09-03-2018, 02:36 PM
[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family: calibri;"][ wheezes I tried,, I wanna be poetic for someone who is more poetic than most of my characters ]
It doesn’t take long for someone to approach, the loneliness ebbing away in time with the thud of paws sauntering forward. Each step brings aлексей further into the present, scarlet glow fading away from burdened visions. They are still there, lurking in the shadows and attempting to convince those they haunt that they are still there... but aлексей ignores them in favor of the two before her.
A silence settles once more, quietly goading speech but not forcing it, until eventually the ringing stops completely and the time for words settles upon them.
“Где я??” The question is strong, rough, accent anything but an afterthought. It sounds heavy, although not to the one who spoke it, fluent upon a gentle tongue despite the strength it seems to hold. There is a brief silence, the realization that if they both spoke English it must have meant they would not understand the foreign speak dawning...
The tongue that felt so smooth on her tongue now feels heavy.
“Where am I?” With an accent equally as strong, if not more prominent, the question is rephrased... and then the silence settles once more, waiting for an answer aлексей hoped would come.
It doesn’t take long for someone to approach, the loneliness ebbing away in time with the thud of paws sauntering forward. Each step brings aлексей further into the present, scarlet glow fading away from burdened visions. They are still there, lurking in the shadows and attempting to convince those they haunt that they are still there... but aлексей ignores them in favor of the two before her.
A silence settles once more, quietly goading speech but not forcing it, until eventually the ringing stops completely and the time for words settles upon them.
“Где я??” The question is strong, rough, accent anything but an afterthought. It sounds heavy, although not to the one who spoke it, fluent upon a gentle tongue despite the strength it seems to hold. There is a brief silence, the realization that if they both spoke English it must have meant they would not understand the foreign speak dawning...
The tongue that felt so smooth on her tongue now feels heavy.
“Where am I?” With an accent equally as strong, if not more prominent, the question is rephrased... and then the silence settles once more, waiting for an answer aлексей hoped would come.
♔ — I want brimstone in my garden