[cece.]

dropping~

[Blitz.]

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username: Firelord Zuko (Yumidei)
name: Vanessa
gender: female
art: (On Form)

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story of how she found her strange feathers:



It was a dark but beautiful rainy night when Vanessa was born into her family, and with her arrival sparked a lot of confusion and curiosity among her family- except from her delighted fathers. Their family has been around for generations and generations, no one really knows how long their lineage has been around, some say they've been around since time began. For all these years they have kept their culture and traditions alive and thriving, not wanting to lose what their ancestors worked so hard to keep going. There has never been a female born nor married into the clan, until now.

While the other family members wondered how this would work, her fathers had no doubt; they’d continue with their traditions as they had before, she was no different from anyone else there.

Vanessa was quite the free spirit; from the moment she had learned to walk she never stopped exploring. While she wasn't intentionally mischievous, she’d get into all sorts of trouble when she roamed around their home- which was a pretty large mansion, so getting lost was pretty easy. Her mysterious and lively nature earned her the nickname “little fairy”, while it was just a funny comment from one of the fathers, it became common for both of them to call her by this nickname eventually.

It was yet another beautiful night when Vanessa began to adventure around many of the rooms yet again, until she stumbled upon a door she didn’t remember. Without even wondering if she should go in or not, she entered anyways. Curiosity flooded the young child, the room was filled with various valuables- such as jewelry, gems, vases, and many other treasures neatly placed in cases and shelves. But what really interested Vanessa was a beautiful chest in the middle of the room, there was no telling how old it was or what was in it. As one would expect, she opened it up and let her gaze rest on the surprise that awaited her.

A chill swept over her as she took out its containments- several gorgeous feathers, all green and had a inspiring aura about them. The chest also contained an album, of which she removed first, taking a peek into the pages. It was filled with various photos, the farther into the book she looked; the more recent and detailed the pictures looked. On the last page, she could see one of her fathers decorated in the stunning green feathers dancing, just as all of the people in the previous photos were. Vanessa reached into the chest, setting the feathers on to the ground. She wanted to wear them too.
One of them had a string attached, which she had tried to bring to her wrist but it had gotten caught on her leg, so she left it there to avoid snapping the thread. Looking at the largest feathers, she began to think hard, wondering how she could put on these ones. But then it hit her, the voice of her fathers entering her mind, her nickname. Vanessa adored being called their little fairy, so she’d take it one step further and become one. Carefully, she adjusted the feathers on to her back, making sure they’d stay in place. When she had all of them secure, she stood, trying to mimic the poses she saw in the album, and even lightly waltzed around the room.

One of her fathers had been patrolling the house in desperate search of her, he was almost constantly worried of her getting lost or hurt when she wandered. But noticing an open door, he peered in, watching his little girl dance in the traditional garb. It was a coming of age for the direct heir of the family to dawn the sacred feathers and do the same dance their ancestors did long ago- it seemed by heart she was lured to do the same. He almost broke in to tears at the sight, running into the room and pulling her into a hug.

While Vanessa did have to return the feathers that night, as soon as it was her time to officially receive the them, she never took them off if she could help it; becoming the little fairy that her dads were so proud of and carrying on the tradition of her long lineage.



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extra story about whatever you want:
How Vanessa received her flower accessories, in the form of a poem;;

On the birthday of a girl just nine
Two fathers needed to plan real soon
A gift for their fairy, something divine
They'd give it at noon
For her, a flower crown and ties
A gift she'd never take off
"Not that bad for a couple of guys"
One dad said with a cough

[Neko-the-Gunslinger]

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...................................[It is pleasure to be back, if anyone still remembers me. =v=
...................................A happy owner of one who was starstruck by this beauty. ]

[godess of love and beauty]

Beauty: Where does it begin and where does it end?

From the beginning, Venita was perceived to be an odd child. Suffering from Pseudobulbar affect, the child would laugh at the most inappropriate of times and break down into tears for the pettiest of things. She had troubles keeping company and it felt as if everyone stayed merely out of pity. The adults whispered in the shadows and children played games of avoidance, leaving her in the fall of solitude.

Venita became more aware of her own appearance, forcing a change onto herself in attempt of drawing forth attention. Gathering flowers, she created crowns and bracelets. Day and night, she practiced her movements and walk; polishing the rough turns and keeping her head straight as she gracefully gazed at the road ahead.

As she grew, Venita began to bind her limbs before bed. The growing kiamara wrapped them so tightly that she could barely feel her limbs at night. She continued her practice through her teen years in hopes of thinning out her limbs as they grew. The process kept her sated until the hornless kiamara realized that she was getting none of the attention she expected.

After months of searching for a mark of beauty, Venita came across a large glowing crystal. It was set on an opulent display at the store of wonders; that store contained various trinkets and quirky little items for the imaginative kiamaras. She knew then that the stone could become a set of horns serving its purpose for the seeker of beauty. After great time of thoughts and contemplations, Venita came up with the perfect design; She would be like no other. She would grasp the attention of the world even if it meant to become something else entirely.

And even such a feat didn’t entirely sate the lady. There were many others that contained quirky and interesting horns with far more illustrious designs. However, there was always an aspect that made her stand out from the rest; her horns, unlike many other, emitted faerie-like glittering light. It wasn’t until the kiamaras drew closer to her and realized that it was, in fact, an implant, did they lose their interest. Still, she was quite a sight to behold and with her head held high, she went forth in search of something new and different.

She wore a tiny little feather gracefully on her right thigh. It held a special meaning behind for it was a gift from her traveling father. “Resplendent Quetzal”, he wrote the name of a bird on a small piece of paper, “resides in the areas of Southern Mexico to western Panama.” Venita accepted the feather and the small description it came with (being the only thing her father ever gave her). Yet, the small lady desired to make it her own, in a sense of an individual’s work. The feather was then expertly cut and crafted to resemble another shape and skillfully accented with black paint. It came to resemble a tiny little moth wing and ceased to serve as a mark of a bird.

It was something artificial and fake, causing much doubt and scorn as the others watched the dainty little thing flutter through the air as Venita walked. But Venita embraced the fakeness and artificiality of things. She, herself, became fake quite a while back in attempt to match the standard of others. And through the years she grew to realize that it was best to let others talk and let them hate for she was standing out. She created the ripples from their talks; she was their topic. But soon rumors died down and the silence took over. Venita was an old topic. She was gone and forgotten, thus she hid away from the crowds and embraced isolation.

Venita didn’t find her ‘strange feathers’ per se; she created them by carefully weaving each thread together. In a moment of deep isolation, Venita took much time to compose herself. As if in a humble cocoon, Venita worked tirelessly on her new masterpiece. She was going to be reborn and she wasn’t planning to be a mere laughing stock of others. She measured the larger feathers countless times against her back, delicately pressing her feathered creations to her skin.

It took Venita a whole year to seek out the doctors and work though countless contracts before anyone was willing to proceed with her ideas. She planned on sewing her masterpiece feathers to her back. The thought was absurd, like a child who kept her head far too long in the world of fairytales. What’s next, was she planning to lose herself in a forest and live with the creatures there like some nomad woman?

She seemed to become the laughing stock once again. Yet no amounts of laughter and scorn would stray her from her path. Venita was set out to change her appearance once again, adding her finishing touches to the look of artificial beauty.
The operation became a success and Venita received her ‘butterfly wings’ as many called them. Yet Venita knew best and let them speak of their butterflies in their bliss of ignorance. She knew herself not to be one, for she craved the limelight. She craved the acts and the boisterous appearances; she loved the stage and its pure melodramatic form, for that was where she could be herself in the world of artificiality. She was a moth. A moth that strays far from daylight, a moth who embraces the tiny shining lights, the artificial sun.

With a single shot to the head, the actress on the stage had fallen. The scene went dark and the sound of clapping filled the room. Venita stood among the crowd, gazing at the artificiality made real. She was among them clapping, shouting “bravo” bravo”; for they have made her life reality even for a single hour. Bravo.

[ZombiePoodle]

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AUTHOR'S NOTE
Username; ZombiePoodle
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Kiamara's Name; Aalis Jozlin
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Kiamara's Gender; Female

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❝xxＬＩＳＴＥＮ ＣＬＯＳＥ as the wind chimes sing,
For they herald the arrival of the ＦＡＩＲＹ ＫＩＮＧxx❞

Art by me <3
(click for full images please!)

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Word count: 957
(This story told in human form)

Let me tell you about the fairies.

It was the sound of wind chimes that woke Aalis that morning. It came from outside, carried through the crisp morning air to reach Aalis as she slept. Although it was not a sound that Aalis was used to hearing, she recognized it immediately. How odd, she thought, there are no wind chimes hung in my home. Perplexed, and incredibly curious, Aalis jumped out of bed to investigate the strange occurrence. Hearing the sound stirred long-forgotten memories of visiting her grandmother, whose cottage had been hung with a beautiful array of strange wind chimes, always putting questions in little Aalis's curious mind. “Why do you keep so many, Grandma?”, she would ask. “Let me tell you a story, dear child.”, her grandmother would respond, “Let me tell you about the fairies.” Aalis's parents believed that her grandmother had gone insane long before, but Aalis was an imaginative child who became entranced by her grandmother's magical tales. These memories spurred Aalis on as she left her house, chasing the sound of wind chimes that were leading towards the forest.

It must have been a fairy song

The forest was completely ordinary, far too ordinary, for Aalis's taste. She had come out here for adventure, for a sound that awoke memories of her childhood, and all she got was trees and dirt. The farther Aalis walked, the more lost she became. It was subtle at first, but the forest began to change around her. The ground beneath her bare feet became colder. The shadows became deeper as the branches above her wove together, their leaves obscuring the light. After a while, the wind chimes could be heard, closer than ever. A distinct tune could be heard, a bittersweet sound, instilling feelings of nostalgia and sadness. Aalis found herself constantly stopping her movements just to close her eyes and listen. She became entranced by the song, letting it influence her actions. And suddenly, someone began to sing. The voice was the most beautiful and alluring sound Aalis had ever heard. She understood that it must have been a fairy song. It sung things that seemed impossible to put into words. It's words were too beautiful for anyone to comprehend. It played with Aalis's emotions. It was signing feelings instead of words. Tears dripped lightly down Aalis's face as she listened, and she became drowsy. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the ground, curling up to a patch of beautiful green flowers, and she listened. She listened to the voice sing. She listened to the words, and the music. She listened to the sound of someone's heart breaking. And somewhere among all of this listening, Aalis fell asleep.

Who is the Fairy King?

Aalis's grandmother told her many things. She told her about shy fairies, grumpy fairies, and trickster fairies. She spoke of nice fairies and warned of bad fairies. She shared her reason for the many wind chimes in her home. “The wind chime's song is a a sign that the fairy king is near.”, Aalis's grandmother told her. “Who is the Fairy King?”, Aalis would ask every time. Her grandmother would laugh fondly, and say, “The Fairy King is very mysterious, child. They say he is the most handsome creature alive. They say he is a generous monarch. They say his wings are enormous, and the purest shade of green. They say his voice is like sunlight, and if you are ever lucky enough to hear him sing, the sound will quiet your soul.” Little Aalis would stare at her grandmother, eyes wide in wonder. “Is there a Fairy Queen, Grandma?” A small frown turned down her grandmother's lips, and a crease deepened in her brow, “The King has never found his queen. They say she might not be a fairy at all.” Little Aalis became sad. “Oh no! Fairy King should find a pretty fairy to be his Queen. And I hope they live happy ever after!” Aalis's grandmother smiled the saddest of smiles at her sweet little granddaughter. “I hope so too.”, she agreed. But she didn't tell Aalis that the Fairy King could never have his Queen if she was human, because Aalis was just a child, and Aalis would not understand that humans could not live in the fairy's world. She would not understand the unfairness of the situation... not yet.

She felt like a fairy, too.

Aalis awoke in her bedroom. All around her were beautiful green flowers. They were on branches woven on her wrists and atop her head, and their petals were scattered across her bedsheets like little green teardrops. As Aalis sat up, she felt a weight pulling at her neck. The largest she had ever seen were woven into the hair at the nape of her neck. They were the purest shade of green. A minuscule version of the feathers lay on her bed among the flowers, as if left by accident. And yet, the others had been left on purpose, it seemed, by someone or something. Aalis brought the small feather as she stood and walked to a mirror. I look like a fairy, was her reaction to the image in her reflection. She felt like a fairy, too, or what she thought being a fairy might feel like. From then on, the feathers stayed like wings on Aalis's back, the smallest feather tied around her ankle, for she couldn't find it within herself to part with them. Now Aalis understood what her grandmother could not tell her; Aalis was the Fairy Queen, and she'd never know the Fairy King, because Aalis was not a fairy. Aalis could never fly, but with the weight of feathers upon her back, she could dream forever.

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Word count: 498
(This story told in human form)

Listen close

A cold Autumn breeze blew, and wind chimes sang a melody. All shapes and sizes of the instruments were plentiful, swinging with each breath of wind that passed them by. A young girl stood in awe, surrounded on every side by the hanging chimes, listening to their whispered song. This was the sound of the fairies.

As the wind chimes sing

A woman stood waiting in the cottage's doorway. "Come along, Aalis, you'll catch a cold if you stay out.", she called, her voice frail with worry. Little Aalis followed her grandmother dutifully into the modest home. "Will you tell me the story, Grandma? Tell me about the fairies, please?", Aalis's excitement was unmatched in her grandmother, but she could not resist her granddaughter's pleading. "Of course, dear." Aalis, bounced away happily to take a seat and listen. The old woman, sitting quietly beside her, began to tell her story.

For they herald the arrival

"It was a long time ago, but I remember it like yesterday. They were the most wonderful creatures I had ever met. They called themselves fairies. I didn't want to believe them, at first, but it was hard to dismiss the magic that happened before my very eyes. I visited them often. The fairies spoke of many things, magical things. Most interesting of all was when they spoke of their King. They loved him, you see, all of the fairies loved him. They told me about him, too. They told me of his his kind and gentle nature. He was very mysterious, and kept away from most of the fairies. They didn't seem to mind his absence. He would leave for the solitude. He loved to sing, you see, but he rarely let others hear his song. It was rumored to be the most beautiful sound, and to hear it was the greatest gift he could bestow...

Of the Fairy King

The fairies loved to talk about his beauty, though they knew he was not for them. He was waiting, they said, for his Queen. And he had been waiting, for hundreds of years. Rumors were whispered, that his Queen was not even a fairy. If he heard, he paid no mind. His Queen was said to be the most beautiful creature in the land, but no one had ever set eyes upon her, not even the King himself. He was just as lost as his subjects. But he comes closer ever day." The woman stopped there, since her granddaughter long fallen asleep. Though the stories she spoke were of fairies, they were by no means fairy tales. Little did Aalis know, there were no happy endings to be found within them. Quietly, the woman began to hum, "...and he waits for you. Listen close, as the wind chimes sing, for they herald the arrival of the Fairy King..." Somewhere in the forest, a song was heard by no one, and the wind chimes around the cottage began to sing along.

[vetiverandclove]

username:.Nightingale;
name: syzygy corriander (sizz-eh-gee)
gender: female
story of how she found her strange feathers: include in the story why she uses them as wings for a boost! word limit 1000

My name is Syzygy. It means alignment of celestial bodies. I don't like this introduction. Let's start over.]

My name is Syzygy and I am a god; though rather than ascending to ethereal status, i climbed my way to the top -- it is more correct to say that my true name is Syzygy, slayer of the gods. Let me explain how I achieved this title.

You see, I am very fond of night time strolls and I also am fond of mythology. I'm fond of things that shine, dull things, small things, large things and controlling things. I was a monster today, particularly a dragon. I hadn't done anything to bring it on and I wasn't self-loathing, I just chose to be a monster today. I loved fantasy creatures almost as much as I loved manipulating things. I didn't flex that skill too often, just if I wanted something, though that rarely occurred. I was content but I was particularly a dull kia in earthly aspirations. I had plans outside of this realm. I was determined to live up to my name whether it be to catch a handful of stars -- i had tried that and it hadn't worked -- or to achieve something no one else had done before.

I caught a low glow nested within a bundle of branches and decided to follow it. A low, monotonous ringing sounded and I fought the urge to quip angry words at the source -- that would only scare it off and dragons were supposed to hoard shiny things, weren't they? A low voice sounded and I made out the words "For the last time". I couldn't help but laugh; what was this, a mobster movie? Natheless, I pushed forward, shouldering my way through the brambles and there was a magnificent being sitting there; wings like silk and horns like crystals. I hadn't any of my own and so I thirsted for these treasures. I only owned one treasure, independence. I believed it was a gift from nature because I had respected all life -- in the forest anyway. I puffed out my chest and tried not to seem afraid -- this would be the quest I needed to do in order to gain my feathers. Best not screw it up.

"Who are you?"

"I am a god. Who? You may not speak my name. I see that you're admiring my horns; do you enjoy being able to catch your reflection in them?" it laughed. The voice had no gender to speak of, it seemed distorted; disembodied almost. I felt my heart race speed up. Such vanity; the nerve of this 'god'.

"You're quite vain, not letting me speak your name then insisting on company to suit your needs."

"I am only mirroring your actions." it spoke, tail curling in front of it almost as if it was a cat watching it's prey.

"My actions? What proof do you have of my vanity?"

"I heard you. You were manipulating everyone you spoke to. You believe yourself to be destined for something great; it's quite sad. Your name does not determine your fate, then to think of it; you haven't a real name? Just something you came up with because you read it in a book and liked the sound of it." It mocked me. It was quite the hypocritical thing -- claiming to mirror my vanity but then being vain in it's own disgusting way. At least I respected life. I gave a name when I was asked, I didn't complain when complaining was not permitted, I did not spout profanities, I said sir or ma'am or liege or lord or whatever was commanded of me. I was respectful.

"Your wings, I want them. You don't deserve them. Give them here." I ordered, losing my patience. I would not show respect if it was not shown to me.

"My wings?" it asked with a laugh, "take them. Here." it trilled, reaching back with shadowy limbs and tearing them from its back with a wretched sound. I couldn't help but flinch; it was like a thousand screams of the dead in one sound. The appendages landed in front of me and I took a few steps closer, to make sure the god hadn't slighted me. I wrinkled my face in distaste; no blood had come along and the 'wings' were only large feathers; I should have looked closer. Nonetheless, it was quite an impressive site and I wasn't sure what to say nor how to take it, so I smiled and glanced up at the god. It would pay.

"Your horns, give them to me."

"My horns? Oh child, you need to learn more; if you take a god's horns, you kill them. I will not give you my horns."

"It is due to debt that I ask; you told me I could have wings, you did not deliver. These are feathers. A diety's word is everything, is it not? I would hate to say that you went back on your word. Your horns would keep me quiet for quite a long time. And dragons do hoard shiny things."

I had the god at a checkmate and with a large flash, I fell into a deep slumber, a searing pain ripping through my muzzle and clawing at my back. Had the god slighted me again? It wasn't long before I woke up, large feathers bound to my back, tied in the long hair there, a feather taught around my thigh and dainty paws adorned with small forest flowers. I felt a slight weight on my muzzle -- the horns had come, so the god had delivered. Excellent. I glanced at my feet and smiled; it was a hollow gesture. On the ground there lay a thick band, large enough to go on my tail. Within in the band was the god's sigil; it's reign had ended so in theory, I killed a god. There is no merit from that but not many can say they did that, no? I truly have lived up to my name. I had smited a god.

It was fate.

extra story about whatever you want:

My grounds were founded by mercenaries; what they fought for, I do not know. I do know, however, that no one wins in a war such as this. My ground was stained for centuries, it seemed. As the battle came to a close, I wanted to introduce myself and the authority I had over the soldiers -- or over anyone, really. I went down there, my horns gaining stares from both sides. I went and I sat. I didn't say a word, I didn't make eye contact with anyone, I just sat and stared into space. What a funny thing, to command silence with only actions alone. I disliked war but I loved a good manipulation game anytime. Perhaps it's why I was biased to chess or strategic games for the tactical purpose instead of the fatality rate. It always felt good to win and with this, I had won.

I believe I had parents once; I'm told everyone has them. That's what weary travelers that pray to the shrine of the slew god say "keep my father safe" or "protect my family while i'm away". I don't recall having parents, but all I can say is that they did good raising me. I have done the impossible and I didn't need to dirty my hands or soil the lands to do it. I closed my eyes and thought a moment. What if I could change these wayward fighters into peaceful monks? I didn't need to pretend to be a diety; I didn't want to be one. With my mind, I was one; so were they. I took a deep breath and spoke, snapping the silence like a twig as it began to rain.

"How would you all like to be in my order? An order for peace and for a better cause." I started, surveying little interest and detecting mild irritation, I continued, strengthening my approach. I didn't want to have to do this, but if I had to play a divine hand, I would. "The gods say it is your destiny. Would you defy them?"

I got no answer and I narrowed my eyes. If they wouldn't listen to reason, I would scare them into joining. "I can and will have you smited. I am a messenger of the gods and I have killed one already." That got their attention. To emphasize that the story was true, I waved my tail around, allowing the sigil to show through.

I'm not sure if my horns came from the god or not. I'm not sure if my wings are real or not. I'm not really sure if I'm real, to be honest. But reality to me is when people respond to you, when people cower before you, when people follow you.

[mitsurugi]

Could we have an extension?

[palmsprout]

closed for judging!

[mitsurugi]

is it ok if i just edit my extra story?

[Lirrie]

i dont think you should as shes probally judging now.

[mitsurugi]

I hope it's OK if I just post my extra story here, if not PM me (please don't disqualifie me)

Acadia's life wasn’t and isn’t that easy.
Since her childhood she was afraid of playing with other kids or speaking to them. As a result of that she just had one friend, well at least for 2 years because
she moved away and since that time she never heard anything about or from him. New home, new life. Going to school in her new city was just awful. Being bullied for nothing,
for just being afraid to talk to strangers. She was always nice and friendly, she just didn’t know how to behave in front of other people. Since that time she isn’t self-confident at all.
No more talking to strangers or classmates at all. Greeting people on the street? - No way!
But one day she dreamed about something: She wants to become somone! Acadia is always nice to everyone, calm, helpful.
But if she really gets angry, she can’t control herself. That what she’s also afraid of. Hurting someone in her anger because she’s not able to control herself. But that also helps her protecting her friends.
If you would do anything bad to her friends, you would regret it. Her shyness doesn’t matter in such situation, the normally clumsy kai will beat you up.
Never ever give up! And she won’t. She will make someone proud one day, she will become someone.