07-12-2018, 03:54 PM
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Death is not the end. It is a beginning of another cycle; a wheel of life and death. Souls are placed into bodies upon birth and then they live and die, upon which the soul will find a new home in another body. Sometimes a new life is achieved through the randomness of reincarnation, other times a soul will force it's way back through possession; and then there are those who choose not to reenter the cycle, instead spending the rest of eternity with the Maker. That is what Imperia believes, anyways. Her god is less of an individual and more of omniscient, omnipresent being who exists in all forms. Good and bad, right and wrong, angels and demons--all are constructs utilized by the Maker. She takes many faces. She is all deities, and yet none at all. In a way, Imperia believes the Maker is the bang which created the universe, thereby allowing all other deities and individuals of power influence the many worlds however they saw fit. It is comforting to know that death is not the end, but a rest stop in the ever revolving cycle of life. It is comforting to know that there is an entity out therewith a plan, that any event--good or bad or something in between--is only a chapter. The story will go on, life will continue.
A slender figure of gunmetal and silver move silently through the tall grasses, blades of amber and leaves of emerald tickling luscious locks of metallic fur. "You only know what I want you to," sings Imperia in a honey sweet voice. Blue cornflower blossoms are woven into the fur on her neck, a crown of Queen Anne's lace and poppies resting atop her head. "I know everything you don't want me to." Every so often she stops to pluck a wildflower or collect some sort of herbs before carefully stowing it in the leather satchel she wears strapped across her torso. She smells of a strange natural perfume; a motley mixture of flowers and citrus and herbs. It is earthen and fresh, like summertime. "Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine. You think your dreams are the same as mine..." Lost in her own little world, the sweet creature finds herself distracted by a flock of birds soaring across the vast open skies or by a lonesome butterfly dancing from bloom to bloom. But she is not entirely unaware of her surroundings. Deep down, beneath the smiles and lighthearted giggles, there is a more primal place which developed a heightened sensitivity to noises and smells out of a need to protect herself from people she once believed she could trust. Paranoia, partnered with the all-consuming anxiety, lurks perpetually at the darkest edges of her brightest daydreams.
"Oh I don't love you but I always wil--" Imperia stops short, freezing in place much like a solitary doe in the eyes of a predator. A button-black nose twitches and she breathes in the air, attempting to pinpoint the origin of the sounds which originally captured her attention. Instincts beg her to run away, but Imperia cannot ignore her duty to investigate any possible disturbances, even at the risk of her own life. "Is someone there?" she calls, unable to discern a figure from the sea of golden grasses. Peri moves closer, sagacious argentine eyes sweeping her surroundings in search of the stranger. And then, she sees him. A white wolf. Lost, alone, and quite obviously bewildered. "Oh, hello there," the girl creatures, cautiously, but with a genuine warmth. A friendly smile dances upon her angelic visage. The petite she-wolf is always nervous around strangers, but this poor soul looks like he is in need of some assistance. "What is your name? Perhaps I could help you?" Given some of the more unfriendly individuals who lurk about, the stranger is quite lucky that it is kind Imperia who happened upon him first. She is unbothered by his presence within the territory, and is by far more concerned with his well-being. "My name is Imperia Arceneau."
A slender figure of gunmetal and silver move silently through the tall grasses, blades of amber and leaves of emerald tickling luscious locks of metallic fur. "You only know what I want you to," sings Imperia in a honey sweet voice. Blue cornflower blossoms are woven into the fur on her neck, a crown of Queen Anne's lace and poppies resting atop her head. "I know everything you don't want me to." Every so often she stops to pluck a wildflower or collect some sort of herbs before carefully stowing it in the leather satchel she wears strapped across her torso. She smells of a strange natural perfume; a motley mixture of flowers and citrus and herbs. It is earthen and fresh, like summertime. "Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine. You think your dreams are the same as mine..." Lost in her own little world, the sweet creature finds herself distracted by a flock of birds soaring across the vast open skies or by a lonesome butterfly dancing from bloom to bloom. But she is not entirely unaware of her surroundings. Deep down, beneath the smiles and lighthearted giggles, there is a more primal place which developed a heightened sensitivity to noises and smells out of a need to protect herself from people she once believed she could trust. Paranoia, partnered with the all-consuming anxiety, lurks perpetually at the darkest edges of her brightest daydreams.
"Oh I don't love you but I always wil--" Imperia stops short, freezing in place much like a solitary doe in the eyes of a predator. A button-black nose twitches and she breathes in the air, attempting to pinpoint the origin of the sounds which originally captured her attention. Instincts beg her to run away, but Imperia cannot ignore her duty to investigate any possible disturbances, even at the risk of her own life. "Is someone there?" she calls, unable to discern a figure from the sea of golden grasses. Peri moves closer, sagacious argentine eyes sweeping her surroundings in search of the stranger. And then, she sees him. A white wolf. Lost, alone, and quite obviously bewildered. "Oh, hello there," the girl creatures, cautiously, but with a genuine warmth. A friendly smile dances upon her angelic visage. The petite she-wolf is always nervous around strangers, but this poor soul looks like he is in need of some assistance. "What is your name? Perhaps I could help you?" Given some of the more unfriendly individuals who lurk about, the stranger is quite lucky that it is kind Imperia who happened upon him first. She is unbothered by his presence within the territory, and is by far more concerned with his well-being. "My name is Imperia Arceneau."