𝒲𝐀𝐑 .

trying to recognize myself when i feel i've been replaced.

On one ear, an quartz earring bore resemblance to the jewelry forged and hidden away in Its chambers. A sharp halo flickered to life behind Its head, which raised slowly as Its single eye drifted across the ruins of Its castle before landing on Its ... saviors.

Brutus was .. different. It's hair once thick was now thin and straight. It's face was mutilated, the left side lacking skin of any kind to show a muted ivory skull that spread down to its lower jaw where tusks jutted over Its upper lip.

It's ears, once pointy and upright, now drooped.

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Cracks formed on Its stony hands, spreading up Its arms and down Its torso. Pale pink light glowed between them, shining brighter as they spread until the stone burst into light, revealing the person beneath.

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Completion.

That's what It felt like the moment the sword was slotted into Its hands. The voices were silent for the first time since the cosmos placed them in Its mind, their belittling ceasing in its tracks as It became whole once again.

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LOVE WILL PREVAIL

Their laughter says yes. They watch from the walls, the space between air and nothingness, from beyond comprehension to the ground they walk on.

𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘠 𝘞𝘖𝘕𝘛 𝘍𝘐𝘕𝘋 𝘠𝘖𝘜
𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘈 𝘓𝘖𝘚𝘌𝘙
𝘏𝘌𝘚 𝘚𝘖 𝘞𝘌𝘈𝘒
𝘐𝘛𝘚 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘕 𝘈 𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘖𝘕

It would never be found, never loved, never saved. Eternally alone with the cosmos.

Had it ever been alive? Are these strings even real, or are they another illusion casted by the cosmos. A cacophony of voices cackled in its mind, jeering and belittling with their ruthless nature. What had it done to deserve this eternal omniscient audience.

Were they entertained yet?

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To deserve its form being scattered across the universe, to be split and ripped apart into specks of dust and forgotten to a world that suffered under its hand.

To be remembered and mourned eternally, to inflict pain on those who dared to care for it.

What had it done indeed.

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Their words were unheard, their touch never felt. It feels its items are close, and tugs one final time for them to be placed upon it.

The statue is cold against their fingertips, their yearning heavy against the bond that ties them together. Oh, what had it done.

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ooc.

DONT HURT THE BABY

A somber scene for those who claimed to love it. Destruction followed it even in death, safety was far from where it was scattered across the cosmos.

It pulls at the strings again, hoping the safety it once knew would find it again.

Down the hall, straight ahead, is where it sat upon a ruined throne. Its hands stretched out as if grasping something and head bowed in rest or anticipation. The tile at its feet and along the path was broken and cracked, the stained glass windows shattered and glass scattered on the floor.

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They’ve arrived at last. It can feel the strings grow shorter, and pulls them almost desperately. It wishes to join them again, the world and all its beauty and violence.

The air was thick with grief, it can feel it suffocating the life around them through the stone that encased it.

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With them, the memory of what it once was may return. Of course, being reformed doesn’t come without change, yet it pulls anyways.

Far away, a reformed life thrummed in time with the universe. Caged in a prison of stone, it called for what was once its own, the final keys to its reformation.

The threads that bound it to these things were once lax, now taut as it pulls them closer to itself.

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it would be funny

Potatoes ..

wouldn’t you like to know weatherboy

If you ever feel safe, just remember I'm out there.

🗡️. @nefelibaka.bsky.social

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|| ⪜ 𝙰𝙽 #𝐀ᴇᴅɪꜰɪᴄ 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾
ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʀᴇᴇ

‎

bsky.app/profile/wart...

Across the globe, a crown and cape thrummed with newfound life, their essence, ITS essence, leading their holders back to WAR.

Follow them, the cosmos sang, WAR has returned.

With a delicate, unwavering hand, the cosmos placed WARs remolded spirit where WAR last roamed. A throne in an abandoned castle, ruined and overtaken by nature in a quiet corner of the world. Here, WAR will complete ITS reformation. Here, WAR will be found.

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For something to be reborn, it must first die. The cosmos crafted WAR from the beginning, and it will do so again. The stars willed WAR to return, WARs essence reforming and reshaped in its light.

The stars left WAR changed, voices of lives past and present lost to WAR now echoed in his mind.

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Despite this, the universe continues to grow. It did not stop nor care for the loss within its starry night, continuing on as if nothing occurred. As lives hadn't been upturned and beliefs shattered.

The impossible became possible because the universe willed it so, and it didn't stop there.

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The cosmos is ever expanding its endless possibilities. The unknown becomes known, and with it, the limits to what's possible become unshackled.

Spirits couldn't die. The long-held belief that Spirits are eternal was upturned in a single moment, written in the cosmos with ash and sorrow.

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