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Pasion Pasiva

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About Pasion Pasiva

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    The Black Queen

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  1. Home Coming

    Was there a better feeling in all the world than this -- loving and being loved in return? Raspberry felt it in the beating of her own heart, a slow and steady promise of love and devotion that she had never experienced until she met him. And what filled her most with joy was the answer she felt and heard in the beating of his own heart, deep in his ribcage as she pressed the side of her head against his chest. No matter the distance, or the dark and terrible thoughts that crossed her mind, in the end it was the safety of his arms and the warmth in his oftentimes awful voice -- and sweetness in it that he reserved just for her -- that assured her that she had a place within his heart. “I know you were cross with me.” The statement seemed utterly absurd now, though it hadn’t been but five minutes since the child sat wondering what schemes her adoptive father had for bringing her back out of exile and into the warmth of his attention. Hearing the pain in his voice at such a statement made her angry at herself for ever having doubted his intentions. But these were big feelings and she was a small girl, and so she settled only for silence and for pressing her small face closer into the curve of his neck. “Though it pained me ot leave you there, Orisia was not safe. It seemed that not all your mother’s people are as forgiving and understanding as she liked to believe. All in the world know what you mean to me. I simply could not risk you being harmed, child. But all is well, now. Order has been restored.” No -- he did not often keep the truth from her. Unlike every person in her life, her mother included and even Tenebre, Raphael spoke to her with a frankness that she could neither fully appreciate or understand. But still she felt the importance of it. She was a big girl, or at least she had to be in order to accept the sort of things he entrusted her with. And in an attempt to showcase her newfound maturity, she pulled from him and sat upright against his chest as he moved her through the elegant room and out into a splendidly large balcony with an astounding view, and spoke softly to him. “Gabriela is naive to a fault,” she said, the words sounding strange coming from such a small pair of lips and yet they made a bold statement, one that was painfully true and obvious to nearly anyone beyond her years. But there was something wrong or perhaps strange about a child criticizing it’s own mother, which showed a profound disrespect. She didn’t notice it of course -- she had never really loved Gabriela. However, she did notice the woman’s lack of a presence. Those crimson eyes of hers searched for a moment the vast city view that spread before them, before turning back to her father. “Papa, where is the queen?” Raspberry hardly ever referred to Gabriela as mother anymore. “Things are changing.” He set her on her feet upon the stone rail of the balcony. She stood, with her arms extended outward in a pretence of normality that was unnecessary between them, but that would again harken back to the young version of his beloved that he so cherished. Gabriela had been pretending to be human since she was very small. Even the smallest amongst them didn’t need the aid of such things to keep themselves from falling, they were born with an intrinsic sense of balance. “You are the princess of this beautiful island. It’s time the people were reminded of that. But first, there’s something I want to show you.” “I am not the princess,” she replied with a curious little shrug. There wasn’t much in the way of pain in her voice -- but there was something, perhaps envy, perhaps disdain? “Dollya is the princess, and Lucis is the prince, and I am just leftovers.” Rather than correcting the heartbreaking sentiment, which had obviously affected her father -- she saw as he produced from his coat a parchment. Raspberry’s interest in pretending to keep her balance died away. She bent her knees, set the balms of her hands on the cool stone, and slowly brought her bottom to the railing and sat with her legs dangling. Her head tilted curiously as he unrolled the paper and presented it to her. “Lucia Elena Bartolome. Do you like it?” It took her a moment. Those pretty ruby eyes of hers swept across the lovely handwritten name on the paper. She frowned at it, and then slowly reached up and touched it. Pretty, pale fingertips traced the intricate L and then swept across the rest of the name. “A name,” she whispered breathlessly, “my name?” Her eyes had been clear, but now they swam in crystal tears that -- unlike her mother -- did not sully her complexion with blood. She wasn’t a real vampyre and there were small imperfections that showed it. She did not weep blood, that was one, and she had a very clear and distinct reflection in a mirror, that was another. Tenebre was no perfectionist. Regardless, the tears were beautiful and they fell from her eyes and rolled down her chubby cheeks. “Leftovers don’t get names…”
  2. Royalty Never Walks Alone

    She resisted the sleep but it hit her with such a profound force that every breath she took in felt heavier and heavier inside her chest, as if every gulp of air left behind an ounce of led inside of her that weighed her down and pulled her deeper and deeper into the murky waters of unconsciousness. And when she could not resist the strange magic of the little fea, which was aided by the influence of La’Ruta -- that clumsy magic that felt the queen’s exhaustion and could not tell the difference between the good that rest would do to her and the evil that these strangers were trying to preform. Into the arms of a stranger she went, her full weight crashing against Immie, who thankfully was sturdy and strong enough to hold up the pregnant monarch and then delicately usher her onto a soft bed of silk-soft grass. There lay the Black Queen of Orisia, dazed but not fully slumbering, with golden eyes glittering through the thin slits created by her drooping eyelids. She saw the night sky and the glow of the moon, only half full tonight -- and a black sea full of stars. Drunk from blood, magic, and whatever else these awful creatures had given her, she heard them moving above her -- a handful of bodies, perhaps a dozen, perhaps a hundred. There were voices, and the brush of fingertips across her arms, along her the swell of her belly, down the curve of her back. She wanted to swat them away, but was quite panicked to find that her limbs would not respond how she wanted them to. Her arms half lifted before dropping and her head rolled from side to side in her silent distress as she saw one figure loom over her. She saw a man -- he was not young but neither was he old. Through her blurred vision she saw that his hair was black and that it melted into the sky above him, giving him a frightful appearance, as if someone had cracked open his skull and the black contents within was spill out. But what was most frightening about him were his eyes -- gray and ordinary, save for the crazed look behind them as he spread his hands above her. She wanted to tell him to stop, whatever it was that he was doing, but her tongue felt swollen and thick in her mouth and then she was certain that it was simply too heavy to lift. Try as hard as she might, she could not form the words to ask -- to beg -- him to stop, nor could she call out for help. But she was afraid, and fear had a way of giving people strength. Unaware of the changes that were happening to her body, she threw a hideously deformed hand over her round and heavily swollen belly, curving her fused fingers over it protectively as black feathers bloomed from the length of her wrist down to her elbow -- long and elegant. It was a touching gesture, but one that would amount to nothing given her situation. She could not fight them off, and she was too frightened and confused to organize her thoughts enough to call for help through the blood bond she shared with Raphael and Roen. When her sight began to split in two, as her eyes migrated to opposite sides of her head and the double vision of the world filled her with so much dread that she had to close them tight. She could no longer see what the man with grey eyes was doing, nor did she care. There was a terrible pain from the base of her skull that ran down the length of her neck, except that her neck felt endlessly long now. Sleep, whispered a voice somewhere in the back of her mind, sleep and when you wake up this will all be behind you. This is just a bad dream. You’re safe. Your baby is safe. Just sleep and try to rest. Desperately she clung to the voice, like a child alone in a crowded -- she found a familiar hand and clutched at it now with all of her strength. Internally, she begged for the voice to be honest and true, and for peace to come if only she submitted to the desire to sleep. And it was so easy to give up once she had it in her mind that it was for the best. The protective wing over her feathered belly fell away, spread to its impressive length across the green grass, and her long slender neck curled inward as she drew her narrow head, with it’s black feathered crown, closer to her chest. The Black Queen, turned black swan, now slept soundly before the cruel audience who had witnessed this most atrocious crime.
  3. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

  4. Summer's Rest

    She heard him calling but never thought to reply. Surely he could feel her as she moved closer and closer -- surely he could smell her, or hear her, or taste her as she cut across the gardens and climbed higher and higher to meet his anxious and concerned expression with her own bewildered look. He looked pale and nearly wane with worry as he moved across the distance that separates them and met her somewhere halfway between where she had broken across the horizon and where he had been standing when he first saw her. But she was still so caught off guard by her confrontation with the Summer Knight that she couldn’t begin to understand why it already sounded like Raphael knew exactly where she had been. So as he fussed over her, resisting the urge to caress her belly with more than just a passing brush of his warm fingers, she found herself keenly aware of how his heart seemed to beat faster, just by the slightest bit, and how there was the most delicate hint of color splashed across his high cheekbones. “You shouldn’t worry about me,” she replied as he took to her side and offered his arm. She was so heavily pregnant now that it hardly seems reasonable to deny any amount of help when it was offered, and so her small hand -- pale and cold -- came up and around his biceps, clinging to it as he pushed them forward and back toward one of the open halls that would carry them away to more comfortable places. She walked slowly, which gave away her current physical state. Tired -- she was very, very tired. Something about the Summer Knight, and their strange confrontation, had exhilarated her. But now that the blood pressure in her veins was decreasing and the adrenalin depleting itself, she felt a wave of sleepiness hit her so hard and heavy that she nerdly asked Raphael to pick her up and carry her to bed. Of course she would have been sweet about it. She would have pressed her head onto his shoulder and closed her eyes, and then she would have whispered the request in her warmest voice -- perhaps even using their native tongue to remind him that everything from their past wasn’t gone. Vaguely she wondered if she had ever spoken Spanish to him. Surely he’d be proud to learn that she hadn’t purged herself of everything her parents had given her. But of course she didn’t do it. She knew how fresh the wound of her rejection was, and she knew how much he struggled to keep his words. Raphael was not a man of restraint, and why should he be when he was so powerful? He took, not only what he wanted, but what he felt he deserved. She knew it was for love of her that he respected her heartfelt plea that he not pursue a relationship with her, even if she had been promised to him centuries before her birth. So what was the point of begging him now to take her up into his arms, to lay her in bed, to pull the sheets over her and to somehow keep from climbing in with her? Those days and nights were gone, but they were still felt. Like the phantom limbs of an entirely different person, she found herself missing his closeness. “Nothing will happen to me here,” she went on to say, soothing him as best as she could with a pat to his massive hand with her own dainty fingertips. “Orisia is my home, This is the safest place in the world for me.” Little did she know those words would come back to haunt her. "Now tell me about Veelos, tell me everything..." But would he tell her everything? Would he tell her he was putting those who expressed sympathies for the devil to the sword? Would he explain his justification for the murder of innocent Orisian citizens. Would he?
  5. Home Coming

    There was a flurry of activity just as the door to her carriage swung open -- people, lots of people, all came forward very close and then stepped back. It was a sea of curious eyes, of moving lips, and hushed whispers. They were servants, attendants, mentors, and even a collection of governesses and appointed playmates. They had been with her for months now, but suddenly it was as if they didn’t know her or hardly recognized her. Everyone had to come and bow to her before she even set foot out of her carriage as if it were of the utmost importance that they do so. It was a display of respect that she wasn't accustomed to, and not because she wasn’t highly respected and beloved in Umbra, but mostly because it seemed so over the top. And when she did finally climb down from her coach, it was only to find herself standing in a puddle of crimson rose petals. “What’s going on?” she asked timidly of the young woman who had climbed out of the carriage with her and now stood by her side, though the young governess made a point of not standing on any of the rose petals. Raspberry’s crimson eyes looked intently at the girl, whom was only a little bit taller than the child. “They’re all welcoming Orisia’s Princess back to her home,” replied the young woman, her voice was sing-song soft. The child frowned and shook her head while her hand reached out and clasped the governess’. “I was a princess in Umbra. I don’t understand all the fuss.” “Well, you were a princess in Umbra -- you are the princess of Orisia. It may sound only like a subtle difference, but I assure you it’s profound. You mean more to these people now than you ever did before. It’s hard to explain, little darling, but I am sure your father will clear it all up. Now come on, we don’t want to keep him waiting.” Hand in hand, the little princess and governess walked through an open courtyard and into a handsome building. They were greeted in a massive foyer with crisp and clean tile floors and gorgeous woodwork paneling on the walls. Her heavy black coat was quickly removed and taken by her governess, who then took to a knee to tug and smooth the hem of the child’s dress. When she was satisfied that the little princess looked presentable, she smiled brightly and got back up on her feet. “There we are, now don’t you look quite smart! Go on, go say hello to your father -- I’ll be in shortly.” Per the orders given to her before she ever entered the estate, the governess knew that Raphael did not want this reunion impeded by anyone he did not consider family. Raspberry was to enter alone and meet with her father without the support she had become so accustomed to. Maybe it was because he intended to apologize, and no one outside of the very few who deserved apologies should ever hear them spoken past the Emperor’s lips, or maybe it was just because he wanted her all to himself. Whatever the case, Raspberry watched as her favorite governess left her with the excuse of having to go and put her coat away. And when the woman was finally gone, having disappeared into some dark hallway or past some slightly open door, the child finally turned to the sitting room where her father awaited. Gone was her fear or dread, and in its place she felt tremendous courage. Even if it had been months since she had last laid eyes on her father, there was a physical sense of comfort that had washed over her the moment she walked into the large estate. Blood called to blood, and the small girl carried enough of his to hear and feel the old familiar song that assured her that all was well and that she would never again be alone. So she entered into the darkened room with bright, wide eyes and a proper posture, and devoid of those ugly remnants of despair. Bathed in moonlight, Raphael did not look like Raphael. He looked like a much younger creature. Without his beard, the edge of maturity she had become accustomed to was gone. In a very strange way he reminded her of Gabriela -- he looked softer, sweeter, and much more innocent. Youth suited him nicely, even if the small child preferred the more aged and parental look. They stood in silence for just a moment. She couldn’t tell if he was happy to see her or not, but in the end it hardly mattered. She was happy to see him. She was overjoyed -- and she allowed those feelings to fuel her ever reaction. Full of excited energy she bound for him at an inhuman pace. She crossed the room in a second and flew into his arms with her own wrapping tightly about his neck. “Papa! Oh, Papa -- I missed you so much!”
  6. Hey, what do you need?

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Off Topic

      Off Topic

      Can do and very easily at that. Give me a list of changes needed and I can reupload a new one for you in the next day or two.

    3. Off Topic

      Off Topic

      Hi ma'am. Please don't be one of those people who excite me with problems that I could solve only to disappear, I have bulldozer blood in me and the whole reason I'm not around much any more is because no one here ever challenges me with anything nowadays and that's an offul, boring shame. I may be invents-able but I can't solve problems unless they're presented to me.

    4. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      Oh! I am sorry! I am collecting some info -- the placement of new cities and the potential for a new landmass! Thank you so much for replying and wanting to help us. <3

  7. Arts & Crafts

    Um...make me one! Plz! <3
  8. General Chatter [18+] Violence always permitted!

    ...is @Off Topic still around? I desperatly need him.
  9. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Dirty double dealings...
  10. Home Coming

    The child struggled with a variety of feelings she was painfully use to, but had never had cause to deeply examine. It was a staple of Gabriela's care, for the little vampyre to feel neglected and forgotten, but something that was utterly unexpected by Raphael. He was her prince charming, having come out of the woodwork of her deepest isolation when she had been left in the care or the Lady Vivian and her newly made husband, Lord Alazar in Brightstorm Keep. Although Gabriela had explained that it was for the sake of furthering the child's education that she was being sent to the furthest city in the kingdom, thousands of miles away from her mother and siblings at the time, little Raspberry simply did not understand. That's why Raphael had proven to be a successful predator at the time. He hardly had to convince the child that she deserved more love or that he could give it -- the child was painfully desperate to believe what ended up amounting to nothing more or less than another lie. It had been months since she had last seen her adoptive father. He had stashed her away in Umbra, leaving her there to rot in that awful place that existed just beyond the scope of his glorious eyesight. And the little eight year old had mourned the loss of his attentions, finding that his long and heartfelt letters were not nearly enough to provide her with the affections she had come to expect from him. She was as needy as Gabriela had been as a child, and just as inconsolable upon his many departures. But she had hardened her heart to all of this. She had convinced herself that Raphael was no better than Gabriela, and that his affections were perhaps more fickle. And so she convinced herself not to allow herself to be lulled by the warmth of his invitation, or the promise of their reunion. If he had really missed her he would have sent for her ages ago -- he would have never allowed them to be apart. Such were Raspberry's thoughts as she peered out the window of her carriage. She had never spent any amount of real time in Veelos, so it was somewhat of a treat to get a look at the city now -- especially knowing the tragic history that had nearly destroyed the whole place. It was a welcome distraction that the child now drank in as her ostrich-pulled car was pulled along the wide, cobblestone road. “I wonder why I've been called,” she said aloud. Young as she appeared, if there was one thing that her long stay in Umbra had taught her it was to think in a much more adult way. Even if she was a child, she now also recognized that she was a valuable piece on the chessboard of very powerful people. It wasn't for love that Raphael was call her to his side, but she couldn't imagine what in the world would make him remember he had taken her in under his protective wing now. She could only wonder what he had to gain, and in turn, what she could try to extort out of the dealings, which led to an entirely different sort of question. What did she actually want? She sighed and rested her round, pale cheek against her knuckles as she continued to stare out the window. Crimson eyes were full of daydreams now as her small slipper-covered feet swayed from side to side, causing the skirts of her knee length dress to shift and fall against the cream of her stocking-clad thighs. She was wearing red, the color that most brought out her eyes -- all in a desperate attempt to please him on some level. “Maybe he did just miss me…” @King
  11. Royalty Never Walks Alone

    The datura flowers tilted their wide, white, star-shaped faces upwards from their normal sulk toward the moonlight, and trumpeter proudly a curiously alarming melody that caused all the other blooms in the garden to suddenly stand at attention. Beds of pink and blue violets looked up while the purple and fuchsia ballerina’s peered down from their high perches upon vines that had wrapped and grown around marble pillars, even the sea vibrantly colored Amaryllis open and closed their velvet like petals as if they were clapping all in unison. And then, the tallest of the Birds of Paradise cleared his long, slender, green neck and hushed the chatter of his brothers and sisters. “Make way, make way the Queen is among us, make way for her most royal highness -- the glorious, the beautiful, the pure -- our most gracious and sovereign lady, Queen Calla-Lily.” Gabriela sat on the edge of the stone cold bench, her slender ankles crossed and her feet swaying from side to side on her heels. Completely oblivious to the world around her, and the tormenting voice inside of her, she found herself utterly enthralled in the processions of the Garden’s Royal Court. And so she too was carried away by the excitement of the Queen’s appearance, which is why her lovely pale hands gathered to clap along with the cheering and singing of the many-colored flowers of the garden. A thorny bush with thumb-sized, waxy leaves parted open, and the many five-pointed star jasmines that adorned it twirled prettily. There, framed by inch-long thorns and long, wide, vivid green leaves was an arrangement of white, wine glass shaped flowers in varying stages of development. Some were still mostly green from their long elegant stems, other's were just beginning to unfurl their one large, white petal, and still others were open and exposed, showing off the golden length of their spadix. And at the center of this collection of white spathes, there stood one that was tallest and largest. The trumpet shape of the flower’s crown appeared as large as Malice's massive hands cupped together, and the white, silk-like material of its petal showed the abuse of age. “Who calls the royal court into attendance, and with what authority?” Asked the giant Calla-Lily, the queen of the garden. “It was I,” replied a strange looking, but gorgeous red bloom. It actually consisted of a number of smaller, trumpet-like red flowers all bunched together and sharing an uncanny resemblance to some awful arachnid, “I've come to accuse my beloved cousin, before all the court, of her betrayal. It is common knowledge that the Queen's daughter, and the heiress to the the Garden's Throne, has been promised to me -- but tonight I have found out of a treacherous union between her and the Crimson Rose!” A gasp went up through the crowd or flowers, even Gabriela could not help but draw her fingers to her mouth as she felt it drop open in shock. Although she had no idea who any of these characters were, or what strange play this was, Gabriela felt strangely involved and invested. “What the Spider Lily says is true,” came a soft and sad reply. From behind the Calla-Lily Queen, her collection of ladies parted to reveal a white bloom that nearly rivaled the Queen's enormous size, save that this flower was barely opening and still appeared somewhat green around the stem. Its youth was clearly apparent as it moved into the spotlight. “While I love my cousin dearly…” “Her heart has been plucked by another, and she has allowed it, showing herself to be no better than some common bloom in a public garden -- free for the taking.” Gabriela’s brow pinched and her lips pressed into a thin and severe line. She felt a terrible sadness swell in her heart for the princess bloom, whom only lowered her head at the cruel words spat in her direction. Meanwhile, the chatter of the flowers grew louder and louder, until the lovely face of a wide-petal orchid turned toward her. “It's scandalous! That the Princess would go against her mother's wishes.” “Shouldn't she be free to choose who she gives her heart too? Besides, what's the difference between the Spider Lily and the Crimson Rose?” “Oh no -- no, no, no! The rose is full of thorns, and he wears as many faces as he has petals,” replied the pretty, white flower. Gabriela frowned, “the Spider Lily appears the same, at least in regards to the thorns.” But she was talking to herself, for all eyes hard returned to the Queen and the vision of her sad and shy daughter who inclined toward her wide shadow as if to hide. “You will watch your tongue, justified as your anger may be for your broken engagement -- you are not to forget that you speak to and about the future ruler of these lands. Besides,” went on the eldest of the flowers, “she will keep her word and honor her commitment to you.” “Mother…” “Be still, daughter,” said the queen, and thus silenced the Princess Bloom. “Our kingdom deserves and requires the stability that only the Spider Lily can provide, besides -- you've made a promise, and given your word.” “Pardon me, your Majesty, but I believe it was you who gave your word, and you who promised the hand of your daughter. How then is it fair to expect her to honor a commitment she never agreed to make.” There was a startled gasp, a bed of posies had given way to a coiled collection of thin stalks, covered in serrated leaves and black thorns. A rose with dark red petals, in the prime of its bloom, came forward, followed close behind by its own collection of equally beautiful roses, all painted in nearly every conceivable color of the rainbow. “How dare you speak to the Queen that way! Guards -- Guards! Arrest these impetuous villains and remove them from her Majesty's court.” The dull roar of the lesser flowers was interrupted then by the sound of footsteps. Gabriela was forced to look up from the unfolding drama. Down the long length of the hallway in each direction, Gabriela looked and found herself oddly surprised to find complete strangers peering at her curiously. They were unusual faces, Immie and Rodan’s, full of concern. Rodan’s in particular seemed strained in that subtle way belonging to someone who was running out of time. She frowned at them, her hands rubbing her belly protectively. “Do keep quiet,” she said to them -- not impolite but still rather forcefully. And to the monster of a man who stood on the other side of the hall, effectively blocking her into the courtyard, she also frowned. “You know that pendant use to mean something...I suppose it doesn't anymore, I suppose that's why you're wearing it.” Obviously she meant the sigil of the Black Heart Knights, which Agony was wearing so proudly, but without actually giving anymore information her words sounded like strange rambling as opposed to a sad and meaningful lamentation -- her knights were gone, their sigil made a mockery of by this beats -- and she too broken to care. She turned her attention her own, personal performance -- the flowers had stopped, and waited for her return, and now that she was back, the Crimson Rose continued. “If I must fight for my lady-love then I shall! I challenge you, Spider-Lily to a duel.” All around the Crimson Rose budding flowers of the same variety took up their pointed weapons -- cruel looking thorns that were pointed against the sunny-yellow daffodils that had come to arrest their Lord and Master. “To the death!” replied the Spider-Lily, unabashed in his thirst for blood and justice for his wounded ego. Behind them all the Princess Bloom swayed with all the trappings of a noble lady who was not fit to see such violence, which was quite in opposition to the bloodthirsty gleam in her mother's eyes. The queen attempted to call the court into order, but it seemed like a superficial affaire. Her voice, which had already been proven to be resoundingly commanding, was hardly utilized and even her towering height over the other flowers was not equipped in trying to stop the pending bloodshed. You can be free, the moth whispered gently. Go away, to somewhere safe, for the sake of your child. Away from judgement, away from all this. Gabriela lifted a hand and waved the darling little moth away. “Won't you please be quiet? I am very busy -- can't you see?” she said to the silver creature that barely fluttered its wings against her half-hearted assault. The Black Queen seemed hardly phased by the supposed insect, now settled on her shoulder and poised to speak with her on matters of terrible importance. But Gabriela didn't want to hear it. “They do not respect you. They seek to control you. Leave, and you’ll prove that you are not so easily bent to their desires.” “And bend to yours, little fairy?” It's not that Gabriela knew the moth to be a fairy, far from it. She had no idea what was happening. The reality of the situation was painted over by the wonderful, warm haze of a dream. It just so happened that in Gabriela's native land, moths and butterflies were indeed considered the manifestation of both spirits and fairies. Unfortunately for Lunara, the fairies from Gabriela's childhood stories were mischievous little creatures who were not to be trusted. “Clearly no one respects me, but so what?” She continued, more for her own benefit than the silver moth’s, “I always thought that so long as they loved me, I did not need their respect or their fear. But love is a fickle thing, hard to define, and harder still to command.” There was a battle taking place before them. The Crimson Rose was lunging at the Spider-Lily, and he in turn was viciously defending the high ground. The fight did not stop this time, even as she spoke to the moth. And yet, when she turned to give the little fairy a look she parted her lips and breathed in deeply to blow the creature away and in doing so ingested a generous helping of the magic dust that came off its wings. Whatever complaint or remark the Black Queen was about to make died upon her lips. Dismiss him -- you don’t need him, for you shall be free from any danger. He will only stop you. Then follow me. I will show you freedom. “He isn't even a knight -- not a real one,” she informed the fairy with a laugh and a rub of her swollen, round belly. And then she turned her head and looked at the massive creature that loomed just beyond the outskirts of the pillar’s shadows. “Isn't that right? You hideous, terrible, awful thing? You know you shouldn't be wearing that,” she lifted a hand and pointed an amusing finger to the pendant upon his chest. “You mock the memory of those who loved me truly.” And then all the laughter and mirth was gone from her. Beautiful dream though this had been, Agony stirred up the resting dust on a number of skeletons. Those bright golden eyes dimmed and shimmered as they filled with tears. “You're a cruel thing…” she said to the knight before standing up, which caused all the floors to hush and the great drama they were putting on to stop. The conclusion to the Romance of the Rose would not be heard tonight. Gabriela’s natural inclination to flee from confrontation was strengthened by the moth who insisted she be followed, and so Gabriela did...she followed deeper into the garden, not seeming to be concerned that her bare feet stepped on thorns. She left behind small, bloody footprints as she hurried after the little silver light.
  12. AFV: 2 Weeks or Less

    As long as you serenade me later with your guitar...
  13. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    I will get it as soon as i am on my computer tonight....and fix the broken image in the lore article
  14. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Is that where Malice will be?
  15. OoC I: The Abbadon Triumvirate

    Malice will love that...