07-03-2020, 02:47 AM
Ament Of The Venadi . The found omega of the typhoon .[align=center]
[W]isker[div style=";font-size: 8pt;width:105; max-height: 400px;overflow: stretch;width:100%; font-family: georgia"]The jungle came alive, and through the trong of life; a flash of fang ended one sole occupant. It's dying guffaws called asunder, it's calls an end: a dying song ended with the grunt of bone between bone. a feathered beast, satisfied. this box scrolls as well as we shall demonstrate with dummy text
blood snow ; something soft fills the air does not mean it is necessary innocent in nature. Snow brings cold, that only in death someone can escape from - finally warm; blood clotting and stained in perfect white. Childhood tales warn you not to near, not to taste. Temptation wears thin your sense, and between childish foolishness and the own internal pressure building inside your psyche- you admit defeat. the taste of death is not overwhelmingly unpleasant, but the sharp tang of it has you first recoiling- first to flee. even if the corpse was freezing the the same ice that trapped it's life, you do not falter. determination pools into your bones, and you bend down again, stance widened, you lean down once more. you're reasoning with yourself now, the taste is not addicting (but it could be, you see the appeal) but you can't quite figure it out. The taste isn't something familiar, or maybe it is. The description floats on the edge of your tongue before it leaves again. It leaves you empty, hollow in a way you cannot understand. you have this need to pin it down, instincts securing the kill- the taste until it is a sear in your memory. another bite couldn't hurt (could it?). blood seeps further, and suddenly you realist the body you have neared is still alive, still breathing. something is there, under your skin. it bleeds into your blood like molten iron and ice blended perfectly, it frazzles your brain. adrenaline makes your decision sluggish, but the reaction instant. the struggle is nothing, one moment you are innocent, and the next your not. simple curiosity has made this, no that's not quite right- fear made this. fear curls into foggy eyes and writhe. Snow crunches under the body; struggling to get a hold, the only sound beside the quite of the scene. (the sound of snow is deafening; it's all you've known). your close enough to the throat to feel the pulls fade. the thrum of it rattles through your teeth as you clamp down desperately. you cannot see properly, despite the angle but you know. know that this animal is dying, that his eyes are fogging over and that between the bitter cold- warmth fills him finally from the entrance of your teeth. It is not a poison, at least; not a physical one. death weeps from your teeth as life looses all foothold. you feel drowned, drowning in a sea of red. The taste bubbles from your single act of panic. The sin is not watered down by snow- by the purity of innocence. you remember where you are, who you are. You see this for what it is, childlike wonder; at first. But the taste, it's something you know now at least. you let go. licking the remains of the flavor, chasing it on your maw. the cold has never affected you, like it has others. It is something that can be negated, like a switch, the cold does not bother you , it never has. but cold seeps into the body quickly, it saps the air and the warmth of the body you stand above. and with a careful huff, you tred along, you move forward, with nothing else to do. That adrenaline left something in your system, despite the cold, despite your own warmth, you shiver as it settles. not into your bones, but warped around your spine. curled atop your shoulders. it is a comfort as much as a threat. a loose noose that can easily choke or lead. you are not a monster ; yet, but you have taken a step towards it. the world looks a little bit darker. suddenly the snow doesn't seem as bright, as blinding.
blood snow ; something soft fills the air does not mean it is necessary innocent in nature. Snow brings cold, that only in death someone can escape from - finally warm; blood clotting and stained in perfect white. Childhood tales warn you not to near, not to taste. Temptation wears thin your sense, and between childish foolishness and the own internal pressure building inside your psyche- you admit defeat. the taste of death is not overwhelmingly unpleasant, but the sharp tang of it has you first recoiling- first to flee. even if the corpse was freezing the the same ice that trapped it's life, you do not falter. determination pools into your bones, and you bend down again, stance widened, you lean down once more. you're reasoning with yourself now, the taste is not addicting (but it could be, you see the appeal) but you can't quite figure it out. The taste isn't something familiar, or maybe it is. The description floats on the edge of your tongue before it leaves again. It leaves you empty, hollow in a way you cannot understand. you have this need to pin it down, instincts securing the kill- the taste until it is a sear in your memory. another bite couldn't hurt (could it?). blood seeps further, and suddenly you realist the body you have neared is still alive, still breathing. something is there, under your skin. it bleeds into your blood like molten iron and ice blended perfectly, it frazzles your brain. adrenaline makes your decision sluggish, but the reaction instant. the struggle is nothing, one moment you are innocent, and the next your not. simple curiosity has made this, no that's not quite right- fear made this. fear curls into foggy eyes and writhe. Snow crunches under the body; struggling to get a hold, the only sound beside the quite of the scene. (the sound of snow is deafening; it's all you've known). your close enough to the throat to feel the pulls fade. the thrum of it rattles through your teeth as you clamp down desperately. you cannot see properly, despite the angle but you know. know that this animal is dying, that his eyes are fogging over and that between the bitter cold- warmth fills him finally from the entrance of your teeth. It is not a poison, at least; not a physical one. death weeps from your teeth as life looses all foothold. you feel drowned, drowning in a sea of red. The taste bubbles from your single act of panic. The sin is not watered down by snow- by the purity of innocence. you remember where you are, who you are. You see this for what it is, childlike wonder; at first. But the taste, it's something you know now at least. you let go. licking the remains of the flavor, chasing it on your maw. the cold has never affected you, like it has others. It is something that can be negated, like a switch, the cold does not bother you , it never has. but cold seeps into the body quickly, it saps the air and the warmth of the body you stand above. and with a careful huff, you tred along, you move forward, with nothing else to do. That adrenaline left something in your system, despite the cold, despite your own warmth, you shiver as it settles. not into your bones, but warped around your spine. curled atop your shoulders. it is a comfort as much as a threat. a loose noose that can easily choke or lead. you are not a monster ; yet, but you have taken a step towards it. the world looks a little bit darker. suddenly the snow doesn't seem as bright, as blinding.
made by wisker
I LET THE ANGER GO—
AND MOTHER NATURE FOUND IT'S PLACE
AND MOTHER NATURE FOUND IT'S PLACE