old. Old enough to have had atleast one person die. My thoughts run wild as I muster enough strength to lift my head off the desk that is lit only by one waxed candle, which is already three quarters burnt through. I let out an ached groan as my back muscles twitch, also waking up. My hands are numb and so are my feet, it feels like they're floating. I crook my neck and squint my eyes just right to see what I was working...
"January 3rd, 309 AC
To all my friends and family in Regalia and beyond,
I am writing this letter, although you will most likely never find it, unless you are looking through my belongings, because I appreciate each and every one of you. When I was born of a criminal psychopath, I never thought I'd end up where I was. I had tons of friends, and was involved in so many wonderful things. Even the conflicts I were stuck in just reminded me of how alive and human I am, and how thankful I am to be breathing and living in this amazing city. In a few hours, I am going to visit an old friend. They will remain anonymous for their sake, because I do truly care for them. I am going to their house and am going to spend time with them. I will...
"January 3rd, 309 AC
To all my friends and family in Regalia and beyond,
I am writing this letter, although you will most likely never find it, unless you are looking through my belongings, because I appreciate each and every one of you. When I was born of a criminal psychopath, I never thought I'd end up where I was. I had tons of friends, and was involved in so many wonderful things. Even the conflicts I were stuck in just reminded me of how alive and human I am, and how thankful I am to be breathing and living in this amazing city. In a few hours, I am going to visit an old friend. They will remain anonymous for their sake, because I do truly care for them. I am going to their house and am going to spend time with them. I will...
As silent as the grave.
A phrase he’d heard once or twice, in passing. In conversation, perhaps, or committed to memory from the pages of a fable. Whether from fable, conversation, or otherwise, it was never a phrase that sat well with him. To be resigned to an eerie quiet, deep beneath frigid ground, had always been a thought that succeeded in turning his stomach and slowing his sword-arm.
Identical columns of patterned white and polished black filled his vision in his fleeing sprint through the corridors of the facility. A frosted gauntlet held his green-hued sword between blade and crossguard as the frantic clink of his armour echoed around the still halls, joined by the ringing ears of exhaustion and fear, and the armoured trudge...
Famine struck their innards like a toll on a hollow bell, rusted and yet still swaying with a frenzy for what they could not obtain, the knell sounding off an inevitable fate which yawned on, without a church to reside in. These were the dark days of cold and hunger. The lack of sickly sweet ichor sent those with such strong malady into lust, in the absence thereof, and driving them mad to the point of self-asserted pain and toil. Gnashing teeth sliced at the air, strangulating the imaginative throats of their enemies, which were not presented in front of them for the dream to become true. Canines chipped as they clasped around the very rocks on the ground, hands clawed in desperation at any passing animal. To travel is exciting, to...
((This is canon, just not important enough to be a progression))
-- Following the encounter at the Dragon Temple, William Arnyn felt the sensation of ever falling, his wings could and would not save him, and his eyes did not reveal where he was falling to. It was utter darkness that surrounded him, and no sound save for the pounding of his own heart in his ears could be heard. Then, just as suddenly as he had been thrust into this nothingness, did he suddenly stand again, in the Dragon Temple. It took him a few moments to recollect himself, ensure that all his limbs were still in place and functional, before he looked around himself to figure out what had happened. The Temple looked different, less overgrown, less neglected from the...
Peace was lovely.
Fen’nan wasn’t used to it, nor did she ever like it. The quietness, the emptiness. Yet she found if she could keep busy enough, she could stave off her buried memories and thoughts without breaking the law.
The ache in her back stirred her, the Altalar’s crimson head raising up from her desk, her hands reaching up to rub her groggy features as her gaze flit to the open book she’d opted to use as a pillow. Modern Altalar text sprawled out across its many pages, much similar to the massive pile of additional Est-allorn books beside it, each book nearly as thick as her arm. With dramatic enthusiasm, she snapped the book shut, glancing once more at the seemingly endless pile of homework as she stood from her chair...
A Yanar stepped out of a house in Old Town, looking around for not the first time. The Yanar’s eyes adjusting to the bright sun glistening upon the snow. This was their second winter since their parent had birthed them, and first winter since losing their parent in the Rift where he went to save Regalia. Telling the seedling to be proud of their figure and to want to keep it. A keepsake from their parent was strapped to the hip or the Yanar. A falx. The curved blade looking sharp and the spine of it thick. The Yanar would hold the hilt with one hand before heading out to do some chores, shoveling off his steps and clearing it of snow, giving a wave to the passerby on the streets. It was a good day to be alive.
Days had passed Silver had finally met his parents, he took time to do some shopping for those back in Regalia and spent time relaxing and getting to know his family once more. He was happy again, something he hadn’t truly had for a very long time. All the worries in his life had gone and, he was just free to be himself, be vulnerable, be emotional for around the first time in near a century.
As the moon fell and the sun rose each day it was getting close to the Warden’s needed departure. With the ship, he took gone he would have to take an alternate way to get back to Regalia with post-haste if he wanted to make it home on time. The only way to do that was to fly, and there was only one way to do that in Ellador. The Wyverns.
By this...
Within the twilight sky, the moon shone its pearlescent light down upon the kneeling Isldar with his hands resting on the pommel of the blade he had driven into the cold earth beneath him. From his stance, the man slowly rose to a stand, eyes lingering on the crystalline tombstone for a few moments but for him, it felt like hours. Silver turned hesitantly, casting his gaze back over his shoulder to take one more glance at the resting site of his brother before trudging off toward the rest of Ellador. The wind around him picking up and throwing snow upon him fully masking his form as he disappeared.
Silver is next seen walking the trails of Ellador, meandering slowly through the frost-covered streets. His eyes wandered over the scenery...
Blood splattered the walls of this lost and dark alleyway in the middle of nowhere, and the Ash Knight slowly stepped back from their victim, someone who had been a simple drunkard a few minutes ago. But now? Now it wasn't a drunkard. Now he wasn't someone. It was something, just like the Knight himself. The armored man-thing could only wonder, would it rise as well? Maybe a Unionist Deity would pity it, and bring it back to life...
"Wouldn't that be fun?" The Knight mused to himself. They could get a companion, who could understand how they felt, and they could be called...the Drunk Knight. It wasn't funny though. Nothing seemed really funny anymore, aside from killing, and the act of that on itself wasn't funny, was it? It was more...
|| Another day for Silver was around, the cold airs of Ellador whipping against his skin as he patrolled the outer edge of his homeland with his youngest brother beside him. The scene was from an outside perspective, not from the eyes of Silver himself and as it would seem he was younger. Happier. His eyes are not blessed by the Dragons and his calm features holding a small grin upon it as the two Frost Watchers thread their path carefully. Time passed and soon the Isldars found themselves assailed by foreign threats that wished to attack Ellador and its people. The two of them quickly bared arms and started to defend themselves against the threat. Much blood was spilled on both sides and the Isldars were winning before the recoiling...
Within the sky dotted clouds barely visible through the glimpses of moonlight that illuminated the earth beneath at the late hour. Frigid winds blew through Regalia picking up snow and throwing it around and at any passing night owl that tread the streets of the Holy City. One such man was an Isldar Dragon Warden, Silver Swyftfurusat, dressed in long-sleeved clothing with a cloak billowing out behind him as he proceeds through the snow leaving trails in his wake. Within his grasp, he held a large bag a sack over his shoulder for the supplies he had pack himself for the journey he was about to venture forth upon.
He navigated through the freezing weather with little to no care of the winds blowing relentlessly against his snow-like...
Serene snow fell on the cobbles of the Regalian street that was soundless, save the crunching of fur boots upon it. The wearer of the boots was a young Qadir, no more than twenty-five, who shivered as she briskly walked the dim and lonely path, presumably to her residence to find sanctuary and sleep after a longer shift than normal. The hollow breeze sent a deadly quiver throughout the woman’s body, the type of tremble that one wouldn’t shake for the rest of the night. She seemed a little paranoid, peeking now and then over her shoulder, and around empty corners. The worn, cold and tired Qadir muttered a curse to herself, as she found herself a little turned around she’d decided to cut through the outskirts of Hangroad, an Ill-lit and...
"Cry 'Havoc!', and let slip the dogs of war!”
Humaira Reinard – 15 November, 308 AC
The walls were the same thick grey stone as the dwellings of the region, but instead of the pure white snow that signalled a ‘joyful’ Wintertide incoming, there were mean barred openings with thick metal bars, no glass to show freedom to the outside. How expected of a prison. In the frigid cold that had already made its descent into Regalia’s season, it let in a wicked draft and reduced the temperature to near freezing. It was no brighter inside than the gathering gloam of dusk, even at midday. The beddings were planks of wood on legs, there were no mattresses, no cushioning and only one thin blanket on each bedding. It was either suffocating-ly...
The hunt was always better on an empty stomach, and so dinner had been left in the kitchen that night, though perhaps the anticipation of this supposed 'experiment' might as well have stolen Quin's apatite. The trip to Hostess had been, as it always had been, uneventful. Past the slummier parts of town with their loud and vibrant bustle into the late hours of the night, the drunkards by the three horseshoe tavern on the way to the Imperial Stables, and beyond to the Three Sisters Waterfalls, roaring the molten snow water from Mount Agatha down to the Imperial River that ran through the capital. No armor or tools were needed, or so he thought, and so Quin went with as minimal as hunting gear as possible. After all, this was supposed to...
The daggers sank into Tomas, his body crashing against the deck. As four men charged into his ship cabin.
The first pierced his back with a dagger, “For Alexander, my comrade in arms whom your creations butchered and for his body which you desecrated with your heretical practice,” dictated the man his voice awash in frigid judgement.
The second rammed a knife through his chest, “For Lilly O’ Valley, my daughter whose ascension and whose Body you desecrated!” cried the second man.
He stabbed the Qadir over and over the blade punctuating each word of heart broken fury. Only stopping as the third man held him back. Allowing Tomás to cumple to the floor the last flames of tortured life still glowing in his pilot light eyes. Handing the...
_."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._."._
A malya tel-ámintaal¹,
I pray that you are well. Of course, it is the truth that I do not know how well you are, for it is unlikely that we have crossed paths before. Or indeed, that if we did, that it was for a length of time greater than for a few passing moments. The circumstances which have kept us from being previously acquainted may however be put aside, because it is those same circumstances which through their progression now bring us together, or possibly so, should you and others wish it as much as I do. Certainly my desire is profound. You might think this a curiosity, because it is not often that one feels strongly about a matter they have...
(Courtesy of @Deusphage, a Lore-Story stemming from IC events.)
Credit to @Bellarmina, @ZiggyStarDusted, @Yurs, @Katiesc, @SorryNari, @Mad_Gadfly, @Wumpatron, @AtticCat, @Deusphage, @_GoldWolf_, @canaaa, @Sozzer and @MippyMoo for some of the little rhetoric Easter-Eggs dropped in. If you read through 'em, there'll be a few unique lines that you'd be able to recognize. These are mostly just references to IC events.
DM me if you want the full reasoning behind the story, but some details will remain a Find Out IC.
≫┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈| ☩ |┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈≪
Tendrils. Tendrils, warping around the poor soldier who had found himself prey to something much greater than he- something unknown and unknowable. A motiveless crime, a motiveless stunt and a...
The ramshackle cart jerked to a sudden halt. It was beautiful yes, but undoubtedly antiquated. Something that spoke of old wealth: the sort of thing that looked like it might have been expensive several decades ago before the curtains faded, the varnish peeled and the structural frame was left to rot underneath the unforgiving elements. Now, it was shabby, broken and wobbled on an uneven wheel.
There was a glint from somewhere within the grimy windows as the curtain was yanked to the side, and a bitter face stared out.
Mr Herman scowled out at Regalia through his small dark spectacles, or perhaps he didn't scowl at all, and that dismal expression was just the man's face- after all it was the sort of thing that was hard to discern from...
|| Music ||
“I have a black mirror. It Never shows my reflection, but it still blinks back at me.”
A dark bedroom, illuminated only by candles and a dying fire. Two figures resided within, conversing back and forth with each other.
“A feeling akin to that of a flower trapped in constant winter.. A prayer to call forth spring in order to free their petals is met with deafened ears. How does a flower feel when it is wilting? When it is dying?” The softened voice spoke as it’s delicate hands embraced the bushel of flowers that rested within a vase. Their fingers tracing against a single unbloomed bud, it’s petals brittle to the touch for the flowers were long dead.. It kept them there.. For they held a memory, one that they were not...
In Gallovia, when the summer dies, there is held a feast. A feast of food, and family, and friendship, where boys become men and girls become women, where the first leaves that fall are made into a crown. In Gallovia, when the summer dies, the little towns of Ambreich and Willaeden hold a feast, where the first leaves that fall are made into a crown, and boys become men, whether they want to or not.
~~~
“Why are you whisperin’?”
“Shut up. Look. It’s startin’.”
“I canny see.”
“Heh. Shortie. Ow.”
“Don’t call me short.”
“Ye are. And shut up, it’s startin’.”
“Wha-”
“Shhh.”
~~~
This love, it is a distant star… guiding us home, wherever we are.
~~~
“What’s your name, anyways?”
“Ceciladen. Cecil. What’s yours?”
“Joridh.”...
OOC note: First things first, sorry if this took a very long time to come out, I was experiencing major writers block and kind of forgot about this project. Second thing, this is the last installment of the Priceless Items series. Third thing, the music I used for this story are from the Nintendo Famicom version of Castlevania 3: Dracula's Curse. Last thing, there is some violence in this. Anyway, without any delay and any ado what-so-ever, here's the story you may have been waiting for.
Music
Priceless Items: The Whip
▅▄▃▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▂▃▄▅
Previously, in Priceless Items…
"It took you long enough."
"I ran into some trouble."
"So, where's the money?"
"I got it right here." Connak would say with a slight smirk as he reached...
A little bit of ambiance music to listen to while reading.
In the deepest pits of one's mind they tend to find a darkness, a voice that will call to them when they are completely and utterly alone.
It was so clear, yet so empty. A vast black emptiness that seemed to go on until the end of times. The only thing to be met there, was a small fragment. It glowed with a purple hue, twisted and wrapped in brambles and thorns. And in this vast emptiness of nothing it called out, called out to those who were abandoned.
Na'vos felt himself drift through this nothingness, though without a body, without any sense of self. He felt compelled to follow the call, to hear what it had to say. And so he did. The fragment spoke of the All-Mother and...
Upon travelling North with her husband to visit her parents at their family fiber mill, Sivrid Kensley fell very sick. The illness was unexpected, and incapacitating. For days she was locked into fever dreams, confined to a bedroll, and cared for by her loved ones. On the final day, as her body fought for life, she experienced this dream.
For an endless day and night, with no sun and no moon, Sivrid found herself wading through a shallow bog. There were no trees, and no creatures. No sky, and no clouds. Only a grey fog, reflected in grey water. The cold feeling of Alu's fingertips trailed across her ankles as she walked, never quite grabbing hold, but slowing her steps. When finally, for the first time since entering the mist, she saw...
In the cold evening light, her arms outstretched like a child as harsh reality kissed her cheek: this is where she recognized her qualm. Every mistake was written on her face, pressed in by a hard heavy truth with lips that fall apart in a delicate, yet sharp, work of art. Her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, words surpassing verbal expression at the threshold, now only able to whirl around her mind. Such dangerous storms are a thing to be careful and cautious around. One wrong move and your whole temple could come crumbling down. As the crumbling continued, such words riddled with maladies rang in her ears, only causing an internal conflicting battle to ensue further than it had been for the past three centuries.
“I am not a...
Ailwin knelt at the altar, a mosaic of a young blue-clad woman above him. He tried to focus, but to no avail, So much had happened, after that one night out... Was he lucky that he wasn't caught in the fire with the rest of them, or unlucky that he had to live without them? All these thoughts coursed through his head, and he grit his teeth. "Damn Ulley, damn Vallea, damn all of them." He never thought an Altalar like him would be right in the middle of an Old Gods temple, yet here he was. The Pantheon had forsaken his family, so why not him? It was better to start fresh, with another group. But he just couldn't focus. The same three images kept appearing in his mind's eye: fire, smoke, ashes. "Ughhh... What's wrong with me...
The Speech
The whiskey flowed quick and the Mead went down strong as Sons of the Gallovian Highlands battled the Daughter and Sons of the North in drinking contest after drinking contest, wild story after wild story, sober then drunk song after song. It was a celebration unseen in centuries, as ancestral rivals and old enemies buried Familial hatreds in common contest and a jovial comradery all because of one order. A summons from an old Comrade, who now sat at the head of the Great Lodge’s table.
A towering, 6.9ft Url whose tattooed form and Oorl Gifted muscles were outlined in the Leather clothes beneath his silver and Grey Kiltach, its dual parts clamped together with a Wolf’s head made of Silver. The Url kept an easy smile...
· · ─────── ·· ─────── · ·
The soft blue blanket enveloped Cerulean in a comforting warmth, one he hadn’t felt for quite a while and one he wasn’t quick or eager to move from. But as the moon rose higher in the sky, illuminating parts of the shared room he felt more restless, his body itching to move around despite how tired his eyes felt. He watched the soft light creep along the floor and walls, eventually landing on the face of the young woman in the bed across from him.
His gaze lingered on her, taking in her soft features with a quiet admiration. Wren was one of the prettiest people Ceru had ever met, and what made it better was that she was pretty not just on the outside, but the inside too. She was so kind to him, so helpful...
OOC: This Lore Story contains adult themes such as Depression, Rage, and mild graphic scenes of violence. If you are not able to handle this (or feeling squeamish), please click away. You have been warned.
~-(+)-~
"I have long since felt the pain. Now, I make it known."
Beluar had returned to the Sewers, but oddly not with the intent of finding out about what had happened with the Withered Roses-no, he wasn't an idiot and he played the part he was given. It had hurt his physical body to keep up the act, but at least it was easy enough for him to set the stage of a dramatic downfall from grace. He hated showing the man behind the masks to anyone that he may attempt to get close to but little did Alethia or anyone in the Withered Roses-or...
╔ ——————————————— ╗
╚ ——————————————— ╝
Lightning and thunder danced throughout the skies. Tornados of leaves passed through the streets. A storm was at the peak of it's rage, marking the arrival of a demon, and the rebirth of another.
There was something euphoric about bathing in the blood of a fresh kill. Still warm, and pulsing with vitality. Kabili lay in the bath he drew for himself, the Bloody Bear’s corpse not far from it, the only illumination to stave off the darkness were three candles.
“I did it…” he muttered, “I did it for you, Abbagellon.”
Bubbles touched the surface of the ichor bath.
“I offer Vhoor’ahk’s body and blood, as a tribute, to you.”
Wind howled from the outside.
“I followed all the...
27/08/308 up north of Regalia
The restless wind blows across the sky as the sun began to fade into the darkness that will consume the town, just the right time for nocturnal animals to come out and play with each other. The sound of wolves howling at the skies as they chase a group of deers galloping away from them, one by one they began to catch their prey and leaving them defenseless, a hunter with a sword watches from a far through the bushes examining the wolves cooperating with each other to take down their prey.
"Guess they had their meal for the day"
The hunter simply commented on the situation ahead before letting out a soft sigh, panning over towards the setting sun and letting his gaze meet the yellow light, another sigh...
♩ ♪ ♫ ♬
From before their time and far beyond their scope - it was a relic, well over half a century old. What secrets did it hold? What horrors had it seen? What had been folded away within its crisp, wax sealed edges? Natalia asked themself this, taking a midnight stroll through Hangroad Square. They ran a finger down the ivory handle of the fan, carefully unfolding it into a crescent with an audible thwack. They saw the moonlight reflected in its deep nearly black navy blue silken sky. Embroidered with silver and pearls were the many constellations of the night - small, precious stars all at their fingertips.
Yet, there was more to this object than its beauty. It was this very fan that had sentenced their great uncle to death...
♪
There is wind and there is nothing. Birdsong which drifts away as darkness comes wild and unruly. The heat of stars; torches in the black sky.
The last night, she lost her breath in three parts. The rise of one, the lingering in her chest, and the steady exhale from her nose. There was no struggle, no gasps, or suffocating. Just peace. Her fingers locked in mine. She was never the strongest. And no matter how firmly I held her hand and hoped to tether her life to this world of the living, she could not hang on anymore. She left in peace long before she was ever meant to.
There is candlelight and warmth and perspiration on the skin. Finding the crevices and burrowing deep. Finding the blood and the veins and lingering there.
I...
╔══════════════════⟝• ⸰ °)☼(° ⸰ •⟞══════════════════╗
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
╚══════════════════⟝• ⸰ °)☼(° ⸰ •⟞══════════════════╝
And then she told herself, “Stop being so weak. Grow up and get over it.” And then she never felt anything again.
The letter preceded a storm, both literal and metaphorical. The rain poured down upon the Kaeppler family estate as she sat within a large armchair before the fireplace. There were no more tears to be shed as her fingers curled tighter around the thin parchment paper. Inhaling a sharp breath, she pushed herself upwards; the room swam and spun around her as she swayed. Attempting to gather herself and what little strength that remained within her...