12-12-2018, 10:10 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 420px; line-height:120%; font-family: arial; font-size: 8.5pt; text-align: justify; margin-bottom:5px"]Speak of the devil and before you he shall appear – or within this present case it was nothing of so malicious an intent but rather the child deemed Keyne.
Within the grand scheme of all things, odd the structure of time for loose had it grown during the process of healing and addled the mind in its wake, he knew little to the function of the world, the traditions bound to certain times. Religion bore no weight, strange the word though never had it settled about tongue, unneeded such belief within beings that proved higher then all who felt the beat of heart, drew breath. No, his upbringing had been toned within a different light though power did he know, yet lack of defined frame, of thing made as nought but a vehicle for cheer and good tidings.
The storm was what he knew, the power ensnared within the roiling mass of clouds grown dark and within the vapour grown heavy until expelled is it, heat and cold drawn together into something wondrous. Minimal was his own experience with such, youth a turbulent time in which body and mind grew, sponge of one and awkward mess of pain and hormones the other, the surface marred by scarring showing his only time with such. There had been no room for such matters as religion or the Gods tied to it, being thought once to have crafted this world and given life to all, replicas yet imperfect them all. Better to let the child dream, wrapped up within the odd stories shared by those once deemed family, allowed it to be shared with others, remembered fondly without the moment of heartbreak when the magic was cast aside for the harsh touch of reality.
“Santa's helper... did you meet Santa?” Innocent question posed through the slight curl of a frown, twist of head allowing ears to flop over to the side. Odd this concept, half hearted the attempt to listen to what Atticus directed towards Clarence, instead Keyne was focused upon the lion who began this, shuffling paws stilling for only a moment, raising as he found a sticker amongst the rest he rather liked. Simple was it, a snowman with a pebble grin and carrot nose, pressed to his own chest in a mimic of Orpheus'.
Displeased the exhale of breath, ting of embarrassment about it. From the lion attention was turned and brief was the raise of laughter, crinkle of eyes showing further mirth as a smile took hold, wobbly the steps of the child as he moved closer. Paw lifted, waving at Clarence in an act meant to convey Key wanted him to lean forward, reaching out to assist with the removal of the sticker.
Within the grand scheme of all things, odd the structure of time for loose had it grown during the process of healing and addled the mind in its wake, he knew little to the function of the world, the traditions bound to certain times. Religion bore no weight, strange the word though never had it settled about tongue, unneeded such belief within beings that proved higher then all who felt the beat of heart, drew breath. No, his upbringing had been toned within a different light though power did he know, yet lack of defined frame, of thing made as nought but a vehicle for cheer and good tidings.
The storm was what he knew, the power ensnared within the roiling mass of clouds grown dark and within the vapour grown heavy until expelled is it, heat and cold drawn together into something wondrous. Minimal was his own experience with such, youth a turbulent time in which body and mind grew, sponge of one and awkward mess of pain and hormones the other, the surface marred by scarring showing his only time with such. There had been no room for such matters as religion or the Gods tied to it, being thought once to have crafted this world and given life to all, replicas yet imperfect them all. Better to let the child dream, wrapped up within the odd stories shared by those once deemed family, allowed it to be shared with others, remembered fondly without the moment of heartbreak when the magic was cast aside for the harsh touch of reality.
“Santa's helper... did you meet Santa?” Innocent question posed through the slight curl of a frown, twist of head allowing ears to flop over to the side. Odd this concept, half hearted the attempt to listen to what Atticus directed towards Clarence, instead Keyne was focused upon the lion who began this, shuffling paws stilling for only a moment, raising as he found a sticker amongst the rest he rather liked. Simple was it, a snowman with a pebble grin and carrot nose, pressed to his own chest in a mimic of Orpheus'.
Displeased the exhale of breath, ting of embarrassment about it. From the lion attention was turned and brief was the raise of laughter, crinkle of eyes showing further mirth as a smile took hold, wobbly the steps of the child as he moved closer. Paw lifted, waving at Clarence in an act meant to convey Key wanted him to lean forward, reaching out to assist with the removal of the sticker.