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[MouseyLavi]

username: Mouseylavi
name: Callu
gender: Female
story:

[lysander]

　

username:　 lysander
gender: 　male
name:　 xanth





you've seen it all.

　the skies, the seas. every tree, every stone.
　you are prince of it all, from your mountainside throne.

　　　　every being, every soul
　　　　red sun, bright hue
　　　　your world entire,
　　　　　　　　( so they told you. )

　　kept you locked in your gilded cage,
　　serpentine guard wrought from vellum page.
　　one move, one bite; ink fangs sink through flesh,
　　a dreamless sleep cast by ancient mage.
　　no recollection, awaken in bed,
　　a canopy of roses above your head.
　　thorn and thicket circle around;　　　　　　
　　　　　　　　( so heavy that which bears the crown. )

you've seen it all.

　　from your golden tower, the wide world turns,
　　all a stage while their candles burn
　　in worship of you, their beloved prince,
　　prayers for your divine providence.

　　　　　　　　( behind curtains so sanguine, whispers abound—
　　　　　　　 　 spoken so quietly, just barely a sound— )
　　　　　
　　　　show not the woes of the worms,
　　　　the puppet can't see
　　　　how ugly the outside world can be !


you've seen it all:
lies etched into walls.
from sealed lips do fall
their secrets, their gall.

as the pendulum sways
you count the days
from blood-stained dusks to dawn.
no magic exists (that which persists)
none can truly contain this pawn.

 for what is a prince

  　but a bird in a cage?

    lonesome hyacinth

    　pressed into a page?

      if the world's convinced

      　that you are divine,

        open this labyrinth:

        　　the world is mine.



　

[root]

username: root
name: audrey
gender: girl
story:
i look up from my injuries and out to the city, and i truly see what they mean when call it a dog eat dog world. i'm not even quite sure what a dog is, but i understand the phrase well enough. every kal for themself. there's no friends, not out here. you fight to get by, and fight they do. not a minute passes between screams. high-pitched, blood-curdling screams that signify the end of a fight and the new ownership of someone's belongings.

i've heard it wasn't always like this, but it's hard to imagine a world with order when you've known nothing but anarchy for as long as you and everyone you know can remember. it must have been nice to rest easy, no worries about when your supplies will run out or if someone will find your hiding place. maybe even have the chance to find love. or at least someone on your side.
xxxxxbang!
a gun fires in the distance and it snaps me out of my fantasies. it's not like that anymore and it may never be again. i pulled the bandage tighter around the gash in my side and shakily pulled myself up, securing the mask on my muzzle. i'd already been here for two nights, a foolish amount of time in this area of town, and if i didn't leave now i'd be discovered for sure. i grabbed my shovel, battered and dirty like myself, and stepped out into another day of fear and fighting.

[Grey_Hoodie]

username: Grey_Hoodie
name: Moniker
gender: Female
story: [353/500]

The king choked. Frothy crimson spittle slopped down the man’s chin, staining the feathery white hairs of his beard a dark, ominous shade. Silver light ignited before him, jaggedly streaking around his person in heavy throbs synchronous to the pounding in his ears. A clear, powerful ring pierced his mind, jumbling echoes silenced by the fiery roar of an unworldly, voracious agony set to consume him.

The king’s goblet rolled across the floor, decorated jewels clinking with each rotation and drink sloshing out to settle deep into stone crevices. Nearly cemented to the curl of the cup’s base were the gummy dregs of the hemlock roots. The king’s fool approached on silent feet, carefully pulling the chalice up to her chest. An alarm had been set off somewhere outside, warning the castle’s inhabitants of a threat wandering its halls. The guards would be upon the king’s doors soon, desperate to form a shield before anyone could bring him harm.

The fool was certain that among them would come the ornamented older gentleman - whose title was kept away from her ears -, desperately seeking news of the king. He’d originally thought her coy. She thought him merely foolish. Perhaps more so than herself. The fool contemplated the roots for a moment, mind briefly flitting through the gallery of jokes at her disposal with this new twist by fate’s guided hand. Her gaze wandered from the sight of the poison to her king’s seizing body.

His back arched with sickening snap, white-knuckled hands grasping at the armrests, nails tearing into the wood. His unseeing gaze was thrust towards the heavens as his chest heaved out choked cries. Suddenly he collapsed with a heavy thump, silver-cloaked eyes plunging down towards his fool, seemingly keenly aware of her presence. She waited but a moment more – for what, she really couldn’t say - before seeking the door and falling away from the oncoming crowd as chaos descended around her.

Trembling fingers grasped at the coins in her pocket, twisting them until she could dig their edges into her palms. The king was dead. Her job was done.

[bite sized kuiper]

xxusername: nekoma's lion
xxname: amitié
xxgender: female
xxstory:

xxx❝ Within certain kingdoms, there is a special tradition when it comes to courting.
xxxxxIt comes from an old story of a mortal man who fell in love with the goddess of spring.

xxxxxEvery season the goddess of spring would come down upon the earth to bless the lands with fertility and warmth, and every season the mortal would yearn to capture her heart. So deeply did he love her, that he began to grow roses just for her, in hopes it would please her. After growing the roses he thought just as beautiful as her, he would quietly leave them in the places she’d frequent to inconspicuously declare his unworthy love. He would confess his true feelings towards her through decorating her path with roses over time. As days passed, the roses increased. The goddess would see them on her path down to earth from the heavens. She’d see them on the steps of the church, hanging from the stables of farms, and even laying on the windowsills of old castles.

xxxxxThe custom was for each day for a month, to discreetly place roses wherever your love frequented. You would never present the roses to them directly, rather they should gradually come to recognize the roses, should your feelings be requited. Acceptance was merely by touching the flowers; the roses themselves would be placed in a spot easily seen. Some accept the roses on the first day, while others wait until the last day of the month, where a bouquet of roses was presented. Once the month was up, should the intended not accept any roses, then that meant the suitor had been rejected.

xxxxxThe mortal himself strove for nearly a decade to catch the heart of the goddess of spring, until on one rare day, where she spared a glance towards the roses he planted for her, that he realized her gaze was one not filled with appreciation, but disappointment. The roses, after her departure, were left wilted and sad. The flowers he had presented to her and her alone were dead. So in turn, he then decided to grow beds of roses amongst the kingdom, so that wherever she walked, she would see them. In the end, no one particularly knows what happened. Some say that on that day, the goddess had taken a rose in hand and in the other, the hand of the mortal. Some say that she looked at him with a deep sadness as she departed, leaving nothing but a desolate land and a painful memory for yet another season. That is why roses have thorns; the mortal’s aching heart of the loss of love leaked unto the roses, leaving behind sharp thorns on the flowers he planted for her.

xxxxxThat is all that is known from the story, however this method of courting is quite popular still. The pursued would most commonly be referred to as the Chosen Rose, and couples united within the Court of Roses would be called a Spring's Blessing. ❞

[ 500 / 500 ]

[✦ nemuri]

username. .kaendy korn
name. shi feng [ 诗, poem/poetry | 枫, maple ]
gender. female


once upon a time, there was a seamstress who lived alone in a cottage that bordered the forest. she had a daughter who was as beautiful as the morning sun, and as precious as the delicate flowers that bloomed in their garden during their finest days. the seamstress loved her daughter very much and would often spoil her rotten, but there was one detail that the seamstress was quite particular about.

"do not touch my scissors. it contains magic far too powerful for the likes of you," the seamstress warned, and her beautiful daughter agreed to not disobey her mother's orders. at first, all was fine. the seamstress and her daughter continued to live on happily by themselves, only ever showing their faces to the public when they absolutely needed to.

however, witchcraft had always been frowned upon in the world. when people caught drift of the seamstress's magical capabilities, they grew fearful and planned to forcefully remove her and her daughter from their homes, and finally burn them like true witches. and that's what they did, despite knowing that the seamstress was peaceful and meant no harm to the people.

fear gripped their hearts, and they refused to see reason.

they ransacked their cottage, burning everything to the ground. the seamstress, in a valiant effort to at least protect her the precious smile of her daughter, finally gave her the pair of scissors that she had always so jealously guarded. 'a-feng!' the seamstress screamed. "flee quickly, for they will soon be here. i'd sooner die than leave my home."

the daughter, who had never been good at listening to directions, let out a sob and cradled the scissors close to her body. "you mustn't leave me alone! whatever shall i do without you, mother?" she screamed back, and the seamstress let out a sorrowful cry.

the seamstress managed to push away her daughter with a final yell, and just as the daughter stumbled out of the cottage from the back door, the angry and fearful people burst in, throwing their torches on the wooden walls of the cottage. the daughter ran as fast as she possibly could, away from her dying mother, away from her burning home. but where was safety? where was she supposed to search for safety?

her ribbons caught in tree branches, and the daughter hurried to yank her hair away before continuing on her way. "i want vengeance!" she declared, and the scissors she kept with her reacted with the negative energy. the spirits within the scissors spoke out to her.

"you'll have your revenge soon enough." "just trust us."

she was too angry. the daughter hastily agreed, and as promised, the spirits wiped out the village responsible for the death of her mother. however, it came at a cost. the spirits took away her sight from her eyes, and the seamstress's daughter was left to wander alone with a pair of useless scissors.

to live, she became a renowned storyteller who recounted magical tales.


[ 500 / 500 words ]

[Snowlondon]

username: Snowlondon
name: Astoria
gender: Female
story:

The wind whipped through the trees, singing a song of sorts. She listened carefully to the words. They spoke of a time when flowers bloomed and the sun shone. They spoke of a time before the blood autumn.

She would have listened for longer, but she had places to be. She continued to walk, the dead leaves crunching beneath her feet. She tried to remember the time the song had spoken about. It had been so long, and all that came to mind were snippets.

Warm sun on her face. Laughing, running, through a meadow. Swimming in a cool lake.

She tried harder to remember something. And then she remembered too much.

The leaves, turning blood red. The sun, setting one day, and never rising again. The moonlight - all they had - becoming fainter and fainter. The fog, thick as mud, settling permanently. And the wind, once so gentle, becoming as sharp as a knife.

The memories pressed down on her. She couldn’t breath. All she could see was red, red, red.
She was closing her eyes, shaking. Slowly, she began to take deep breaths. Each intake of air was jagged and shaky, but it helped. Eventually, she came back to her senses.

She just had to forget about everything. Push them to a corner of her thoughts. Pretend they hadn’t happened.

She opened her eyes. She felt calm enough to keep walking. And she needed to keep walking, if she wanted to get to the shelter in time. It was the one night that the moon was visible through the fog - and it was the full moon. Staying outside during a full moon was a death sentence. No, she had to keep walking.

She didn’t know how long she’d walked, but by the time she reached the town, she was pulling her flimsy scarf around her, shivering uncontrollably. Judging by the temperature drop, she’d just barely made it before nightfall.

She saw nervous figures boarding up their windows, preparing to take cover. She wished she too had a house to take refuge in. When the shelter finally came into view, she cringed. She’d forgotten just how shabby it was, swaying in the wind, the wooden planks barely staying together. Squeezing inside, she peered at all the faces. Children and adults alike, all scared. Who wasn’t?

She heard them shout the last warning, inviting all wanderers to come inside before it was too late. She heard them close the wooden doors, heard them slide all the padlocks into place. They faked confidence, acting as if everything was okay. As if they had more than luck protecting them.

The night passed, minute by minute. Every creak made her jump. She tried to ignore the yellow eyes she saw through a crack, and the howls she heard in the distance. She sat rigid, praying. And, somehow, it worked.

After hours, a man stood and declared that the night was officially over. They were alive, and safe. Until the next month.

[497/500]

[Error]

username: Error
name: Avarice
gender: Female
story: (500/500)

When I was young, my mother would tell me a bedtime story that would go as such:
This story begins on a cool fall day when the weather ties down time by its hands and the world seems to linger.
It begins in the company of a weasel. One that is still cloaked in youth and bundled with summer’s warmth.
Weasel believed herself to be ever so bright. She was sure to tell those around her of her brightness.
“Fox! Look at me! I’m the brightest weasel you will ever meet!” She chirped one day at the old gray fox.
A fellow who had been once known for being the cleverest animal in the forest. He did not take kindly to the weasel’s words.
“Oh my! You indeed are so bright, I am sure you could outshine even the stars at night!” Fox said with a sly little laugh, but Weasel took his words as a compliment and bounced away through the leaves. She stumbled upon Wolf as she lapped water from the cool river pass.
“Look at me, Wolf! Fox said I am brighter than the stars!” Weasel said as she came to stand before Wolf.
“If you are so bright, then you would outshine the moon and I would need to howl to you!” Wolf said with a scoff as Weasel ran down stream. It was here that Weasel found Bear catching fish.
“Bear! Wolf says I’m so bright she will howl to me, and Fox says I am brighter than the stars! What have you to say of me?” Weasel asked as she stood upon the rocks watching Bear.
“I do not believe you are so bright. If you are so bright, then take their place during the night!” Bear declared with a mouth full of fish.
“I shall do just that!” Weasel said before she ran off again. She climbed the tallest tree in the forest, up to the very tip top. Waiting for the night to fall. Yet when it did, the clouds covered the skies and the world was turned black and gray. Weasel could not out shine the moon or the stars, for they could not be seen! Weasel stared up at the sky in worry, perhaps the light would not come again and the world shall forever be black and gray?
“I shall be the new moon and the new stars.” Weasel said, “So that the world shall not be without light!”
With these final worlds, she leapt into the night sky. The stars then fell from the sky, the world turned white in a blanket of them. It was not until day that Weasel appeared again. No longer cloaked in summer but cloaked by the stars and the moon. With a tail tipped as black as the night’s sky.
Her coat now shined of the brightness she once before proclaimed. The lesson learned is:
“Do not scoff at the goals of others, for they will return with them accomplished one day.”

[Silver Pandorica]

mark!!

username: Silver Pandorica
name:
gender:
story: (500 word limit)