09-05-2018, 07:18 AM
[align=center][div style="width:400px; font-size:8.4pt;line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:3px;margin-bottom:3px;letter-spacing:0px;margin-left:0px;text-align:justify;"]Upon dark features masks have come to settle, given a number too high to count. Each is different yet those fine details are minute, mere shift of small things, a new secret hidden behind a quirk of lip, the narrow of the eye he is left, or the furrow of his brow. What lingers within that head, words murmured around the faint pulse of pain within its center, seem never to touch the lips, a cage gilded and given a pretty gloss to distract.
Behind it all there is a war. Once there might have been a time when the words lingering upon the tip of the tongue may have found flight, given a murmured breath to rise upon, speak freely of the things caught in his chest, seemingly claws wracking his heart, tearing it apart until nothing lingers. Yet such had been lost, gone before he had learnt of the mere possibility. Might things have proven different, walked a path given to light rather than shadowed by doubt and fear, if he had forced aside the impulse of action, a want swirling about his mind seeking to be heard. Maybe he might have been enough once, accepted his place and given himself time to grow rather than force himself into a mould he didn't fit, forced to stretch himself thin to prove to himself he held any worth.
“Fuck...” strained breath escaped lips bubbling with blood, skin torn where teeth had closed about it, ripped though when things had grown too much. More dripped down his face, rivets of crimson, ears which seemed less so now lowered against his head. Before them sat not the curve of dark bone but rather broken, jagged fragments the skin around both left a mess. He had been careless in his want, gone at it with no care to his personal health, and such showed.
Down into the sand the dark frame collapsed and upon the edge of the bay he could only draw himself close, lip stinging as once more teeth closed about it, a weak attempt to stifle shuddering breath.
[ he poorly cut his horns off and in the process shredded both ears and badly damaged the skin around where the horns were ]
Behind it all there is a war. Once there might have been a time when the words lingering upon the tip of the tongue may have found flight, given a murmured breath to rise upon, speak freely of the things caught in his chest, seemingly claws wracking his heart, tearing it apart until nothing lingers. Yet such had been lost, gone before he had learnt of the mere possibility. Might things have proven different, walked a path given to light rather than shadowed by doubt and fear, if he had forced aside the impulse of action, a want swirling about his mind seeking to be heard. Maybe he might have been enough once, accepted his place and given himself time to grow rather than force himself into a mould he didn't fit, forced to stretch himself thin to prove to himself he held any worth.
“Fuck...” strained breath escaped lips bubbling with blood, skin torn where teeth had closed about it, ripped though when things had grown too much. More dripped down his face, rivets of crimson, ears which seemed less so now lowered against his head. Before them sat not the curve of dark bone but rather broken, jagged fragments the skin around both left a mess. He had been careless in his want, gone at it with no care to his personal health, and such showed.
Down into the sand the dark frame collapsed and upon the edge of the bay he could only draw himself close, lip stinging as once more teeth closed about it, a weak attempt to stifle shuddering breath.
[ he poorly cut his horns off and in the process shredded both ears and badly damaged the skin around where the horns were ]