01-11-2019, 08:46 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]It wasn't until Orpheus was an adult that he realized most people didn't learn how to read with the classics. Sure his dad had found some more age-appropriate books pretty quickly, but it was too late for him by then. Nothing could curb his love for Shakespeare and Dickens, not even The Rainbow Fish (though he has to admit to a certain love for Seuss and Where the Wild Things Are — Brigand's voice when he roared the line, “Oh please don’t go-we’ll eat you up-we love you so!” had always made him giggle). He'd learned how to tell stories with those books. He'd learned all of the voices from him, and then everything else that had mattered too. Sometimes Orpheus had fallen asleep to Brigand's quieter voices, all of his stories about people finding their ways in life. Their happy endings. Though his dad sometimes tried to keep the worst of it from his ears, he figured out that sometimes things weren't happy. More importantly, he figured out that there was always another book to pick up, another story to read. Or to tell.
It's hard to accept that a chapter has ended, though. That a new one has begun. He's curled up in the observatory again, his tail slipped over his hind paws. An old book rests under one of his front ones to hold the pages in place, and even though everyone around him is bustling around with their chores, it's clear that Orpheus is stuck in the story instead. It's one he's read dozens of times now, with dog-eared pages and notes jotted in the margins and on various pieces of paper he'd inserted inside, but he always finds another thing to add. Today, he writes something quick — motif: solitude — before he continues to read, his expression soft as he allows himself to get wrapped up in a story so far separated from his own. Just a moment to be something else.
It's hard to accept that a chapter has ended, though. That a new one has begun. He's curled up in the observatory again, his tail slipped over his hind paws. An old book rests under one of his front ones to hold the pages in place, and even though everyone around him is bustling around with their chores, it's clear that Orpheus is stuck in the story instead. It's one he's read dozens of times now, with dog-eared pages and notes jotted in the margins and on various pieces of paper he'd inserted inside, but he always finds another thing to add. Today, he writes something quick — motif: solitude — before he continues to read, his expression soft as he allows himself to get wrapped up in a story so far separated from his own. Just a moment to be something else.
[align=center][img width=300]https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/intermediary/f/c43c2c6d-b9e5-4952-a3d7-4db10fd90fe6/dcwzlwz-724bba54-d4ca-433b-ad25-a4a33df0b505.png/v1/fill/w_1175,h_680,strp/ded_lion_by_bluiestar_dcwzlwz-pre.png[/img]
I HAVE TROUBLES EVERY DAY BUT IT TURNS OUT FINE
[div style="font-size:8pt;line-height:1.2;font-family:arial;color:black;margin-top:-5px;margin-bottom:5px;"]｢ ❝ it turns out fine, and i fight to keep them all away ❞ | [color=black]biography – [color=black]tags ｣