Post by Riley Sorsa on Feb 21, 2021 10:17:13 GMT -8
The ire of the lights, soaked the boards of the dark wooden stage. Intrusive, violent.
They await you. There is hunger in their gaze, they want something unique, someone special.
The light cut and blind. They remind you of the cost of deficiency. The lips, the hands. The chorus of chittering. Consumption.
If you have nothing to offer, nothing to inspire, no more to give. They will rip and tear, masticate your flesh, devour your mind.
There is another. She is grace, her movement pure allure. With each step, each movement, every note.
She draws you down. Pulls you towards the seething sea of appendages. They are hungry. She will feed you to them.
They would hold her up, aloft over you. Drown you in her shadow. Their desires twisted by her motion, rippled by her voice.
But you can change this. One touch. Be as they are. Shape what they want. Make them see.
You burn their own emotions, warp them.
You can see she is confused. This was hers, She had beaten you. Been better, more beautiful, more passionate. Yet here you are, not crushed beneath her heel.
You can see it has shaken her. Her movements show it. Like a viper that missed its mark, a slight quiver.
She is not yet defeated. Her feet find the boards, she cuts the air with her golden wings. The Light can feel her, taste her. You stand at the precipice, she is beside you, two balanced on the knife.
They await you. There is hunger in their gaze, they want something unique, someone special.
I must give them this, no more than this. My words must be true, the notes like bells, this voice a bright lance.
It’s essential I enchant both their eyes and ear. A siren bathed in moonlight. They will plead more of me, I will make them beg for it.
It’s essential I enchant both their eyes and ear. A siren bathed in moonlight. They will plead more of me, I will make them beg for it.
T̸̢̂h̶̻̅ḙ̸̈ ̶͔͝f̸̠̈́l̴̏͜e̸̪͛s̸͓̆h̷͉̍ ̴͈͘i̶̪͌s̴͔͐ ̴͕̏a̸͓̅ ̶͖͑c̷̪͆ö̴̡́c̶̨͗o̶͕̓o̷͍͠n̶͉̓
̶̲̾
The light cut and blind. They remind you of the cost of deficiency. The lips, the hands. The chorus of chittering. Consumption.
If you have nothing to offer, nothing to inspire, no more to give. They will rip and tear, masticate your flesh, devour your mind.
The fear within me must be quelled. Bound by in my chest, wrapped by muscle and bone. It is the fuel to my passion, to my ascension.
They can see me, but I must make them see beyond this vessel of flesh. I must tell them a story. I will make them want me.
They can see me, but I must make them see beyond this vessel of flesh. I must tell them a story. I will make them want me.
T̷̞̔h̶͙͊͆ë̷͔́͝ ̷̜͉̄̕f̸͕̐l̷̫̽̕e̶̮͚̔́s̵̠̦̽͝h̸̲̀͛ ̴̪̓i̶͓̾s̴͎͉̋ ̸̬̖̐̇ȃ̵̖ ̵̛͇͘c̷̣̓o̶̖͆c̴͖̄ö̸̗ö̷͇̬͠ń̸͚͠
̶͔̈́͝T̷̹͋͛h̷̉͜e̶̦͈͗̒ ̴͛͛ͅp̸̛̳͍̈́á̷̪͍t̵͙͆̌h̷̜̰̑ ̶̗̗̏̀i̸͇̝̒̍s̷̱̪̑ ̵͉̟͑ë̷͔́c̵̘̔s̶̨̬̊̃t̸̲͊͆a̸̧͛ͅt̸͈͚͋͠i̵̜̙̊ć̶̛̹
There is another. She is grace, her movement pure allure. With each step, each movement, every note.
She draws you down. Pulls you towards the seething sea of appendages. They are hungry. She will feed you to them.
How? I see the way they gaze upon her. The way her voice enchants. She has mastered fear. She knows what is wanted, has seen it. Lived it.
She is only mortal, she may soak in the light but she has not felt its touch, its kiss, its promise. This is not her moment, it’s not fair. I have sacrificed, I want it more.
We are of kin, we grow from the same flesh, have felt the same pains. We could have built something, lifted each other. But there can only be one in the garden, only one can suffer the light.
She is only mortal, she may soak in the light but she has not felt its touch, its kiss, its promise. This is not her moment, it’s not fair. I have sacrificed, I want it more.
We are of kin, we grow from the same flesh, have felt the same pains. We could have built something, lifted each other. But there can only be one in the garden, only one can suffer the light.
T̸͈̱̋͝ḣ̸͖͉̟͊͊é̷̙̈ ̵͙̍f̷̢̬̪̥̓̈́l̴̲̘̈̿ę̸̤̗͛̍̓̚s̸͎͆͝h̶͉̩̄̏̕ ̷͚͊i̸͍͕̜̽͋s̵̖̄͘͝ ̶͕͌̚ḁ̴͎͉͔̀͐͛ ̸͖̽̑̈́ĉ̵̼͖̎o̸͔̍̀c̵͓͊̽ọ̴̋̀̍̚ǫ̷̧̟͖͗͘n̶̓͜
̴̛͖̦̀͝T̷̳̤̺̯̀̇͑̐h̵͇̪̯̪̑ê̴̹̤͙̈́ ̷̡̰͖͙̽̀̅p̶̭̬͐͐̀a̴͙͎̿t̴̤̾͆ḧ̵̛͚̬̤͚͘ ̶͇͕͂̈̃̌i̶̘̞̬̊́̈́͠s̷͍̉ ̷͓̳̖̪̑ȩ̸͖̥̗̈̓̐͗c̸̪̟̾̆̎s̸̱̒̈́͑ẗ̶̰͓̱́̇̃̋͜ą̴͎͑̆t̶͈̰̉̎̃͘i̷̧̗̯̙͗̈c̴̳͕̓
̸̺̭͉̊̈́̑B̵̤͉͖̞̅́é̶͎̫͎̹̃͝y̴̡̗̩͐̕ǫ̴̮̙͕͐n̶̬͇̂ď̸̤́ ̴͍̬̜̐̋b̸̧̫͋l̴̪̑͜͠ọ̸̤̌́͆͒o̵͔͐́͝͝d̵͍̻̱̙̿̇̽ ̷̡͕̠̂̄̈́̚ã̵̧̝͙̲̄́̚n̶̯̿̔͘d̵͓̰͝ ̸̯͎̥̀͜f̷̼͕̹̦̀̈́̕l̶̢̨̮̺̄͊͛͐e̷̡̋̌̇̀s̸͍̭̀h̴͙̩͈͂
They would hold her up, aloft over you. Drown you in her shadow. Their desires twisted by her motion, rippled by her voice.
But you can change this. One touch. Be as they are. Shape what they want. Make them see.
You burn their own emotions, warp them.
I call upon the contract. I am chosen by a touch of glamor. I move on, against the odds to others it would seem. They have heard my voice, now they demand to see me fly.
I am more than a vessel of flesh, and blood. I am beyond canvas for others desires. I breathe motion. Bleed rapture.
This is why I live, I will make them feel my passion, my desires.
I am more than a vessel of flesh, and blood. I am beyond canvas for others desires. I breathe motion. Bleed rapture.
This is why I live, I will make them feel my passion, my desires.
T̴̛̯̹̲̅h̴͎͂̉̚͝e̴͇͋̕ ̴͎̔f̶͙̝̏̽̄l̵̗͇͓̝̊͂̈́̕ę̷̟̱̤͌̎̐̌ś̸͕͊h̶̤̘͑ ̵̫͎̝̼̀͝i̵̗͕̠̓̀̊s̵̨̪̒̊ ̴̜̦͐́̌͝a̵̮̫̮̔̉̈́ ̴̫̭͕͌́̋c̴̤̠̽̚ȍ̸̢͉͙͛c̴̫̿̄͊͋ơ̷̟̲͆͑͜o̴̮̊̂̅n̶͖͇͇̲̊́͂̓
̶̗̫̹̻̔̀T̶̺̮̮̓h̵̝̰̩͋̌͆͛ḙ̴̚ ̷̢̌̄̿p̵̧̰͈̍͒̈́ạ̷̱̣̇̽͆̓t̸̪̘̤̂̀͆h̴̠͗̓̉͝ ̷͔͎̣̦̍̚i̷͙͂ͅs̸̖̻̑̆ ̷̺̩̖̇̄̎ę̷̢͑c̸̯̠̯̲̃̉̑s̸͓͗̊̌̓t̷̢̩̅̊̆̈å̷̦͔̉ͅṯ̸̟͖̙͆͆ȋ̴̢̬͎͎̔̕c̵̝̩̳͉͋͂͂
̵̞̭̉̒Ḅ̷͓̲̄̾͠ḙ̷̮̟̖̾͑̄y̶̢̹͓̍̍͜o̴̺̭͒ṉ̸̢͒̽d̵͍͒͝ ̵̢̳̳̼͂̑ḃ̸̲̅l̷̟̂̎̀̒õ̶̞͕͝ȏ̶̢̼̮̗d̷̨͋̍͆ ̵̥̱̽͜a̵͉̝̯̓n̷̨̬͕͎̈́̇d̷̫̋̆ͅ ̸̳̫͑͛f̷̭͊̚ĺ̷̯̂̅͝e̵̮̖̪̝̿̌s̸̢̻̖͊͠ḧ̴̬̪̭̹́
̷͕̇̍̿͠S̶̭̿̔́͌ȃ̸̡̟̅̌̚c̸̯͠ȑ̴͎̮̗̾͗í̵̩͛f̴̭̯̝̓́͝į̸̠̫̀ͅç̷̻̇̎ě̵͇ ̸̛̩̭̹̹̓̅͝f̵̹͈̈́̕ȏ̷̧̜͊̓r̷̫̫͓̯̐ ̴̹́̓̓b̴̭̹͚͙͗e̸̲̪̿̌ä̷̱̤͕́̊ũ̵̡͚͙̌̓̕t̶̬̘̳̅y̶̰̳͋͐̉
You can see it has shaken her. Her movements show it. Like a viper that missed its mark, a slight quiver.
She is not yet defeated. Her feet find the boards, she cuts the air with her golden wings. The Light can feel her, taste her. You stand at the precipice, she is beside you, two balanced on the knife.
The lights ire is blinding.
It’s judgment is yet to come.
Ṱ̸̹̣̼̩̖̖̇̆͗̐̂̐̀͝h̵͓̲̱̹̒ȩ̶̨̭̝̫͍͔̠̾͆̑͌͂̍̚ ̵̖̪͕̜̭̯̥̦̑̽͑̇̓f̴̗͎͝l̷͈̣̯͇͖̪̩̈́͋̉́͆̇̚e̵̻̙̺̤̯͓͊͘͠ͅs̵͙̫̭̈̓́̈́̓̑̍̚h̵̰͑ ̴̙̰̺̖̑i̶̱̩̾̆̎̀̉̈́̚͝s̴̙͉̞̒̄̌͊́͗͐ ̶̨̡̩̟͔̣͎͕͝͝ḁ̵̛̦̱͔̖̪̄̔͝ ̴̹̞̼͕̹͒̃͋c̷͔͉̜̙͙̍ȍ̷̜̦̋̄̎͋͆̚ͅc̵̖͒͑̍̓͊o̵͙̯̦̜̪̊̃̀̏̀͝͝ǫ̴̺̟̙͕̖̠́͌̓n̶̨͇̝͓̦̉̾͆
̴̢͇͕͓̦̲̩̦͐͆̓͋̑̓T̴͓̖̘̪̣͐͊̃̀̈́͑̊ḧ̵̼̫́́̀̆̈́͐͝͠ė̶̪̱͓̪͇̬͈̈̉̈́̈́͜ ̷̣̖͓̦̬͒̃p̷̨̢̛̺͖̖̰̆̈́͒̈́̚â̴̧̫͔̲͇̓̄̌͗́͑̕t̸͍̩̣̫͙͈͑ͅḧ̴̻́͠ ̷̥̞̝̟͇̝̦̈̀̆̈́̌̈͂̕į̷̼̬̝̲͖̎̽͌̿͠ṣ̴̘͎̰͎͍̂̾̓ ̷̩̇̎e̸̬̯͎͌̃c̴͈̟͓̅s̸̹̲̩̖̜̯͓̑̋͒̅͝ͅt̸̡̲̙͇̰͈̓̑͝â̴͎̲͖̲̮̔̀t̷̡̟̩͂̄̊̅i̷̧̧̧̛̼̖̘̹̿͐c̸̯̳̭̘̮̽̾̄̅̂͝ͅ
̶̢̡̬̦̆͛͆̑̆͆͘ͅB̸̡̧̯͎͗͆̍͊́̑̿ę̴̝̪͂̌͛͒͝ͅy̴̩̖̳̰͚̤̓͌͋͊̎̈̚͘ͅő̷͔̯̠n̴͎̼͉̪̈́̕ḋ̷̥̝̪ ̷̩͕͍̱̠͛͛b̴̧̢̫̯͎͇̣͊͒̍̌́͘͜͠l̸̡͙̥͒͒̓͑͂͗͝o̴̧̢̩̐͂̀̈̋͘͘ö̴̮́́̈́d̶̻̱̹͝ ̸̨̡̮̺̬͔͍̎̔a̶̛̼̘͛͋̽̊̉̚n̵̢͚̘͍̦̍̐̌̍̏̆̾͜͝ͅd̶͎̦͕̻̖͔̒̿̓́̉͘͠ ̸͖̥̖̦̫̃̌̾̀̐͒͛̕f̴͖̦̘͔̰͖̓̾̊̂̌̋̚͠ļ̶̧̗͎̼̊̈́͒̌̊̚͝e̴̫̟̐̋͋s̴̪͔͓̫͈͆̒͘̚h̸̨̛͔̥̠̄̽̆̏͗̎̽ͅ
̸͈̆̀ͅḇ̴̮̲͆̑̋́̚͝â̴̪̮̑͆̒̀̉̑̐n̴̲̻̥̅͜a̴̭͍̣̣̣̤͕̟̿́ļ̷̳̱̪̳͔͒̈́̄̾̐i̷̧̠͑̓̃̽͊̈͝t̶̮̻̅̊̚̕͠y̷̧͚̻̤͕̘̼̾͒̑̔́̒̂ ̶̗͍̠̈́̄́ị̴͂̂̆͝͝ͅş̴̧̜͉̲̼̗̐̀͂̏͂ ̴͇̖͔͐̊͜ḑ̵͓̼͖̞͚͙̳̈̂͌́̇̏ẹ̸͖̯̤̹̔̍͊̈́̄̓͜͠͝a̷̛̼͉̣̗͈͚̗̍͆͊͂̾͜͠t̵̛̙̎̀̒h̴̨̘̱͈̔͊̓͂̆́͝
