01-30-2020, 06:38 PM
[align=center][div style="max-width: 400px; text-align: justify; font-family: nyala; line-height: 13px; font-size: 10pt"] FALL
/fôl/
I. Move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level.
II. It begins with a fallen constellation.
III. The night lets out a weep of woe through the heavy howls and starry snowflakes, plagued by a terrible snowstorm, and a single, delicate teardrop fall from its endless black skin. Once shaped as the serpent bearer, now shifted into the same but with tragic tongue and only blood spills from their gaping, raw wounds. No stardusts, no lights. Only a God’s sign of existing. Whatever comes from a presence are all the same though: Something that is beautiful, something that is terrible.
IV. How strange that dusts and moonlight together can kiss a presence so harshly, too much that defines carelessness. Though Mother Nature can not be blamed at for her gentleness can not catch their doom and bless it anew. Nothing of her existence can take them with tenderness when she have ever thin skin and fragile bones. Their presence made in thousands of suns, their soul bears a galaxy, will only ruin her. The creatures have destroyed her enough. How can her own celestial creations betray her?
V. The ocean is ever dark blue with the sky painted in great morning before mourning black, the trees carry fragile fragments that turn from emerald to amber to gone before the cycle restarts, and the stars? They are never meant to be eternal. Wildfire can die and so can their life. As this constellation can, as this wonder can while they falls, and falls, and falls. Into the world, into the unknown.
VI. This fall, however, does not seem to hurt the most. Fire engulfs the formed organs and skin, making everything heavier and harder to breathe in many reasons why they should continue living. Thousand sparks rushes through in celestial veins, and no one and nothing can hear their wails when their sounds of tragedy are consumed by the cold, merciless laughters from the throat of winter. Even when they falls, there are no changes left behind them. The sky is still black, and the stars and moon only stares at them and their exile from the galaxy, their once home.
VII. They, their celestial kins and associates, only watches them fall, and that hurts them the most.
VIII. Everyone makes a wish for themselves or their loved ones when they see a shooting star, either at their greatest times or otherwise, but the constellation wonders if they thought of wishing for the ones who does not mean to fall. If one catches their figure of flames tearing across the atmosphere, will they wish for them? Hope that they will be given reminders through more than cricket charmed song and burnt surface touching against them that everything will be okay in the end? That their fall does not define their identity?
IX. Something snaps violently in the constellation as their presence finally reaches to the sandy surface, and a massive sound pierces through the reality. For some seconds does it distort and scream at their unholy arrival, shaking at the fact that despite their fall, the lights of their figure has not faded away. A figure yet glowing ever so brightly in the darkest area. Though with their core damaged, they can not find themself moving, paralyzed but somehow breathing in their own way through mortal dusts and ashes. The serpent bearer is still alive. Despite all of this.
X. They falls, but they lives, and that is worse than death.
/fôl/
I. Move downward, typically rapidly and freely without control, from a higher to a lower level.
II. It begins with a fallen constellation.
III. The night lets out a weep of woe through the heavy howls and starry snowflakes, plagued by a terrible snowstorm, and a single, delicate teardrop fall from its endless black skin. Once shaped as the serpent bearer, now shifted into the same but with tragic tongue and only blood spills from their gaping, raw wounds. No stardusts, no lights. Only a God’s sign of existing. Whatever comes from a presence are all the same though: Something that is beautiful, something that is terrible.
IV. How strange that dusts and moonlight together can kiss a presence so harshly, too much that defines carelessness. Though Mother Nature can not be blamed at for her gentleness can not catch their doom and bless it anew. Nothing of her existence can take them with tenderness when she have ever thin skin and fragile bones. Their presence made in thousands of suns, their soul bears a galaxy, will only ruin her. The creatures have destroyed her enough. How can her own celestial creations betray her?
V. The ocean is ever dark blue with the sky painted in great morning before mourning black, the trees carry fragile fragments that turn from emerald to amber to gone before the cycle restarts, and the stars? They are never meant to be eternal. Wildfire can die and so can their life. As this constellation can, as this wonder can while they falls, and falls, and falls. Into the world, into the unknown.
VI. This fall, however, does not seem to hurt the most. Fire engulfs the formed organs and skin, making everything heavier and harder to breathe in many reasons why they should continue living. Thousand sparks rushes through in celestial veins, and no one and nothing can hear their wails when their sounds of tragedy are consumed by the cold, merciless laughters from the throat of winter. Even when they falls, there are no changes left behind them. The sky is still black, and the stars and moon only stares at them and their exile from the galaxy, their once home.
VII. They, their celestial kins and associates, only watches them fall, and that hurts them the most.
VIII. Everyone makes a wish for themselves or their loved ones when they see a shooting star, either at their greatest times or otherwise, but the constellation wonders if they thought of wishing for the ones who does not mean to fall. If one catches their figure of flames tearing across the atmosphere, will they wish for them? Hope that they will be given reminders through more than cricket charmed song and burnt surface touching against them that everything will be okay in the end? That their fall does not define their identity?
IX. Something snaps violently in the constellation as their presence finally reaches to the sandy surface, and a massive sound pierces through the reality. For some seconds does it distort and scream at their unholy arrival, shaking at the fact that despite their fall, the lights of their figure has not faded away. A figure yet glowing ever so brightly in the darkest area. Though with their core damaged, they can not find themself moving, paralyzed but somehow breathing in their own way through mortal dusts and ashes. The serpent bearer is still alive. Despite all of this.
X. They falls, but they lives, and that is worse than death.