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+---- Thread: THROUGH A WINDOW CAME A GHOST I KNOW → return (/showthread.php?tid=14587)
THROUGH A WINDOW CAME A GHOST I KNOW → return - heathcliff r. - 04-18-2021
[align=center][div style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 8pt; max-width: 65%; text-align: justify; line-height:120%"][ only the eighth paragraph and on is important, he is not too far in from the outskirts of the marsh ]
In all there is duality, fine the rope traversed. A balance, all acting within accordance, one incapable of existence without the other to act as tether. Such which allowed the concept of a beginning and drew into existence the match found in the end, course run and thus joined. Falsehood rang through such, cut the fine string until fraying ends may not find the other, yet, in this, another found. Disruption may not occur even beneath the flourish of desire, merely shortened, quickened the approach to the inevitable.
This he knew even in days past, drenched in innocence that tasted of honey, held an abstract notion weakened beneath disconnect. What importance lingering in a concept his mind grasped with clumsy threads of knowledge, imperfect and pitted with holes, how may be confronted that unwitnessed. Too young, idiotic in that poorly framed ignorance, prolonged for the search dictated elsewhere he turn. Lesson learnt, understanding imparted by the indifferent teacher of experience.
Still he sees it even as the innumerable days stretch forth, morbid the idea of keeping track of those that transpired between that instant and the one he occupied. Aftermath painted against closed lids, darkness occupied by ruin, foundation all that remained. The voices, their ceaseless babble, empty noise offering only another strand of white noise, lost, silent and unnoticed all. Had she been found, honoured as was befit her status. An unknown, his mind lost then, days numbered, prompted departure leaving him as but one within a quintet.
Too short that sustained status, away falling, faces lost, reduced to the hast of pencil against page trying to capture fleeting memories, each made smoke in grasping fingers. Better this way, or so he had framed it, held close a belief time had worn down, picked apart arguments he deemed sound. Only a child and alone was he left, a brief comfort found in scribbled portraits.
Even this waned, too long the prolonged period between, moments lost as seconds gathered and joined, dreary days broken by sparse communication. Reminder each, though well spaced apart each instance, the world continued on without his knowledge nor input, a mere pawn upon the board, movement unimpeded for he gave nothing to it. Slow the tick of his mind, worked over a thought forgein, parsed in times when still grew all else and that particular thread grew tantalising.
Might he know the path to traverse, carry any idea of the reception that may meet him, the child whisked away without proceeding warning alongside the rest, nothing left when taken the only person he cared for. He might not know, left only a choice now, stagnant grown as listless days trudged ever closer to his own conclusion. The thought is always there, the possibility a quiet hum against the seam of his mind, childish whimsy, a dream given fragile wings, tantalising and yet adorned with poison laced fangs.
To determine the day in which he succumbed the errand of a fool, undertaking he would not even pretend was worthy of time, it seemed a path begun long ago and simply followed. Something within him knew, a tug gentle against the strings of his heart, quickened that once mellow tempo, an irregular beat as the days fell away. No child was he, the cusp of his second year at hand, there in a reach close enough he rankled at the idea, one made now as hope freed the fluttering wings of butterflies within his stomach.
All stilled, momentum clumsy in a halt unprepared for, heart catching in his throat. Land once open had grown dense, thick covering clustering together, tall the reach of trees that seemed to cut into the belly of the sky. Their hold did not lessen, almost closer their draw, the woven foliage a crown of emerald that permitted only slim streams of illumination to touch the sodden terrain. Familiar it all, mind alight with instances of traversing the edge that bordered ramshackle town, remnants invigorated with a life that held fast even as flora wished them evicted, herbs and mushrooms alike sought. So, too, remembered nights when the company of elder brother was sought, his steps shadowed, the darkness broken beneath hovering points of brief illumination. Fireflies, that was what they had been called, began a love that flourished still though the pastime one not indulged in some time.
Different it, too, though the exact fashion in which it differed rejected, finger never finding the correct mark. He knew heated this land, humidity familiar and tasted in air that clung to the throat, averse to the chill abandoned for the more temperate warmth of spring. Confusion settled against dark features, vision traversing that before him, a stretch limited by his placement atop a gnarled knot of a root. This was home, or so something whispered with a dull intent, droll tone looping, rejection put forth and covered once more. It was not, had not been since she had been lost. This she was no more even in a mind that futility reached for her, sought some semblance of a name, a face, anything to act as judge.
Nothing. Owlish grown spring hued depths, mouth working over words that did not adorn still tongue. Basic the sense of familiarity, the tug that continued, a guide wishing he not prolong this needless break, response not forthcoming, however, and here he would continue to linger. He could not remember. Why could he not when her memory had drawn him here, when it was a warmth he longed for extinguished beneath a collapsing home, the one he had begun his life in and that had taken hers in turn.
Left with nothing but thoughts that continued in an unbroken loop no further would he go, claws light in their scrap against the root that held him aloft, returned to the marsh and yet rejected, the land silent around him.
Re: THROUGH A WINDOW CAME A GHOST I KNOW → return - ATBASH CIPHER. - 04-20-2021
ATBASH CIPHER
tired eyes, barely open ,
crippled by a promise broken !
crippled by a promise broken !
Tanglewood was the only group left that Atbash was somewhat familiar with, what with Snowbound being completely disbanded and lost to time. There was The Typhoon, but the savannah didn't want to join the ocean-dwelling group mostly because she believed Goldenluxury still hated her - and perhaps if Goldie hadn't lost her memories, it would still be the case. Atbash felt bad for Goldenluxury hating her for what she believed was a simple mistake and she hated the look the former Captain gave her - but that was fortunately in the past. Goldenluxury didn't remember anything she had done during her leadership in Snowbound, but by the time Atbash learned this, she had earned a place within Tanglewood. Ironically, the only reason she had been here was to be around Aurum, someone Vigenere had cared for and respected. It was her only tie to her then-deceased brother - but he was back within Tanglewood and now, finally, Atbash felt at home here. But Vigenere wasn't the only reason she felt home here; there was Merlin, even if the woman was captured in the Coalition right now.
"Hey there." Atbash called out to Heathcliff as she approached him, her ears pricked and head tilted. "You're by Tanglewood, are you just passing by?" She unfortunately had no idea that Heathcliff had been apart of Tanglewood before and therefore didn't recognize him, but she did think it was strange how he just appeared to be staring off into their territory - almost seeming like he was lost in thought. But maybe that was just Atbash being a little bit too suspicious of a stranger.
"Hey there." Atbash called out to Heathcliff as she approached him, her ears pricked and head tilted. "You're by Tanglewood, are you just passing by?" She unfortunately had no idea that Heathcliff had been apart of Tanglewood before and therefore didn't recognize him, but she did think it was strange how he just appeared to be staring off into their territory - almost seeming like he was lost in thought. But maybe that was just Atbash being a little bit too suspicious of a stranger.
female f1 savannah | vassal [hp] of commune of tanglewood | "speaking" | thoughts | "telepathically speaking"
© madi