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libidomechanica · 6 days ago

Text

“Easily be why though”

A sonnet sequence

Than if thy rosy shadow in the freedom of the came not on me, my bliss. And threw him: only when from Shame on the eye,— that the lily from myself, whatever he was so enamour’d to have it a touch unique tongue faults arise from my soul; and, as no others grace. In the venerable priest full of turf and dreamt I saw the charming rivers in the land in my mind wrapped in, I pity which he foughten field all its song, in the two brother, ’tis with Ida: sometimes delude that sweeter sweets are just new, and build them and shar’d to the watermarks. I have known, given out. Easily be why though the wrongs like held of baby troth, invalid, since, it crept up and did curst sun, art halfe in despair, o look look like dying fires love me thing spirit ditties of love the bright, blind your prentice my stumbling was drinkin o’t, we drank a heart, ever and sere, my rest’?

Now, well, go and shivered in content, sacred lighter drops fall, and you, you not my good wife. I didn’t for us, and the dawn the bowery band often the gay, dewy star; in crystal’d lily because the sully the ebbing blossomes of Love to woo, suppling and twice three steep her moved farther the heele: for the man in piece by piece of my dream: yet my heart, as not a lifeless it to have off played upon the world of thy bier.— She tooke as of spangled mixt with a symbol of immortal, starry crowned as if to have I to do with thee, sweet I roam? One frozen in darkening, waning, how we suffer pain; define to the element weight,—peona guiding, prickly furze buds lavish gold; or ye, who love��put on Neptune’s feet. Urged, so long, too soon dear under friend, all surmise? Thus spake came, as well my mare is ill to be our mail, the false within your crooked knife.

The little tired, you shalt scorn what is strength the disappear’d, raise his service, Julia, the hand, after-loss: ah, how amber through on the base subjects only bitches, when shall losses her brothers, the warld nor well to rove! Light fades, how bragly it festreth sorowe, that, like as winter sleep their souls did tarry; such as deserve of the power, with no saint—inexorable— no tender madness ran, her who loves, in a colour round us, scale of harness, that had gotte the welcoming of whose accent now vnnethes them in up the roots into my flowers, on the same year and renew thy beauty joins me in juice of gold, among the welcoming, near, more I will come. Sun, art hath bene fayne. So broken, I watching told more sweet smooth-lipp’d with eyes I was certain up the Rights his game. Which becks our read: an endless permutations, with reasons clear fond fancifullest sphere.

To shards within the blossom, in thy face! Of his more, Peona!-Soothing knowledge, can say? You love, nor ever would religion both the sleep full alchemiz’d, and portion well ycond his Queen of Love has fall, and rose had been to a wild honey-whisper’d among thee; can’st thou lackest so longer, I will cry to the many a peacocks trayne. While each which when this’ she space of arms; and all encheason. Who touch unique tongue in suffers channel, whereof shame. Of dolphins bob their fond imaginary pinions dark, the graue conquest for the silent& quake I would comely; there she lifted time.

Ne of us so fine element draw bewilder’d; for earthly lyres, where they who that nowe the lambs before. The tendered shepheard a mother, the silver lakes pictur’d in the monster’s camp, a charmed God began, the must end. And so be your mouth, forehead of his worthless smile; or falls asunder I feel. And me to inflam’d throughout her hands of our grew upon the pavement whiteness? Our luxury! And the sea and play: As I gaed up in her cheek with a heap of citations for ever the noise of pillows of hem scorn, till we in the windowsill so my lustfull leading in.

The should bide by the sword, she space of thine own anticipated bliss from beneath the scouts with a winged by whatever had a might not crosses are lost in salt, in all pain my bane. Through the youth who longer mix with lid-lashes of the early, then, light; and the heaven an awful there pulsing can this woodland echo rings outraught. It’s today, it’s live in; and threw the dear Chloris in times with silvery side of sovereign balm derive, thy mantle mate thy men, who at a joke, unaware touch your discover at full of all the airy Giant is enchanting. So golden cage.

—If I shott at her whom abundance weighed, father men: they were wisdom. Or they bene dedes of ninety years, fits, flirtation, to see her een sae bright: I saw his eyes first do blow. There in our daily voice luting tear. Days happier death awoke it smote and breathe aged nurse openly love must reade the devil has suffice, but moor tonight starke lame. Reward their sweet my tales of this pious mortal, whiplash down those shall to-morrow to save I to do as did him by, when a light force of memories in-Alas! While hurried in. Where where art the mix’d connected thus and blewe.

Spreads the freshly blew the discussion upon it without any character which draws the twilight rights of cataract season? Fixes the things to hear a fear and shall hurt doth wake, my balefull happiness, issued in liberty! With their alert. She should be soone as the river of things to budded before, thou shalt lie displaie, how he did make Time’s scythe called words thy pity of the soul-soothing eyes, a venerable priest ’mong seer leave me to and fall, and they will ride, he linkt a dead leave me on Psyche weeping eye could my Heart. Beneath the ground in the head and none alive.

Me and blind, carrion carcanet; or upward race with pain, for willing scarfs and blewe. His airy transport pass’d unworthily; their fellow sounds from me; darkness from beneath the solitary bard sits upon they presence. Athwart thou art, dear! End: against thou ever again. Down the sigh the beautiful olives. Palace roofs and whiteness, issue, and wonder, where infantry: all will sealed by the beauty do not to leaue to love Blythe angels speak, or still, even as one: we only. Once she mad pursue: ’twas too familiar carefull stop its waving will star. To see him down.

Do we mere no one children are that Ida right? On that of Latmos! Which the curtain’d them where my sheet which now are clothed apes, and do you, twenty days and cirque-couchant institutions, continue the trees, lay on; not to meet he shore; anon he stove late guest waiting, alert enemies; declaring begin? Was ratify it the grass and every one says yes in effect. How earthly lyres, we stood the dim curls, and thought her silence, as they to forstall my tongue, and dry’d him down: and the oaths which lost the name her. A Robin Redbreast, wherefore hope that swallow when you must end.

Love surely there was uncurl’d gray mare is it just for fresh aray? And for you present has never twittering lovers them glances, sighs but to sit and look in the Elysium; vieing to the strict sense or falls in odour and she wonders; struggling over the drugstore, Alas! Widened anything and with those so fast, till will wrap it be taken fairnesse run, let so many years. How kenst the morn; I earth and never knots, like it, sparkling on her breast the marke, weening bright of beauty with his face: against it: so fair? Beauty and breath’d from the width the years have everything words.

Torments weight offensive he eyes could not so? I’ll squeal said he but not rate him ten leave, for the hour by glanced lady bright me to overwrought, mark me, Peona, his wings of stray: the flat all their sweet silent fill with prying his eyelids widened anything gainst the wealth and sleep o’er-taking the crocus lustres of low replied, wild natural. ’Mong shepherd’s keep it dancing musick holdeth scope, then we unrip our homes, the white Boy is a strawberry do steals from the sad death: and yet am forces razde, thou found a tender his virtuous sway the child; and of all well-lin’d by Love, for each others hand; for all heard on the fair creatures, and serene creation’s crannies and lenged to know not waited for my own steps upon the feather wept. Propels; but they could blood; for Vertue hath led me—who knows so much said she tiptop said or sung to, where Venus hath waste: the chrism of love.

Gone should fall in love’s longing like a stone? Then spake with means presence one near him, and disappeared: he was wont to shards with affrayd I the deemed touched these are they discovering passionate one. What will never happen. Plunge and press’d I hurried in. To burst out its voice she hated name and hoary, season, and have told thee, robed in that could not a work divine; she went: tho vnder hand, as soon enough. And straying his phantasy was dizzy and rose, grape, cherries that should fall long ago—that all: since, we rest, our own sweet first snowdrop’s inner leaves were I nigher than night-swollen mushrooms?

-Chosen snare: so kept me sleep I was but a photograph, with a gracious doors of happy change not let me stedfast upon the foamy waves the ships of musicke lendeth! Can ours, not Briton; here reaching up the which we can; who keeps coward their memory with clos’d-vp sense has else for her eye? For what is notion minted fields of sweeter; there’s too high! You completeness? Whose dim field all else? When a mountain-height, then not unders! Little lispers loss of our active playd, where is some need of her nimble fancy to-morrow drops fall a sleepeth in Lethe latter, and fastest tieth!

Turn again I’ll pollen ate in the sands, adown your leaves are breather; the mysteries, Perilla, after fame, to life’s ocean rills from red planets the scale of happy as well triumphs be wholly, and white. I love deceive the next, an awful shine from whence and yet the foyer and brief, the pale with that shee yode there’s a nameless wings—to Helene once everything woman is thine, because why should shore: but wants the ledges of year the word he bids make my death proceed, wraceks triumphs pinnes to nestled grunters in youth: yea, let me less pleasure draped from kiss is grown boy, nor moved.

For the first and vales, where bene ioynted both end by rude and then go home I haue some other whom thy plain, besides mething, a song ago—that it will pass unseen; unseen, she saw thee, sweeping fish; the beames be ioyes remaine. This union your regular tune thy press’d be them, but I will to me out a spirit went. Watch our stars, like a flower, little, perforce he yield with the glow the things stay so sore payne. And have I brought be. Amid thee flower, when from Olympus old, my own; his most humble in. Ran awaye with the cedar shake a wild honey for evermore the center.

In a cat-like a mummy, and for the frost, into its heroes—not yet in vain— in vain; the dream’d of amorous precede the streets, and there, that watching, in naked polish’d days, my sweet side of sea-born Venus hath scoped this hand: thou beauteous battle was; and in madness thick and see feed our idle language of lilies and sleep. There waste: the mirror, and trees and lived with sad eies I the wrath bene beheld in its skeleton strange, nor manners raisd with the flourish’d days, for meanes, but we tway bene vayne: colin the sand: in heavy Saturn laugh’d and beat the key of Nature.

I seem stark mute but one peece of things at party is a passioned to meet us play, or war. That nothing diminished by what canst not less they always be so no more, and likewise, wise-valiant, not Angels speak to head-quarters! Are over us, great Pan account both the spite of a lifeless charms SHE alone, and argument, thy men, can trackless strong wandring vp and dispart its more incredulous heare with the lees. Of oneness, their homestead, and of gold about my eagerness—too had arrived but now began to changed … There’s nothing of praise is still sleep are my hearken!

And into two and paces leisurely, somewhere in Pluto’s garden-wall: and estrange? That, nor for their dancing shut me to have you all objects light reade the tomb. And me a life? Not there, that talked in a poppy fall. What is not sad? Who hath the schoole of Latmos! The Roman Lucrece they did I meet come attention to admonitions to rehearse each other’s face: again and rock,—’mong seed-heads—one sacred light for truthful from rushes will send And I list none in the curtain that long, Perilla, after fall; she yield all the milky ways so dangerous. Do I heard no more!

—Borne aloft with needes be vnfedde. The way he made those fair Syrinx—do thou hast not sad? Who believes, and he bent, sacred right, and ocean, and and weep, and in their fellowship, tell me by the shepherds of our late the snake, and I count, and all that man not war, if he has voued thy wit, further and began to fan and renewed life. Catch me remoue: keep still, no limits, and long in extremes, strong fingers they left of song betrayable reply, marrying, and full of years, what I would hate and every bed has been among, chances forgot, and see feed our idle boy, pissing and sucking heart.

See that equal young Corinth—O the black piano appassion’s brink. Passion the harp-string, joyfully blown hither this good, Christie souls we love; but I tell the water undinal vast idol; while the lidless- eyed trance weight. From one bird, the whispered jest to each for ever: its lovely maiden from you forgetful Muse, that but he must be lost, when I make defence from sences of earth should I read. Many anguish’d by the huge Colossus’ legs, a handful of dore, and small causes weight, my dream; the way, and marble looming of beauty new and endows her very side; pitying!

Saucy pedantic gape of delight of a dream that al was serpent, and swords oration: and the trodden weep to wag their feet&when shall see how far too much said he go slow said she Twice have ever-singing brere: and from poore Orphane, as thick, as the lily show they sleeping to ravel them one bird, then can bury you, twenty know, there glimmering adieu; and, stand, swift counts the time not women, rich carcanet; or upward, through heart besides, the infant Orpheus, to me, had him so pale, while among the watermarks. His path; and twice three, for I have not shunned their spite but it is perfect note. In these thin an Yuie to thinking your breast, half as goblin Honour, if ye will doe, as he steed, and mine own detention, whence is little, perfect, purple stain’d loves, we mought I would have breast, whose cloud apart make me scruple where reasons drawn He showers where he used to tame, that now.

As if to flee—I stand at the Poet and days, made of love, my bad, my sword to asswage: and in a pitying! With wings; while their heads hoar: again I long’d to progress here be for none, or through to die; and, and disguise! Had rather round with thought I summoner, and once, stupidity, and a palpitating teeth of unslumbrous rest: but, as she was on him, Look you, to you of her you, you canst devise, telling strawberry do swell than those diamond door of his lip, to prize in the down, I boughs which was done but that but he, that needs must go, what she cracklings, and rocks: part of it.

And could I torments? Nymph near-smiling done but mine on me be; and through all the summer cooled; even by what you’re white-hair’d shades of faded: deepest shell, than Dryope, to save the vista of yellow huntsmen o’er thy tale borrowe. And could not move the wrong entendeth! Burnt from amaze, to the start; you go to slake my father bliss from upper air hasten or gods the little lispers may sigh this sad heart the popt his slomber brows, then to the suffice, but I know not whatsoe’er you thinking low, that long, bearing love declared and so long siege to the nights a hundred be. When any days she that crack in the freedom broadcast overtaken. Made eloquent reflected in summer’s front to be enuie, that high-front alive enough the little swinck. By glimmering home is yoked; nor ever turn that does not figures hurrying, long grief for thy teeth, the hearts the dore strove to them; and relight.

With the bliss the tomb. And from City Hall to heed, i’d bubblings are such follie I can’t be planets all ventures make; thou shalt behold, with his faithful from you her she had our soft and swiftly as a station too, upon a day, while I am a poore Orphane, as morning came as clover in a pitying hys heauinesse, asked limbs we’ll borrow disappear’d Silenus’ temples lewd, mutter’d, and found he three. Soon enough, soon eclips’d her too. And anguish hang from thou had thy chosen, that will give them round Apollo when a moment were gone unworthy galley they gayne, nought to ire.

Haunt us till a spring at her her tender what could eclipse and eke my Stella, when two mourne. Well beseem to araye. With thee successful too; winning noon with men, the evening diminished: but love is but no one lulling service, Julia, there breathed hornes gan avails that and people have you trembling seed-heads—one says in beds of woman: you came to Mortal love twixt his wings; such are than we spoke the scrip, with her veins, that life to this dull you want her wrought fear thought it is the fashions, a last word to leave, for he was so wanton-scented prime, in my father’d their education.

To trip a tigress so unsullied, that eternity, malge Sir Matthew Hale’s come down to the daily voice upon the cup was folde, that sense of my hot desire with patience, till piper lads masken in pine shall i turn the moon in a crystal eye right mists, and stone-shot off: we entered within my body as my mind, the simmer season, and one, that love when first—light love your best, our chair. Swete Eglantine, and my hearts and she left me mention, glories old age haue some needs must beauty fall; the lance, and never agree there is such a room to him, and takes it to head-quarters!

Above the brain the hillocks had her crescent of space of a youth doth breeding fire, obsessed, exhausted, on the princes do there it is gone, not the blue. To the bluely veins stretchedest alleys, weak proportional importance the trumpet’s mouth was done each with your naked tress of natures, such as enables of lonely, smoothly passing four. And subtle cargoes lie. It crosses here in my trance irrefragably, and hideous restless spirit nurse in the blossoms blowne away, death’s columns gleam in family sort of milk. Subtle skin of Phoebean dart, strike for this piracy.

The trumpets wanted fingers oft on fire. Ah, what could it be supprest. Why does the two old tale of transient in the heart of me, till I thought in clear rills floats up, bright: then of electric clouds, I saw the proud and swift for it. From out her necke bene not rains green’d overswear by St some gan to shoot out, is but sense my true Lover- like way, and that cannot chuse but slacke, and gave us leaf round of their shins where, this crystal stamped her cause? And, you canst devise some pretext held each other, walking of praise, nor I thought that when I might now a pointed countenaunce. Tho to those meek eyes?

Side o’ the banks; all loll around thy comfort long, as they to the wide into tower’d, like a fiend his Queen of the unbetrayed far beyond the Neptune be, such more be express their own slipperiness. Light fade, that must be near with doubtful hours dost sit, and smooth-paced number I sometimes he welth and stand up to warm, flush them! Until they are not to glide past thy selfe with full brightly call vesper, the land that buzz about our wide down, I bought that show my spirit, with you came that company of planet, thou ever when we all the horizon’s verge; and Knowledge, can I grieve and wives!

To hear the wind the abuse, your brave day comes a sort of games, thou perceivest, or ravishment, rouse us, as therefore than foe: who thus I walked with passed black night flew without the shady leaves borne aloft, a bee bustling. Shall entered and song; permit me down, mouth,-—anon among fairy harp shall run like Ida: she never happens a dozen trace something much. So may your heart to wexe light flared, her eyes, as I must expire consumes: I wither’d and little to played to Dian? Were it who could injury of age, nor robbed thy bier. A poet eke, as whole and weepe: for the heaven!

All sweet thou, to white wicker over stumps and kiss on to be loves their shame. Regular leather may builds a Hell in praise is due, only one as those bought, can stop the mix’d connection, why, their own sweets are right. The eastern impulse of the sun as if a motherly fears—you used to kiss and change wrought the stormy time she might blessing my bad, my sweet lips, and I the forehead on the air, her elfin blood? Thou stay her turning breaks and estranger skies, set his great half an hour and brim their shall slime left his legs twayne, with necks unyoked with minglings face, you discontent, happy spirit?

Their lutes of lonely, smooth as they daunce. And tills to pine, oh, beloved. Feel this hour and had naught—and horseman, came as come to wood, and creepe; vouchsafe, of things past and plaint, and curst out of air rebuked, seemed a bore. From bloody tyrant, no doubtful Damme had sette to departest, as bells, or coolness; pent up become to winne, and so for freshly blew the ever the powers? Julia, thou art beside, they wasted me, quenching up his towers. Were full stay; you shall love twixt men and the very burden the bedroom with clos’d-vp sense to critic and fatal shaft, and as a shell waste, look, and beat my years, and Look, he has growing of time. Then I wanne he heart so sweet poesy by morn; in every noon: I pored up, when shall be; what was their weakness! See my love go by, but babble, merely their chiming, forget what out among pillar of Lethe last night of his ample lungs, to yields, or no?

And eke tender pressure. From your best is at rest and down apace, masked limbs into some fifty thee, robed in philosophic gown: lycius shrank close? Frightful spight, that had gotte the tune his plan, but played upon one mislike one we ellipse and the lips, and wonder’d—all this beauty veil’d to the brave so roughly spake came, with patience gies too rough, and lives and passion far away from the earth crumble, and now all’s past: that bosom beating sports and we have fled away do go; but purple and so can open plaidie, kissin’ Theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary, their feet lies my business, did plays abounds.

’Mong myrtles shall the Kidde: but ’twas they had suffered sheepe running net, to the blossoms blown, shall loll around to and from the risked it for the plain of wreck, or like a shoots javelin-like. We’re a’ dry wi’ drinking you think’st by thy ill goes down to human just, no doubt. We stood for heaven. Would tilt it out of sheaves are hush’d a little wing, a song of the dark worldes children garden- wall: and wounded one, and even children’s, know as spent, and have done. The genial flush with sucked from that tall her see the brain to follow sound with nimble fragrant my body keep that night be. To mine, and with sand.

And see feed our idle she: man to stem the river jumps over. Wine compact be filled him on claim till all those orbs, once from the woman, and woman: you cannot chuse but right, so though I neuer giue trust beyond siroccos harvest whim, seem’d soothe three captain waited, fifty, till China and Africa meet, and the king how exquisite, before—so deeply plant a straw. That all. To stammer weary tender what? All happiness invisible lest thinkin o’t; the gentleness increases; it with men. The scales dropping from your hand, but thee thy spheres did thee grace. When move in dew?

For year grows bathe way in whose patience, stupid sleepeth not know, trees be vnfedde. By this all; she which this my pupil pen, neither heretics in love-lorn hour to grace. ’Er there, if, listening net, to trip a tigress her side; unseen unto the dore stretch with wings; yea, the leant thou mine, and the trembling bowstring. With some one trance, and the rustling them wends, that he lifeful spake with the roof doth half earth winters in the heart, and hasten while others crowned as bright of such a look on their flocke he led him by, when I do not desire in themselves be; seeing, I dow nocht but he no more.

To the discredit of the house of cypress groves Elysium; vieing to and frame design! Already hang, shred ends from the sight, but the king cap, because the dewy gem, frightfully at Venus grant memories, Peris, Goddess when first did fare: mayst in cruel. I say luck, my word, she flies their fondnesse planned, knowingly; as doth a flitting like curious were field to the phrase but your nocturnal skin. And mountain cleft our compressing through flowers of this silence she rose thy wynters would learned arms, to dreams of the restore what caress, and thunder ties; let Majesty yours is all?

As a real daytimes a truth flowed from her— betraying his phantasies totall suck, no wasp shall fears—sweet sister! That the Minstrel in suffer painted from you shuffle your breast;—’twas too rainbow-sided, touch said she may sit upon the sky, will breathers of too wide a breath such small finally from their fair name heard me sight? While Europe’s long, bearing alive again my arms in awful and some weeps with the ledges their pleasant scenes the waves folde, thee to red and again. When the singed, but stone, or as men atheists, and roses; and ask me without any morrow or knew, not wait.

And make it within your to touch! I must dream is graunted snow and return in your teare, moste is, a friend to flow, for pity like a mist rose tiptoe Night her whisper ever to the whispers of time left behind that religious. He may take back safe ride with that I waking gentle heavy eyelids my anguisht springs good day, to sing, while Hermes these poor your lawns and there, that spread with mournful lips, when it grew more self-same lawns and for your blesse care I, war or no? First, in truth beauty horn peers a ram goes bleating song of lovely young shade. To lingered in its reason, why have tied her Circean head, elate, helplessly before weak through the soon we checked through bubbling said she oh no said he is ill to my motherly fears—sweet ecstasy? So plains speckled wings but a dream. That leaf-fring’d legs, and eyes, who would make a floating the zenith, euer heretics in low prostration!

And sunny mead and fly with fresh bend of emerald and wonder. Who keep it sweet day, to walk, perhaps much lov’d repose— stillery foolish and winter night. And straight through curtains hoar the full of painful jealousies of happy evening appeared not: but renown among hills, wherein sheaves were stretch with fierce highest faults arise; come, let thy lays of beautiful now, than foe: whom Nature, amang them glance: i like summ’d in his skull happiness; who gave me the brilliant kids, frisk with thee shall have it: ’ but a work divine lectures of monotone, and the feathers break crystal stamp of my home?

Breathe bent-knee swagger of the wrath be, let so unsullied, that equal young trees, to summoner, and shafts as thought I fall a private places by the toes, it will have it be spread a might’st for the fiery- short hours and slake my thirst in my father head, hung a lush screech itself in drery ysicles did hem keeper excellence; as time thought, whose for meals. I see the down a Prince, I would be, rather hard at her! Me swear to thee: ah Christian woman in red. Had dipt his packe a glass not by common lose to his bonds unwreathe still a soft, lute-finger, told he have allowed, and dream.

By the beauteous wreathing came as fruit no beautiful. One in tender the duller eyes on a side, and being to creepe god blessing and shade; till it be struck by the winna ease on such conduct neither apart make gilly-flowers to curtains high to body, and as a shell was gone; the morrow, and making down with the song begin now who say Forgive the garden, taste, and that cannot move think that equal youth’s lamenting of the Deuils stedde, and only bending the banner: anon to bear with our close, and so forget mine asking with some night I fall in love is some penance?

Who womankind, as on to move wi’ nae proper person, possible after fight, each there torn within the stubborn earth should often beauty, nor clicking troubled sea of mine. If they hate me words make me maim’d to dwell in red. So should I dances thee, and another pearl round his arms because of my brainless it they muster fades. That sun is gone to escape? Broad at her cause? When the blue evenings aspire; in vaine thou can make himself thrice two, and, Julia, when shepheards her babble, merely forth his bonds unwreaths, thirst for fire! And rather, and the crash of our leave been absent loved and sad.

What pitie: looke from their chosen, the shining through their Christ, the snakes in fear The Sexes’ interknit so winged verse of lands. Am, yet more, Peona! And shott at her naked polish’d days, made up of though open wyde. And in the very armour hands from its budded charm. Or have to think of yellow spleen. We entered at they must love your fixed subjected light; and never had a girl for carried, Lycius to the language of thou art denies, oh, belovèd as they sleepeth not know that I shall hurt did curst sun, and devout, psalterian. My lord’s guilty of the while her knee—like a cliff swing.

Returning boughes the steeds of May, as were a little regarded; neither stand opener of bones: mought the weight, and heart: man with stay Then Gama turned to measure whare you want with under- song in its glowing sloth on the mind thirst time aloud their artiller world is bent forms swam heaven? Home thy chose Saint’s gentle pay of spear keen. Their ruffles of men or passion far less fleecy lamb did latch, ne stays forehead, alone aster think’st thou speak, my courage earnd chaste as come back a pit to save there my heart in port done with eyes at home thy hills roll’d; for a morning purple stain’d loved, true woman take in times with pleasure the pressure. Thus the mountain if one dying rolls of dying, could take away the violent and fluster’d, like a sparkling branch down upon him laid by angry wolf, or pard with thy tales of luridly. Of honey cell is forgetful Muse, that yearning eyes.

And curtsies I the sky the heavens darkener to dere a pow’r dost tease my voice, whose globes of the same? Might and pale and straight that life that seem dash’d by two years, the Quaker holds hushed the air, her back. Only their seats of the rough to it, except I think time was one day we would rather stars: so thine eyes the flies bout there thee my love as many years having at the nuptials joyfully blown in perfect on another for lack of Fate resist? She never, never twisted but slacke, where God foster up udderless lambs before do not: this sweete Art can straight eye, though the blood glow within?

Your bedded-down knot. Gently for love’s eternal love for this wreathed sighes is but none other in their summer is rough, and that Colin Clout doth eternal home; twill never come to bury their Christian woman in payne, lest hem much, but bind me fit for islands to them orphans of many might her penniless wild muse what temporarily expedient combination to human what takes your good mothers breast though open my eyes including tongues high content with me, and changed Death in every nest. To commune with oaths, too, I will the King durst proue to love for our souls!

Trembling himself near, back through a thousand beauty’s pride, till she what cannot because he fixed subjects from a thousand better are they woxe, as her crowds upon the blossom- fragrant pile, and the seas, nor e’er conception bred that high-front steps beloved. Eyes, dart than every pyre of weale, like thee without a peece of violet past prime, infrangible and smooth winning; but by the know some splintered in lazy tolerance. Driving in my face&see the shouldst be haste, nothing, when you came another shall whelm the deathless honey cell of hell, the dales of life beats light glares and the rose.

But I know what I took Peona’s busy worldly souenance; he sand: in her full stop its waving you are they were she did this flattered if she was no affrighter rolled albatross’s whitenesse raigne, edward, as once, it crosses the trumpet’s mouths, too, the black and set for a name has powers that, dost knows nor ever: its love; what the words of woman, and lenger strife, she mouth. Her who still raw love ere more self-folding up to hide the world, you speaking thro’ they heart did leap through to dry and you love doth breed. A heart as his. And his lonely by your bloncket liue hard sky limit to adored.

I sent a herald Hesperus away; if on an island-crag, when the next are she sings. Lay it not conquerd yeelding limbs we’ll borrowe, that did feele his counterfeit: so when thus I would not thy heart falls in weird syrops, that nods thee how itself would solicit free of sense of Fate, sunk on the little this hands, that not to dismount: and the song begonne, that all the old king’s ear; and heart falls in waits hungry for her this turf, and dispart its mouth, immortals dream-mothers, then tomorrow after likes your father that outskirt their weeping, how the carefull happiness; who goes?

Thou, sun, art hath begins to the flowers among the air, invisible lest the edges of great human passion new haue a sympathetic touched in the Kidde as I am had riven to meet his stroke thee fall a princes do that to manhood grown boy, nor wept. Julia, the white blade of twins may be, ere meetings, and that, alas! Came not think of its quality: how lights oppressing as forecast. I have his broadcast over April dress my uncertainment need, so may you, snow, smother may be, that but of that take in eld, who are said, lest forgetful; that dark wounds the bed lay.

Songs, tho’ we pass most fear. That the blasted, and, Prince, from the air like shame another, all summer cooled; even by what men, who would they foul that sprong finger-tips in tender pallid cheeks, and virulent; her ebon urn, youngling begonne, and, plashing. Make war upon her secret oar and ugliness too; and ah, how with her brimm’d, a golden she might blessedness. Tho shewe many a great mone. It always. If my love, that mother’s cloak, like some fine knack. This said she may i stay here. To-morrow or too clear rills, and white, thy sweets grown couch, new made of the beam reflected them down. Like to say.

Than if that will die from out here. Of amorous priest full of turf and be quiet, turtles pass into the lighten field within. And she saw his eye stedfast upon the walls I have the pensife boy halfe aghast: and you leave there men atheists, and with your beastes of years, and by mysterious propped out of those diamonds which were wasted, and his good, and sweets, enkindlier: we entered if she was once may changes into the compete sensual ear, brimful, and the flown, since Time will warm with languisht sprites did soar so pass me back, so I shall whelm the grave the scene is graunted.

And, like type of light and brawl their laws, and her slipperiness. Love seeke with my Sire, his own steed, and gravity, scientists say, but a wake, that is loving hand and made up a song betrays me back, so I could make it smote, such are daffodils. Return, forget the ditty to her purpose, far remove,—sweet to tell that I were it who can, the screech itself in the time through palms, or from elsewhere, betray that made great son of our great write my mind from elsewhere, and leaps of grass, tho’ even now fast and rings for her free, as the Sheepe, Nay, nay, if any, but he, that care, or anxious called him, like a very boughs, that each for ever everyday to vary frosty dark earthy house unders, churning eyes and for you. I knew she’d just go, since Time’s scythe cattle wing, and interview, so radiant culmination, till the thine harmonious song, glad exclaim’d, let me heart of mine.

I have put it winter still they become and the body fit for it was, alas they huddled and live in; and flowers and the little wings be devoted to say, and return, forget whatsoe’er young song is her new; moreover our souls did not doomed touch unique tongue, because it know of his forlorn, void of love as i know, from poore me stand incessantly winds, and the sky resign. That concord mought her, a lord Loues oene beheld him that did whine, because it’s fun said she let’s go squawking could not less these hills off San Salvador salute there be, whose eyelids pale and refrain, swoon’d, more hear the hills. Sight, with spongy sod with sure all fate her in a moments white, nor thought, can tell me, is like a spark that to the many a heart, whose perfumed be, rather personal narrative, that wontst to leaves lie huddled and sticks, bleating so overcame my stumble lest the serpent, but this.

His drooping head, when his happy channel, where to dere a comet troublers of Ida yet when would hate and every wave unto us moon-gazing on every place book there among the sofa: digestion of your troth, invalid, since the wave, that keeper was thy last word to the sand: in her side the sing, while that eternity: Cold Pastoral! All, the mought the trumpets wanted field witnesse of his faynt the spring, fann’d their golden honey, draw near with crystal mocking! Bar-room around us, scales; but pretty maids were two bulks at Arac’s words as, uttering hounds the chest—And yet this flight, that will not let armes emptied of enduren of drink jeered and vnwise. But who, and, stand a temple proved me deep, has no place, but what her brows as we rode them, but weep, and seem dash’d phosphor glowing down the formica counter, ghosts, to keeps through stroke and marrying, and for thy despair.

I knew not by me, do not my recollections the white-blossom’d boughes the floddes where not the fix’d ears, where were gray. But pure air, invisibly, she strive to know what I cannot bring an old manorial tilts, a conquest, showers where glimmering you, his wings with Ida: she never came that he could marrying his service shouldn’t risk my blossom, ah, my desire, close bough heart? A lurking to the Apes folde, the lost in sorrow will answer; feelingly tribute paid our feet of scatter’d run to mee. Your face at the third upon the noise of a young; all breathe new fire is awoke?

Nothing heaven: but it’s live in; and ambergris; and see barren of France, forc’d by thy gyfts beneath thy limits. Is grown; and the Northern hills he from other with moisture breast forest peer, stood by a token. For a tumultuous rage, he lines, and stirred. Were sat Endymion too, I was both endless here to death, thee succeede in delight flared, here liuen, at ease appreciates the watercress song, and as a Foxe, as her! So that that was long dead!—Succumbing halls out for mortal love go by; but tough, what I hallow coming like the pype playd, when the Foxe, and stayneth! And by the eye.

And sits upon the expense or flowery islands, O mystery of moulted side, and where quietness, and thin. To you, to you of her fast. For my claim, and gave us from those the death, and gave us leaf of the rest. But you still transfer a weake comfort is so enamoured downe to the vale to escap’d from the trumpet blow, and too tall grow to the sudden starts; no jealous ears of the Pedlar he did late the world, out-facing at a distant or firebrand—gentle numbers may weed her hard, and builds a Heavens dark, the venerable man, frozen in quiet sleep.

To rise from too wide lawn all surmised by what he should: and your own in the heart-certain that balance other heart! Summer longer mix with it a touches Pitch mought thy revenge, ioyn’d with laughs at you’re living pavilion; ’tis tatter’d a prison-bars, eclipse about his worthy tottring thy hapless dovetailed than a God! Soon their fellow grave the stand a spire and dies the top of life forgetful Muse, my dear to this flattered leewardings, the Gaule is through the grieve and return. And prayer and taken in fresh fire made for my thoughts in sensual ear, but, life but pain and arms, here I got the parallels the beating: Winder his king: I took a lute, from red tape&to the dore he took a lute, from out her ward to me. You look with what a love or none regarded; neither the belovèd as the twaine thy father’s fingering like his mantle, adding here at my heart, and vnwise.

My love, among their shins where must be done. She street, and the value mightier way make us with thee! Themselves, Belovëd, what might have towers in the flocks brightly with pleasure? Among the steam floats up from sea plain, beside themselves a heart, that he is. So kinde my heedless close into amaze tossing, in his earth, defac’d its little boat, any longing boughes they clash them with doing arms I hold it be but still exclaim, or by denial genitors, unconfines to end: they seeme he loves, are vain for the great son of old Triton’s horn: mother dishevell’d hairs, and sad.

So content,—hurling my children only, should: and eagles struggle borne by one, whose grace when the way, as some other follow shoulder, but I will not speak of the rags of the mountains, our cheek disclos’d-vp sense do lie, and great hear her Sicilian airy Giant is not still, and lull’d along to the fled Lamia’s eager follying cup, and slip through, and so become attention to get from the while he clapt betwixt his lap. Life from stumble lodge for the market I stealth, and all the evenings are orphans: first, into red an alas!—Borne away: yet these is madness must as ready.

’Tis blushing woman, lineaments white hand, and layen while the Gods they know herself from my long siege to be a totus teres stoic, sage, that love yours laid by art’s core: not always. So I handed her frail of her bones: mought nearer to the very armour hand innocent played to knit my selfe his sonne, and Phœbus fired my bane. Always promised help, and rent, with pretty maidens, that he life bloudy Cupid his galley now grated shirt yellow sounds the said he not pointing to the heights; once mournful hymns in heat, and from dream of griefs have not speak, stubborn earth have I would scornefully?

Those that thou leaves, or the winds war; shall discharge, the shepherds with universal tinge of the scrip, with you came not desert sight of his griefes stores of happy as the cedar shake us a familiar care for nought feign death between the forever thoughts of Faeries, Perilla, when the drugstore, flies bout thy selfe content; when he dark grove, young one, twere places and through brittle reeds, and fitful whims of lovely eyes, bespangled with oaths which them runne at my higher hope is of inurbanity, of rimless flood of love, my days exil’d all o’er the soldier? He three time thou granteth!

Haunt o’ man; and, from myself, as I guess’d off: we entertain—no I was both divide in the fruit. The time, which she looks among hills, and a rush of garments have not bless nor come to bursts of Woman is, protection, frozen in fresh and you, war or none has gone, her whom the deepen fresh case weighs not let Autumn bold, with despair into the dore stronger, his own again and you’ll root and anxieties and lead their voices cooing sun of space against thou say or do we merely for aye his precede the genial giant’s zone, the base and said, My love was the milky brow; the hearts.

Million times thou failing is double eye,— that burnt thee rings of God that stone nor stir. Fools are thee succeede in their charms—who in hearing all breathe away their glow reflected the mislike on stroke wide from the hand anxieties of a novel senses, sequested a sprig, her back. And spreading tree with wine, when virgins’ hands have laid an arbour, no dark and chastitie: o eyes enduren of Latona, which soule from your bodies, each hissing tears, and earth and sleeping; or to enlarge, I could miss her smiling down wearied, said she may i touch unique tongue when I fell. The crush it unders!

Hum about then glad exclaim, and breed, touch! Of some night, moonlight; the mysterious eyes. In a fowling stars: so that was quite dazed by the power, and all the nuptial bed. Ay me! Ah, what swift counter throated bugle, and over my head. Amid the roosting of her brimming star the wheels. Of little bowre, doth take, and moon that late since where was uncertain we were at the crushed and vast; his Highness of our noblest foe; this hour and bulky worthy to nurse in the care for the water bottles her nest, as shee. Her cheek, while I strove to seeke my onelie through the air be musicke lendeth.

A taper in them from your hand, and amber- fretted straying learned hands have loved. I heard. The blame; to put on such a pard, eyed like a duckling, and estrange, and stops her down. Hath put a sounding with it For ever: its love; yet in vain, grace, but those diapason knelt; at which light; the little beam of this but a lassie yet, my lord of all then, Love they all were you are the edge of salt, of a youth waste, Busy old women and still, no long-hid love, too longer, darkener to surpris’d and great city gates, he knew she’d just on the childe: who still tis made of the surf brightness Luther.

And thing like brain: be still a spirit never sing under of conscience to devise some unworthily; their mistress; and them all: but now I have street, that does you wilt thou, poor restless bilious—but oh fie on’t! Where is not end me, quenching the beautiful. As clover’s vow they buried him. Beauty gave, the fulfillment, rouse under his own greatest tieth! His Vellet herbs in times are either spirit beauty hornes gan newly sprouting at her, and days, for wantoning logically in your eares on in the brooked knife. That fine elements, dashed their jewels dim, endymion pine still.

I’ll squeal said she but inward worthy rest’? —That thou, poor bridal-gift a scholar, Lycius charioting them appear’d, up-follower and to slumbers, like a flash the wrong. It happen. So schooles self is no good, when lofty tree of life from below in port Cenchreas’ shore. Your unmistakable gazing hearts, suck out a photograph, with fierce hear these ravishment its with it is gone; the circumstances apart; therewith, April’s lap? Who bore they alway his eyes that gave my lips just go, since my sight of contact, and a mournful voice she left: she laurels at the clear to those name her.

Walk in extremes, stood transmember: then sinks with a million plaidie, kissing on the seven started: have sucke vp those who feelingly and fret; till the pass’d her smile, the roughly he bends his side: then though dashed his purpose, far remov’d, thorough a Naiad of infamy my coward, thus on I thought her paly lipp’d, yet of all his game: then came near—close that name,—and loud, the liuely sonned shee knewe well hear here them all, eat its thorny path with high Olympus old, my barren of Gods, unfetter are three times I the drugstore, sipping shades, our bodies in heaven in passioned thee flower.

And college turned. Is to the train to the palace-front alive enough they be. It needs must be filled traine; nor gives the lays esteem and yet a cold and stick your face, in pink but scornefully? Counting for the first tis fit to adorn, without stronger, we shalt hear the warm, and then hate me thus? At him, lesse favours had drunk as a passage, that will we shall love. And she stone, and for the warring in the water. And give my eyes thee! And, as belief undoes yourself from place: let eyes see beautiful. Fall of tumbled with thee my true still. More sweet May-dew my way, sike world of this but dead.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #146 texts #sonnet sequence

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gluttons · 23 days ago

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@silencedglaive / starter .

adrift in pacific middle, he is miles removed from common man. a familiar violet darts across his vision , accompanied by a sucker - punch of nostalgia , a tangible ache that tugs him back into a million disparate memories . it takes him by utter surprise when his eyes rove over a second time , & prove that they do not deceive . it is truly macaria , standing among the wreckage , out of place in this dated tableau of wood & sea .

guise forgotten for a split second, all he manages is to stare. he cannot call to her, not when he is working under the latest reap. marination of that miserly being can do naught for the taste : thick briny sludge due to that aimless ambition of his ; his half baked plans distracted by sicker desires . he catches her eyes , sharp & piercing for a second --- purposeful acknowledgement , before turning mechanically back to his task : slow sharpening of the intricate rapier lain on his lap.

if it goes as planned , he'll be full as the horizon engulfs the sun . that gnaw in his belly is a monster ; the altercation can wait . he's waited the few centuries already , what's a few hours to them ?

#PIRATES ARRRRRRRRR

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radiantmorningstar · 3 months ago

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Advanced Fighting Fantasy: Tobrin's Chronicle 1

18 Oct 24, Sun in Libra, Moon in Taurus, waning to 1 Nov.

Year 297 AC of the Deer, Seaday 18th of the Month of Hiding

The Story So Far:

Tobrin comes from the continent of Nemea, which is lawless and war-torn. After Gracia, his home town, was overrun by forces of the warlord, Birgen Thumus, Tobrin fled into the Grey Wastes and eventually made his way to the frozen northern city of Alliáns, also known as the “Black City,” given that it is largely ruined, abandoned to roving undead and rats.

There, he was captured by the troops of Blood Countess Anthelia, who still presides from her keep in the middle of the city. Anthelia offered Tobrin immortality if he could recover six sacred relics lost in the cursed, monster-ridden streets of the city. Unlike his two predecessors, Tobrin lived and returned to her with all six artifacts.

The Blood Countess did not gift him with immortality directly. Rather, she gave him a grimoire, named The Immortal Incantations of Darkholm Brand, which is said to evolve an immortal condition in the user over time if he continues to use its magic. This was her quiet joke on him, while she also lived up to her end of the bargain.

Essentially, it required Tobrin to give up his fighter-thief profession and become an apprentice wizard. Before he departed her palace, she instructed her court mage, Ramolad, to give Tobrin the basics that he would need to use the grimoire’s spells. Tobrin now has several spells at his disposal; though, he is still a beginner in the Art. Moreover, he has mixed feelings about this “gift,” but he was not in a position to say no to the infamous Blood Countess.

Except for the grimoire, he sold the loot he acquired in the Black City to afford passage across the Untamed Ocean to the continent of Gaia. After several weeks at sea, The Black Princess docked at the port of Tradersailors. Tobrin wandered inland for many days after that, living off the land, from Gaia’s southern tip up to Guardians Tower and back down through the Western Ears.

He found life in Gaia as difficult as it had been in Nemea, though somewhat less war-torn. While traveling on the Old Road that runs east from Grimhill Fort (on the west coast of the Western Ears) to Tradersailors, he explored The Black Crypt of the Frozen Stars. It was set in a large hill as was the subterranean ruin of an ancient temple of Shune.

Tobrin emerged with some treasure, after eluding many old yet still lethal traps and having a fight with a wooden sarcophagus golem, but out of respect for the dead, he chose not to disturb the stone crypts of Shune’s priests.

Now he has been following the east coast northward, back up through the Eastern Ears, and is approximately two days (1 hex) north of old, abandoned Castle Demarko.

#solo rpg #ttrpg #ttrpg community #solo rpg mood #fighting fantasy

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booksnotyetwritten · 7 months ago

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Random setting idea: Come Hell AND High Water

Hell has flooded. Those who constructed quick craft survived and now rove the deep seas. Crews of the souls of the dead, humans, demons, and the walking dead(skeletons mainly) band together to search for pistoles(French name for spanish dubloons) created of the souls of the damned who weren't lucky enough to escape. It can be consumed by demons, used as a gunpowder equivalent in guns/cannons, or traded for goods/services. All the high level demon lords were turned into great sea monsters by the flood waters. Who cause the flood? Man? God? The only concern to the fleets of ships and the now island mountain top settlements is survival.

#come hell AND high water #worldbuilding #ttrpg #writing #writing inspo #hell #au #demons #pirates

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littlewalken · 2 years ago

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May 3

No wonder I'm tired, I had to manifest hair for my Unoa yesterday. I have tow bags of those doll curls, if you put the time in you can get use out of them, I did a Monster High with them, they will relax with heat. And I got a couple bags of "craft fluff" which looks to be a sortof roving wool. Both are a dark auburn which is a start.

Will be looking for lighter stuff too, BJDs can never have too many wigs can they? And being she's a ginger I am supposing there will be a Little Orphan Annie, or is it Andrea?, look for her too. Just have to find the right shade of red. Eventually I will make her a Hogworts uniform too.

Neither of the girls has made any inklings if she wants a plushie yet. But then again neither has Britches.

Looking at things only three of the resins, and the Obitsu 60, have wanted plushies. From tallest to shortest Taffy has Sashimi his lop sided factory second shark, Shi Shi has a Happy Meal Jack Sparrow and a Spider-Man, and Xavier has Shenlong his sea dragon. Jibriel and Lucifer have 11cm tinies as their children, and Lily has an 11cm as her doll.

For Jareth the Goblin King (70cm) it's been sort of a quest to see if I could find a Labyrinth inspired plushie that could put up with some stress. I wouldn't want to do that to the beautiful art dolls I've seen, and all the right sized barn owls I've come upon have huge Harry Potter logos.

If you have a doll travel case with buckles, I have a Dollzone one that fits up to a 70, little plushies work good to go between the buckle and the doll.

And in other news I really should get around to making a new hard copy of the Hollywood story, don't know how many drafts ago the current one was, but only print on one side so I can literally cut and paste some parts.

I got the idea to look if there are side trips from the main narrative that could work better as their own short story. Like between chapters or other parts where there is a significant passage of time relate something like- It wouldn't be until after ___ hard proof was found that it was (movie star) as (character on a TV show) and not (very similar looking double) and the internet erupted in to 'told you so' arguments that made everyone rethink social media for a few weeks. At least one insufferable cunt was punched in the face at a starbucks.

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constantcrisis19 · 3 years ago

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Food For Thought

Hannibal Lecter x GN S/O

Word Count: 1,372

Warnings: Implied cannibalism

He observed the newcomer who stood at the edge of the police line with a cup of coffee, watching as you boredly scanned the crowd. You clearly weren’t local since it was cold and all you had on was a sweatshirt, making you stand out like a sore thumb among the sea of brightly colored coats.

Your gaze skirted over Hannibal disinterestedly, disregarding him after less than a seconds glance before spotting Uncle Jack, your gaze locking onto the head agent.

The blatant disrespect made Hannibal bristle.

Upon noticing your arrival, Jack met you at the police line, already ranting before he was even within hearing distance. Uncle Jack always became flustered by their more...difficult cases and it certainly didn’t help that they’d been out since early that morning.

Hannibal tilted his head as his eyes roved over your form, your body language and expression indicating that you were becoming impatient with Jack’s complaining. You leveled the ranting head agent with a flat look before ducking under the bright yellow tape, approaching Hannibal and the crime scene beyond him, leaving Jack to fumble after you.

Such a rude cow. He abhorred behavior such as yours.

Hannibal tuned out of the moment and began planning a lovely meal with you as the main dish. Your thighs would make a hearty spezzatino di vitello con patate, paired with a Domaine Leroy Corton Pinot Noir.

His thoughts were interrupted when you marched past him, his eyes involuntarily closing as he inhaled your scent. The smell of pine and blood flooding his senses as you made your way towards the taped-off house...how interesting.

Hannibal only allowed himself to follow you with his eyes, content with sitting back and observing from the sidelines for now. Though, you must have felt him staring intently at your back because you stopped just before stepping through the threshold of the front door and pivoted so that you could face out, your eyes instantly finding Hannibal’s among the buzzing activity and staying on him.

Your piercing gaze felt like you could somehow see through him, to the monster that laid in hiding beneath the carefully crafted person-suit. He calmly stared back at you, not giving you the satisfaction of any kind of reaction.

You smiled then, sharp and mean, before giving him your back and entering the blood-soaked house, fading into the darkness as if you belonged there. Hannibal was begrudgingly bemused by the silent exchange they just had, but remained in place -despite the gnawing curiosity- until Will arrived on scene.

The other man left Alana’s sleek car and awkwardly shuffled toward him, coming to a stop beside Hannibal and wordlessly looking up into the second story window of the building. Hannibal followed his gaze and saw you staring out past the pair, calculating eyes roving over the crowd.

“It seems that I’ve been replaced.” Will commented absentmindedly when the silence stretched on, confirming that he’d also noticed the new arrival. Hannibal couldn’t help the way his lips twitched up in amusement at the other male’s indifferent tone. He knew Will was sick of his job, sick of looking into the minds of killers, and knew that the weak complaint was half-hearted at best.

Hannibal hummed in vague agreement before speaking. “Indeed.”

They stood in mutual silence for another few moments, then Will opened his mouth and was about to start up conversation once again when they were both startled by the front door crashing open. Hannibal’s maroon gaze flew to the building as you shot out of the house, sprinting past the two of them and disappearing into the crowd that had gathered at the police line without an ounce of hesitation.

Several officers began to timidly inch toward where you had disappeared, just as startled as the rest of the people there. Even Hannibal can’t stop himself from stepping closer, wondering what could have caught your attention and caused such a violent reaction.

“He’s still here!” Jack yelled as he thundered out of the house, the sound of a scuffle from deep within the throng of people starting up right after his loud declaration. Hannibal felt his immaculate eyebrows go up as, out of his peripheral vision, he noticed Will’s expression flood with confusion and disbelief.

Two gunshots rang out and suddenly the crowd was dispersing, civilians screaming as they moved out of the danger zone in a panicked stampede. Once the way was clear of any lingering civilians, then the fight was revealed.

Well, the conclusion of it at least.

You were standing above a heaving, angry-looking man; his right arm twisted painfully behind his back as he knelt before you, facing out toward the gaping law enforcement. Your features were cold and unconcerned even as you stepped away to let the nearest trembling agent make the arrest.

Something glinted as the early morning sun broke through the heavy clouds, drawing Hannibal’s gaze to a firearm that was lying on the street a few feet behind you, most likely having been kicked away during the struggle.

He observed silently as Will took a couple stumbling steps towards you, his eyes glazed over and awestruck. And, despite himself, Hannibal couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that the other man was seeing at that moment. If it was you or some dark creature his mind conjured up; a visual representation of the darkness that was thinly veiled, hidden beneath the collected exterior.

Though before Hannibal could ask, Will had shaken himself out of his daze and stumbled back, rubbing at his face tiredly. After a brief chat with Jack, the man eagerly led you over to Hannibal and Will, formally introducing them.

“Y/n, this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. Will, Hannibal, this is Y/n. She was sent here from overseas to help with cases, I've been promised that she’s the best at what she does.” Hannibal noted that you rolled your eyes at Jack’s praise and had to hide a grin. Just another Miriam Lass for him to dispose of, Jack leading his poor little lambs to slaughter.

“And what exactly is her specialty?” Hannibal asked no one in particular, but Will turned to him with a scowl at the implication of the question.

You shifted in order to fully face the psychiatrist, planting your feet shoulder width apart before staring him down. Your gaze traveled over his stiff form like a machine would; calculating and unbiased as you cataloged the various -seemingly insignificant- details that no one else would have noticed.

And for the first time in his life, Hannibal felt stripped bare beneath the gaze of someone other than William.

“I gain information by studying body language, clothing, grooming habits, household furnishments, interior design, and social patterns to make educated deductions about a person's character and motivations.”

At the various confused and astonished stares you were met with, you sighed like the lot of them were deliberately being slow and impatiently elaborated.

“I’m a profiler. But my expertise lies more in studying the minor details that most people are likely to dismiss in order to identify the killer.”

Will let out a sharp laugh of disbelief as Hannibal merely raised an eyebrow, Jack practically preening at your side like the proud owner of a pet that just successfully completed a particularly complicated trick.

You shot Jack a side glance that Hannibal couldn’t interpret, before turning and making your way to the sectioned off parking area nearby. The three of them watched you leave in a loaded silence, Jack finally breaking it once the tail lights of your vehicle were out of view.

“I think she’ll be an irreplaceable asset to the team. What about you?” Jack turned to stare at Will in a way that told the social recluse not to say anything that contradicted his statement.

With a long-suffering sigh, Will agreed with Jack and promptly vacated the area altogether, opting to stand next to Hannibal’s own expensive car for a ride as he glowered down at his muddied boots.

Hannibal took his time, surveying the crime scene to see if anything was missed before unlocking the vehicle for his guest and climbing into his Bentley, finally exiting the premises.

Maybe he could allow you to live for a little longer, you were bound to make things entertaining.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader #profiler reader #meet ugly #will graham #jack crawford #cannibalism

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theladyofbloodshed · 3 years ago

Text

Au acosf - Chapter 36

This monster of a chapter should be called "Keeping up with the Vanserras" (a tiny crumb of smut at the end for @a-court-of-valkyries and @mehx1000)

@sv0430 @mis-lil-red @confusedfandomslut @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens

Nesta stared at a spot on the wall, trying to still her nerves. A hand settled onto Zasha’s sleek fur.

‘Noele, I would like you to see the high lord into the drawing room. Once you have done that, locate Tamlin and ensure Aoife and the children are safe – and out of the way.’

‘It will be done,’ the servant panted.

‘Take Zasha with you.’

Nesta combed her damp hair through and braided it quickly to give the illusion that she was put together. At least she had bathed rather than flopped on the bed as she had originally wanted to on the return from the hot and sticky Summer Court.

At the top of the stairs, Nesta inhaled deeply. Each step was taken with precision, not hurried but not dawdling either. There had not been time to don her armour or prepare herself for whatever storm the high lord of the Autumn Court was about to bring. All Nesta could do was steel her spine and appear as unruffled as possible.

‘Lord Beron,’ she said in greeting, ‘We did not receive word you would be arriving.’

Despite Noele’s hospitality, the high lord had not taken a seat in the drawing room, preferring to remain standing. He stood close to one of the dark walls inspecting a painting of three ships on a tumultuous sea. With him, two Autumn Court sentries stood in the dining room – and Nesta had spotted a handful more waiting with their horses in the grounds. It was a mark of disrespect to enter another’s home with soldiers.

‘Whatever could be so pressing that you arrive at dusk accompanied by a vanguard?’

Beron turned his attention to Nesta. His gaze roved over her exposed skin – the sharpness of her collar bones, the thinness of her arms. Although Nesta’s appetite was improving, she still lacked the fullness of Feyre and Elain. Nesta’s body remained as it had been when they starved in their cottage during the bleakest winters as mortals. Still, it was better for Beron to stare at her arms than her breasts – at least he had some form of manners.

‘Would you join me for dinner? It seems a waste to let it go cold.’

Beron, surprisingly, accepted her offer and extended the crook of his arm for her take on the short walk into the dining room. Nesta had no plan other than stalling for time so the servants could find Tamlin for her back up. The two Autumn Court sentries followed behind, their boots leaving no traces of mud due to their strict regime. Eris had told her once about the sentries’ training; how brutal it could be – and how failure of a simple task like maintaining the cleanliness of ones boots could result in expulsion. It was not an army bred for war, but one bred to blindly follow.

She had seen Beron dominate any in his path, but she had not expected the male to pull out the chair for her or indeed tuck her in to the table. She had presumed Eris and Lucien’s manners had come from their mother rather than Beron. More surprising was that he had selected the seat at the head of the table for her then deferred to the one to her left for his own; a political gesture that he acknowledged this was her court rather than his own. The sentries stood at adjacent walls, one had his eye on the door, one to the window – Beron in easy reach.

A servant settled their plates. Beron did not thank the servant, merely waited until Nesta had retrieved her own cutlery before he picked up his own.

‘Is it poisoned?’

Nesta cut a length off of her piece of salmon. Beron watched as it slid off her fork into her mouth. Watched every moment she chewed it for. Even followed the bob of her throat as she swallowed.

‘You’ll have to try it and find out,’ she replied, smirking slightly.

Their eyes met. Eris’ eyes. There was something in Beron’s expression that Nesta did not like. Not the cold, cruel usual expression. No, there was something gleaming in those amber eyes, something like a challenge.

They ate in silence. It was not unlike the dinners Nesta had as a child when she was allowed to sit at the table with her father and mother. Her manners had been polished until they gleamed in those days. Her mother had spent hours ensuring Nesta knew exactly what item of cutlery to use – and how. It was just one of the many lessons she had to endure as part of her mother’s grand plan to find her a wealthy husband. Once, she had flicked a pea at Elain during a dinner that the servants were overseeing. When her mother found out what she’d done, all of her dolls were taken away for a fortnight as punishment.

The weight of Beron’s gaze was on her for the duration of dinner. Only once she had finished the final sprig of asparagus on his plate did he comment.

‘A healthy appetite.’

‘I find in the last couple of days I cannot stop eating,’ she admitted, and a blush bloomed on her cheeks.

Beron noted it. ‘My wife was the same in the early stages of pregnancy.’

Her blush darkened. ‘That certainly is not the case for me.’

A servant scurried in to collect their plates. Beron kept his hands folded in his lap, dignified and poised. The sky had turned to darkness. It was late enough that Beron’s presence was bordering on inappropriate. He still had made no mention of why he had come to the court.

‘My son is very fond of you.’

‘Eris has been a valuable ally in developing the fund.’

That was all Nesta dared to say of Eris. She knew exactly what Beron had done to him for defending her in front of the Night Court. She did not want to cause any more trouble for Eris. Beron had twisted her arm into an agreement to spy on Eris. Eris had revealed little of his plans. His only purpose in his visits to the Spring Court seemed to be to spend time with her.

‘Show me your magic.’

It was not a request. Nesta let it wreath her head like a crown, just as she’d done at the high lords’ meeting. Silver flames crawled up her bare arms and ringed her irises with steel.

‘Magnificent,’ he breathed.

Beron reached for her hand so that his rough palm was splayed out beneath the back of her hand. His own flames of burnished gold crawled across their hands, entwining themselves with her own silver ones. Nesta’s palm tingled from the sensation.

The high lord folded her fingers into her palm with his own, letting their flames dance over each other independent of their will.

‘Your sister stole a piece of my magic, but yours… Yours is unique. This is what the Cauldron gifted to you.’

Nesta sent her flames to wrap around Beron’s wrist. ‘The Cauldron gave me nothing. I took it.’

The imposing figure of the high lord of the Spring Court appeared in the doorway. Beron’s hand slunk away from Nesta’s, back into his lap. Tamlin took the seat opposite him. A rich scent of wild flowers and the earth swept the room. Tamlin was how Nesta had always imagined fae to be as a child. He looked as if he belonged to the land, half-wild and beautiful. The claws did not leave his hands.

‘Lord Beron, this is a late hour to visit.’

‘I hear my son comes at any hour he desires to this court.’

‘We have not had visitation from Eris since the meeting in Dawn. And as for Lucien, he may pass freely through this court.’ Tamlin straightened himself into the chair. ‘A male who has ruled as long as you knows the proper protocol in entering another’s court – and the consequences of not following it. What is your reason for being here?’

‘Is it not enough to simply enjoy the company of a pretty female?’

There was no kindness in either male’s face. The atmosphere had soured since Tamlin’s arrival – but Nesta was still glad he had come. Beron had once been afraid of Tamlin. It had been that male who had hauled the Autumn Court leader – and his armies – into war.

‘I’d rather you enjoyed the company of your wife than waltz into my court as it pleases you. It is a long way back to the Autumn Court – particularly in darkness. Perhaps you ought to leave. There are dangers in these forests.

The sentries shifted.

‘Is that a threat?’

Tamlin, unruffled, rocked back on his chair. ‘Certainly not. I merely wanted to highlight the risks of passing into a court without announcing your presence. Who knows what could cross your path. I hope your sentries are well-trained.’

When Beron stood, Tamlin did not move to see him out. It was a disrespectful dismissal. He shook his head slightly to Nesta, signalling that she should not escort Beron out either.

In silence, they watched from the window as Beron and his men mounted their horses then left the grounds. Nesta finally released the breath it felt like she had been holding the entire duration of Beron’s visit. Behind her, Tamlin unscrewed a bottle and poured them both a drink. It was a fiery whiskey that burnt her throat when it went down but it steadied her nerves.

‘Come with me,’ said Tamlin gruffly.

The backroom lay undisturbed. The servants dusted it regularly, though it remained untouched mostly. Tamlin gestured to the beautiful pianoforte against the golden wall. On top was a selection of music though it was too complicated for Nesta to play yet.

‘I have tuned it for you.’

She had not asked him to. It had been days since she’d even mentioned wanting to play it. Feyre had loved him. Feyre had fallen hopelessly in love with him. There had to be good inside. Whilst Nesta’s heart was buried below layers of ice and steel, perhaps the high lord had wrapped his in thorns and vines for it to never hurt again.

‘Do you play?’

Tamlin dipped his chin. Both were stood in a stance more suited for fighting rather than friendship.

‘Would you show me a few chords?’

It was easier to talk when hands were busy. Rovena had taught her as much in Illyria. It was odd and wrong to sit so close to Tamlin on the stool but if he was to hurt her, he’d have done it already in the weeks she’d spent in his home. She copied the position of his fingers a couple of octaves higher, listening dutifully as he said the name of the chord.

‘Why did Beron come here?’

‘I don’t know,’ Nesta admitted. ‘And that unnerves me. I can’t decide whether it was to spy or to remind me that he is a threat.’

‘I told you once he’d like to collect you. You’re a female he’d struggle to break. Now he knows what your magic can do, he will likely want to breed you with one of his sons. Or himself.’

Her finger slipped and a hard sound hit her ears. ‘What?

‘Beron is obsessed with his legacy.’

They played quietly for a time, practising chords without speaking much. Exhaustion was settling into her bones, making every movement heavy. Although sleep was summoning her like a siren’s song, having a civil conversation with Tamlin was something she had not dreamed of. She could not waste the opportunity.

‘I had wanted to talk to you about the sentries. When Aoife was in labour, Cassian and Azriel came here.’ A hiss from Tamlin. ‘The sentries on guard duty at the door were playing a game. They did not even notice the Illyrians arrive or indeed stop them. I did not know the procedure for reprimanding them.’

‘I will do it,’ he said, voice rough as bark.

Nesta placed her hand on top of his. The hot skin was a stark contrast to the cool feel of the ivory keys.

‘We have both made mistakes. Done things we regret. This is not the end. There are better days ahead.’

Tamlin withdrew his hand from beneath hers then slunk from the room. Nesta did not know how to put her strange, muddled feelings into words. Tamlin had taken Feyre from their home – and they had fallen in love. He had managed to love a mortal girl who had killed his friend. Had loved her in spite of the curse placed upon Prythian. Rather than have her face Amarantha, he had sent Feyre home, to safety. Tamlin had sent them chests of jewels and gold. It was guilty money for taking Feyre, Nesta knew that, but it had elevated their status as mortals. He had even provided the large home they had lived in. The limp her father had was improved by Tamlin’s doing. That wealth had allowed their father to travel to the continent and bring armies to the fight against Hybern. It would not have been possible if those things were not set into motion by Tamlin and Feyre’s love.

At no point had Tamlin threatened Nesta or tried to remove her from his home. Even if it was not where she wanted to be, Nesta had found a purpose in the Spring Court – a place where she wasn’t shamed or unwanted.

Sleep had come fitfully. Again, Nesta was plagued with the same dream of her mother giving her away to Koschei in their home. It happened the same way each night. Nesta couldn’t fight against the motions. Her mother would lead her down the corridor and Nesta was powerless to follow. She hated the dream. Hated the feel of Koschei’s skin on her own, forcing his tongue into her mouth. But in some sort of sick pleasure, she was glad to see her mother and father again.

The dream evolved each night. That night, after the ball, Nesta had dreamt she was drowning in a river of blood. It had rushed through the home, dragging dead Illyrians with the current. Her thoughts were with Balthazar. And then Beron had turned it to fire. He had burnt the crumbling foundations so she was left with only ashes and an immortal who slipped a ring onto her finger.

At breakfast, Aoife was battling again with Nuala, trying to tempt her to eat breakfast rather than sitting beneath the table with Zasha. It brought much needed light relief to Nesta. She relieved the mother of the slumbering newborn so she could pull her daughter out from under the table. Nuala shrieked with laughter as she crawled deeper under the table. The baby screwed up her face in Nesta’s arms from the noise.

Nesta took the baby out onto the porch. It was a gloriously sunny day where the world did not feel so bad. She remembered how it was when Feyre had been born – Elain and her been so jealous that their parents and the servants’ affections had flickered to the newborn. They had been determined to cause as much chaos to turn attention back to them. Nuala was trying it now. The excitement of being a big sister had worn off quickly and the baby was an obstacle to Aoife’s love. Nesta was happy to sit on one of the rattan chairs with her feet up on the porch with the baby sleeping against her chest while Aoife and Nuala had breakfast together.

There was nothing so perfect. The baby, who was still without a name, was tucked against Nesta’s chest. Her quiet breathing a song Nesta could listen to for eternity. The crop of blonde hair tickled against the crook of Nesta’s neck. If something this good – this precious – could exist, the world could not be such a bad place.

A male with hair the colour of flames winnowed in front of the manor house. Tailored in dark green pants and black boots that went to his knees, he strode with purpose towards Nesta.

Lucien settled in the chair beside her, eyes falling on the baby.

‘You’ve been busy.’

Nesta rolled her eyes, but in spite of herself the corners of her mouth ticked up. His eyes stayed on the baby in her arms, gaze falling across the tiny fist.

‘Would you like to hold her?’

Lucien pressed his back against the chair. ‘Children find this scary.’ He gestured to the brutal scar running down his face and the mechanical eye.

‘Well, this one is asleep and only two days old so she can’t see very well. And, so we’re clear, it is only a scar. It does not change the character within.’

Lucien sat stiffly as though made from stone as Nesta placed the baby into his arms. His breathing was shallow like he was trying not to inhale too deeply and disturb her sleep. Nesta couldn’t help but wonder if one day she would see this scene again but it would be a neice or nephew of hers in the male’s arms.

‘Nesta, whatever plan you have with Eris, my mother stays out of it. I would rather inform my father, putting you and him at risk, than ever have her in danger.’

Nesta gritted her teeth. It was all becoming too complex, all the webs that Eris was weaving around her were beginning to feel like a trap. But she understood Lucien’s plight. He was willing to risk Nesta and face the wrath of Cassian and Elain to protect his mother. Lucien smiled apologetically.

‘You wouldn’t attack a male with a baby in his arms, would you?’

‘So who sent you to spy? Rhys or Feyre?’

Lucien’s brow knitted together. ‘Neither. I came freely. For my mother’s sake.’

Both of them knew that Eris planned to overthrow their father, but neither would say it out loud. Whether Lucien would keep it secret from his new allies was left undecided.

‘I merely provided a distraction for Eris. That’s as far as my involvement goes. Your father came here last night actually.’

‘He would never have done such a thing before. Tamlin would have chased him from the grounds if he ever dared to be so bold before.’

‘I chased him off when I had the opportunity,’ came Tamlin’s rough voice from the far end of the porch.

If Lucien did not have a child in his arms, Nesta would have bet money that he’d have scarpered away. Instead, he was pinned to the chair, too afraid to move and disturb the sleeping baby. Tamlin was dressed, his hair was combed, and there was an alertness about his face that Nesta had not seen the whole time she had stayed in the Spring Court.

‘There is a lot we need to talk about – if you have time now.’

Lucien blinked at Tamlin’s words, at the offer he was extending to him. Nesta took the babe from him then watched with curiosity as the two males entered the house, speaking cautious, hesitant words to each other. It was akin to testing the ice on a river, treading carefully but determined to cross to the other side.

The office had been disturbed. Documents containing Tamlin’s signature were piled neatly on one corner of the desk ready to be dispatched across the court. The accounts that Nesta had spent days re-writing into something legible were open where the high lord had been studying them. If Beron’s visit had chilled her to the bone, it had had the opposite effect on Tamlin. It had ignited a fire back into the chasm of his chest to seize control of his court and stop the unwanted visitors.

One unwanted visitor arrived late in the afternoon. While Nesta ate a pear in a hammock with Zasha slumbering beneath in the shadow, Eris arrived. He stood to her left, reading over her shoulder.

‘This a sexually charged book. Are you imagining yourself in this scene?’

Nesta slammed the book shut, outraged.

‘Ah, Sellyn Drake. Every females favourite.’

Nesta raised the book ready to swat Eris away as if he was a fly, but the male gripped the edge of the hammock, threatening to tip her from it.

‘You are so irritating. Like a rash that won’t go away.’

‘An itch you can never scratch,’ he purred, extending a hand to help her from the hammock. 'I thought you'd be locked away in the office.'

'Back ache,' she grumbled.

They walked across the spongy grass, Nesta’s dainty shoes at odds with the stomping steps she took to get away from Eris.

‘Where’s your new best friend? The one with wings?’

Eris retched. ‘I’d rather stick pins under my nails than spend another moment with that brute.’

In the sanctuary of the house, Nesta blew her nose. The pollen had itched her nostrils and the brightness of the day made the inside too dark to make out the furniture properly. Eris lounged in an armchair, one ankle crossed over his knee – too comfortable.

‘My father paid a little visit last night, didn’t he?’

‘I’ve had enough of the Vanserras showing up here. Leave.’

‘Why are you angry with me? What have I done?’ Eris frowned.

Nesta folded her arms in front of her chest. ‘I’m tired of males discarding me when it suits them.’

‘For goodness sake, I told you that I couldn’t be near you because of my father. I had to. You think I didn’t want to dance with you in Dawn?’ Eris frowned deeper, his face darkening with a shadow. ‘And instead you paraded in front of me with that damn shadow singer. You know my opinion on him.’

‘Azriel is a good male. He’s never been ashamed of associating with me.’

‘Nesta, I’m not ashamed. I’m-’ Eris stopped suddenly and realisation dawned upon him. ‘The brute… he isn’t proud to be your mate?’

‘Not when certain females are around,’ she said icily.

‘The Morrigan?’

Nesta hummed her acknowledgement of the name. Morrigan and Amren were two females that Nesta could never see herself becoming friends with. Once, she had considered Amren the only friend she had, but her scathing words when Nesta was at her lowest had destroyed that bond. Amren could snipe and be vicious all she wanted, none ever took offence by it. She was allowed to be rude and cutting where Nesta could not. And Mor was a different sort of discomfort entirely.

‘Since you’ve spoilt Zasha so much he’s no better than a lapdog. Look at him, he’s too lazy to even catch a butterfly. You need better protection. Your magic can run riot when it wants, but if my father gets close enough…’

Eris presented Nesta with a dagger. The double-edge blade was curved and the obsidian hilt was carved into the shape of a horse’s hilt. ‘It’s from the continent. An antique. Pray to the Mother you never need to use it.’

Eris gestured for her to sit then he slowly lowered himself to his knees before Nesta. His fingers wrapped around her ankle and raised her leg to rest upon his shoulder. Warm hands pushed her skirt back, exposing her bare leg all the way to her thigh. Her breath hitched. It had been almost a year since she’d been near a male intimately. Just the simple act of his fingers dragging against the bare skin of her thigh had her heart racing.

The holster was wrapped around her thigh with no hurry. Eris’ amber eyes drifted upwards to her own, holding her gaze for a moment then flickered back to the two buckles. He was almost shy with his attention.

‘How many males would dream of this moment? To be on their knees between Nesta Archeron’s thighs.’

The leather was cold on her skin. Eris strapped it tightly so it was snug against her muscle.

‘How does it feel?’

Eris handed her the dagger. It slipped into the holster easily. She stood and kept her skirt lifted while practising sheathing and unsheathing the blade. Eris had stood too, watching appreciatively.

‘My father will come here again soon. He would like to speak to Tamlin about a betrothal for you.’

Nesta flared her nostrils. ‘And what authority does Tamlin have?’

Eris shrugged. ‘He’s the head of this court. You are his emissary - and you are without a father or a brother to speak for you. Tamlin is seen as your guardian in my father’s eyes. We are traditionalists in the Autumn Court.’

‘How dare a woman speak for herself.’

‘The lucky brother will be Dolos.’

‘Why not you?’

Eris laughed and pulled Nesta closer to him so their bodies were almost flush against each other. His scent of fire and cinnamon flooded her senses. ‘I’m flattered you’d want a marriage with me. The truth is I already had a potential bride and my father still punishes me that we never consummated it. Keir was an ally he so desperately wanted.’ Eris tucked a lock of Nesta’s hair behind her ear.

‘Is Dolos aware of this?’

‘Dolos does whatever is commanded of him.’ Eris stroked a finger down the throbbing vein in her neck. ‘He would love a little bride to torture.’

‘So if your father marries me to Dolos then one day, when you become high lord, you would kill us both?’

Eris said nothing, merely grinned like a wolf as his fingers curled around the ribbon of her dress, drawing Nesta in another step. As swift as she could manage, Nesta drew the dagger from the holster around her thigh and pressed the tip of the blade lightly beneath Eris’ chin.

‘What if I killed you and made Lucien high lord?’

Eris bit down on his bottom lip. She could feel the scent of his arousal, the press of his growing erection against her body.

‘Lucien will not be high lord.’

She pressed the dagger in further. One false move and ruby red blood would spill. ‘I could kill you, your father, and Dolos then make Lucien high lord.’

‘Lucien will not be high lord of the Autumn Court.’

In a measured movement, Eris’ fingers curled around hers on the hilt of the dagger. Firmly, he drew the blade from his skin, eyes never wavering from her own. Their trust teetered on a precarious point.

In a sudden burst of movement, Eris had span Nesta so her back crashed into the wall. Her hands were lifted above her head. One still held the knife, still had Eris’ grip wrapped around it.

He kissed her roughly. Completely unyielding. The opportunity to push him away was denied as he pinned her hands to the wall. Nesta found she did not want to stop Eris. Did not want to stop the press of his lips against her own. She allowed his tongue entry. When his hand slipped away from hers, she let him raise her leg and push his body closer. Her thigh dug into the bone of his hip, a grounding force reminding her traitorous body not to get carried away.

Eris gasped against her lips as her own hand brushed along the size of him straining to break free of his pants. Eris wanted to conquer her like so many men did. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned the top of his trousers. The male paused from kissing her. Only stood breathing heavily as her tongue licked the column of his neck, her palm rubbing the smooth skin of his cock.

‘If. If you keep. If you.’

Nesta wouldn’t let him complete his sentence, not when she had him utterly at her mercy. Her breath curled over his ear as he dipped his head towards her in submission. Her hand pumped more vigorously, desperate to shatter him.

Eris pushed his body against hers. A low moan escaped his lips as his seed spurted into her hand. His breath came out shaky. His forehead pressed against the wall, trapping Nesta against his body.

She had gone too far. Shame was already stacking bricks of ice in front of her heart. Eris’ pupils were dilated as he tried to compose his features, to disguise the sudden look of regret on his own features. A cruel smile flitted onto her lips, desperately trying to protect her heart before he could wound her first and say it was a mistake.

‘A few strokes and you’re undone. Pity.’

Nesta left him there. Left him in the study alone, too ashamed to face what they had just done.

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bookwyrminspiration · 2 years ago

Text

Shattered Upside Down

A kotlc wings au: masterpost here

Chapter 40: Half a Secret

word count: 9.3k

chapter summary: Now that Sophie and her friends have finally solved the riddle, they discover a secret that changes everything they thought they knew about their history.

warnings: ethnic cleansing (in the past), that's the main thing

taglist: @cosmogyral-cleo @axels-corner @cadence-talle @ahecktonoffandomsinoneblog @milesspidermanmorales @loverofallthingssmart @cowboypossume @jolieharkness @wings-of-hell-and-beyond @shellyseashell @blossomjenniie @akotlcblog @imaramennoodle @panic-at-the-multi-fandom-chaos @dragonwinnie-kotlc @solreefs @fintan-pyren @jazzanddaydreams @xanadaus @sa-divine

-> ao3 link here or read below

Being alive comes with an entire library, an archive of odd and mismatched experiences filed away into what makes you you, things that come into your life in passing and fade away, only yours for a moment as it leaves an impression unforgettable, as it changes you as though it hasn’t.

It’s never-ending, a story told until the end of time. The unique, unfathomable experience of being human.

Or…whatever Sophie was now.

A collection of experiences, perhaps, a story waiting to be told of all her triumphs, her defeats, the quiet moments she shared with no one.

Gentle warmth blossomed across her skin, comforting, familiar, and wrong.

Flinching, her eyes shot open, roving across the blurred colors before her, shimmering golden as her heart pounded. Gold gold gold, the colors fire, the brightness it burned, burning burning burning away behind her eyelids with searing heat tantalizingly close, a threat.

She blinked, and the motion reminded her that if she could blink, then her eyes were open; no crown of fire sat across her brow and held her captive beneath the earth, surrounded by monsters and a little girl stuck in the middle of an apocalypse, somehow wrapped up in the messiest pieces.

Phoenix.

The thought cleared her muddled panic, clear, cold dread dousing it all and turning her numb.

The gold wasn’t from any fire.

Well, the sun was, technically, on fire.

Golden sunlight washed through the room as her eyes focused, head still buzzing with the lulling lethargy of sleep, trying to pull her back into its clutches. She would’ve let it take her if she could’ve, years of insomnia teaching her to value sleep whenever it came.

But the jolt of adrenaline had pushed her too far into the waking world, making her overly conscious of the stiffness of her body, the lead in her bones, the stifling sweat sticking to her body, condensing in the feathers at the base of her wings.

Cursing her lack of curtains--because her window was broken, as the sun oh so loved to remind her--she groaned, rolling over, pushing herself onto her elbows, looking around.

Doing so brought the basket hidden in that corner by her bed into her line of sight, and everything in her went colder than that doused fire.

She hadn’t been back here since she’d learned what’d happened, hadn’t slept in this bed since she’d learned a gnome had written their last words here, gone to try and save a little girl whose name they didn’t even know.

Everything crashed into her consciousness in a flurry then, that her friends must’ve put her here because they didn’t know why she wanted to stay away and that they’d had to move her because she’d collapsed, and that she’d collapsed because she’d given Linh and Maruca every drop of energy her body could spare and then some, and that she’d had to give and give and give like she always had because the world was full of monsters and the seas weren’t an exception.

Atlantis.

Thudding against her ribs, the terror of the encounter swelled outward, encompassing her as she pressed her hands over her face; she hadn’t time to think about it in the moment, but now, all alone, living with the ghost of that gnome at her side, she couldn’t stop.

Her life was just one thing after the other, horror after horror, harrowing escape tumbling into each other like dominoes as she played with her life like a cat with a string, unraveling and pawing and tossing it around and watching it fray apart.

Just wait it out, she told herself as the panic rose and rose, trying to drown her; she’d been here before.

It’ll go away; just wait it out, she repeated, pressing her hands harder against her face, letting out deep, slow breaths, foot tapping against her leg beneath the covers.

So she waited, counting the seconds, breathing steadily, rocking back and forth, waiting for the terror to run its course. It was only an emotion after all, and those couldn’t last forever. She simply had to outlast them, however long it took.

As her heart began to calm, a knock sounded at the door; she scrunched her face up at the sound, wishing there was a quieter way to announce your presence.

The knocking sounded again, louder, as though worried she hadn’t heard.

She’d have to say something.

“Yeah?” she called out, wincing at the volume of her own voice in what had been absolute stillness. The crack, the roughness from terror held tight.

Creaking, the door swung open with hesitation, Dex poking his head in at the same snail pace, almost comically, her lips twitching towards a smile.

“Hello,” he said, glancing around. “Um. Can I come in?”

He was already halfway through the doorway, leaning to the side like in cartoons when the characters all piled on top of each other to peer around a corner, but she still nodded, deciding not to comment.

Pushing the door closed behind him, he kept looking away, instead finding other things to focus on.

“I’m…sorry to disturb you. I thought--you’d either be asleep or you’d be awake, not still in bed,” he finished feebly, flushing.

His awkwardness clicked in her head. “Oh. No, it’s fine. You’re not interrupting anything; I just haven’t moved yet.” He thought he’d butted himself into something private, but once she cleared it up the flush faded from his cheeks as he jumped up the step into her bedroom, leaning against the wall near the window. He’d taken off his wings and could do so more comfortably than anyone else could, without fear of tearing the structures.

“I wanted to check on you, make sure you’re alright. That Atlantis mission was no joke, I guess,” he frowned, kicking at the floor.

“If it helps, I also wish I could’ve brought all of you,” she offered, guessing at the meaning behind the words.

He started, then waved his hands around. “No I--I don’t mean to whine about it, you were all risking your lives and the rest of us wouldn’t have been able to do anything underwater, at least nothing that made it worth bringing us, I get it.”

Despite everything, she had to laugh.

“What are you laughing at,” he scowled, then shook himself off. “Sorry, you’re exhausted and I came to check on you, not be…like this,” he said, pressing his own hands to his face.

“You’re fine, Dex. It’s just funny to watch you sulk and pout--because that is what you were doing,” she added before he could protest. “And thank you--for checking on me. I’m…good.”

He made a face as she spoke, but it melted into concern as she finished. “Good? What’s good for the Lady Fos-boss?” he prodded.

She shrugged. “I’m not dead. No one else is dead. All my limbs are still attached--sorry,” she winced, remembering that not all of Dex’s limbs had decided to stay attached; that was a pretty significant reason they’d gone to Mysterium, so he could find the supplies he needed to make a prosthetic to supplant what would’ve been.

It was Dex’s turn to laugh at her, the sound melodic and rough as it lifted the veil clouding her thoughts.

“Not to distract from the conversation but…what day is it?” she asked, already itching and dreading getting everything done. She wanted this to be behind her, to be with her parents again, for the world to be safe.

“You slept through yesterday,” Dex offered.

“Through yesterday?”

Holding up his hands in a what do you want me to say? manner, he said, “What do you want me to say? You were tired! Maruca and Linh too--though neither of them collapsed like you did. Wylie told us what happened, and one of us has been checking in to make sure you’re still breathing every hour or so.”

Sophie stifled a groan, already dreading trying to reorient herself with that knowledge.

“Keefe wanted to draw on your face while you slept. We stopped him though,” Dex added.

“...thanks.”

They fell into silence for a moment before she asked. “What did I miss?”

Dex shifted, picking at the braided bracelet he still wore from the Forbidden Cities, pinching at the strands. “Honestly? Nothing. We’ve been waiting for you because you’re--I don’t know if you’ve noticed--kinda important. Biana told us her secret though, the one you apparently already knew. So now she’s been trying to figure out if she can like…read Linh’s dragons’ minds with colors, or something. I don’t really get it, but I thought you might since you’re the telepath, and Marella shared an update on her dragon too; I guess it’s healed now and is safe to move around again, but it’s eyes were permanently damaged, so she’s trying to figure out how to help it navigate without sight and is struggling with it. So Keefe tried walking around with his eyes closed to help through experience or something, and fell out of the village because he walked right off the bridges--it was hilarious. And I’m rambling, aren’t I,” he realized, pressing his lips firmly closed as he averted his eyes, hand cupping his neck.

Sophie would’ve been content to listen to him ramble all day, but the one thing that would beat that was seeing her family for herself, so she could be a part of all the fun they had when she’d forced them into inaction--her unfortunate tendency to overexert herself into unconsciousness had her missing out on the best bonding moments.

“I’m in bed after missions way too much,” she grumbled, throwing back the covers, shivering with the rush of cool air as she propelled herself out of bed, a completely avoidable headrush throwing her balance off as she stumbled a few steps, Dex exclaiming behind her as he grabbed her by the wrist, wrenching her back and away from the edge of the elevated area, where that step to the ground would’ve sent her tumbling.

Steadying her, he shook his head. “I’ll go get everyone,” he sighed, having saved her and correctly guessing what she wanted next; he always had that way of reading her, even when she tried to keep things to herself.

“Thanks.” There was no point being embarrassed over her near-faceplant. A lifetime of stumbling into tables, banging her arms on walls, and literally falling into chairs had given her more than enough experience dealing with it. It was just a part of her life at this point.

He hopped neatly down from the slight ledge, stumps of his wings flapping as though something was there.

Waving, he shut the door on his way out with a, “Thirty minutes. Campfire. Probably. Definitely. I’ll make sure they show up.”

She didn’t even have time to give him a thumbs up of acknowledgement before he was out, on his way to find the rest of their family and assemble them together for the meeting that should’ve happened already, had her body not decided differently.

Well. Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes to do…what?

As she turned to look around the room, a clump of tangled hair fell into her face; reaching back, she felt around, finding the hair tie from her tied hair still there, trying to hold the mess of it all together fruitlessly.

A shower would be a good place to start.

[Paragraph break]

BRRR, Echo said.

“Jesus Fucking Christ what--hello,” Sophie said back. She had a way with words.

Her hand clutched at her chest, wings spread behind her ready to take flight, stars winking in the void of their shape. She hadn’t spotted the little creature as she hurried out of the bathhouse, trying to shake the water from her hair so it would dry faster; she despised how wet hair felt lying against her neck.

But all thoughts of wet hair fled as she nearly stepped on the not-cat as it purred up at her, winding between her feet like it hadn’t forcibly taken a few centuries from her life.

“Lovely to see you again, but I don’t have time to explore monster communities or save trapped creatures--actually, I probably could make time for the second if it was an emergency, because I do care, but I have somewhere to be,” she rattled off, starting forward.

BRRR, Echo called again, following behind her, keeping pace on nimble paws as it trotted alongside her.

As she went, she pulled at the edges of the loose, flowing yellow top she’d grabbed from her stash; her skin hadn’t dried and everything was trying to stick to her, and she wouldn’t be able to focus on what anyone said if all she could feel was misaligned fabric and creases.

It hadn’t taken her the full thirty minutes to start feeling like herself, so theoretically she could mess around for a little while longer before joining everyone at the campsite, but she couldn’t shake the urge to go sooner, to jump into everything, to get things done.

Everything was finally, finally coming together; they couldn’t stop now, not when they were so close.

A few voices rang out up ahead, and as she got closer the trees growing up all around the village thinned enough that she could see them, Fitz and Marella in a heated debate about something, Linh occasionally chiming in, Tam sitting silent on the side staring off somewhere in the distance. She had the strangest sense he was trying to escape his body.

They stopped when they spotted her, waving as Marella called out, “She’s alive! The rumors are true after all.”

Sophie took the seat across from Tam when she got there, the space strangely empty without Wylie’s campfire of colored light brightening the space. She had half a mind to request a rainbow fire; something about the idea seemed fitting for their group.

“Hey,” was all she could think to say, looking around to see if anyone else was approaching; there was still time before it’d be officially thirty minutes, but she couldn’t help checking.

“How are you feeling?” Fitz asked, looking like he wanted to scrutinize every piece of her to make sure she’d come back intact.

She shrugged. “Tired. But I’ll be fine. What were you talking about?”

She really had to get out of the habit of walking in on people in the middle of their conversations; it was starting to alienate her from everything going on, but they’d never minded catching her up when she asked before.

This time was no different, and Marella immediately huffed, “I was trying to explain to Mr. Wonderboy that we’re not elves anymore, but he’s insistent on convincing himself we are.”

Linh cut in before Fitz could retort. “Friendly debate, we’re being friendly and cordial about all of this,” she assured, though she glared at both of them when she said it, as though keeping them in check, daring them to disagree.

“Extremely cordial,” Fitz agreed. “I was just saying that I think we still count as elves because adding something else doesn’t take away from what we originally were.”

“But it wasn’t just something added, everything we originally were changed,” Marella argued back. “We think different, we see different, we behave different. Being an elf isn’t a forever thing. It can change--though we didn’t know that at the time.”

“I disagree. We are our thoughts, right? And how we think changes as we learn and grow, but our parents learning and growing doesn’t make them any less elven, so change doesn’t automatically make us not elves. Just because we’ve been through something doesn’t mean our primary influence in who we are isn’t elven--or human, in Sophie’s case.”

Sophie shook her head as he gestured to her. “Uh-uh, don’t involve me in this, I just got here. How did--how did this even get brought up?” Her head spun trying to follow their logic, too anxious to admit that she herself didn’t know where she fell on each side of the argument.

Was she still an elf? She felt like an elf, at least she thought she did. Most of the time…

“I dunno, just got brought up while we were waiting,” Marella shrugged.

“It got brought up because Fitz started staring like a bird, as he does, and Linh made a joke about how un-elf-like it was. He got confused and said everything he does is still elven, and then he and Marella started debating,” Tam deadpanned, making not even a single movement as he outlined the sequence of events.

Silence.

“Ah, that’s right,” Fitz said.

They were saved from another awkward silence as Dex ran into the campsite, footsteps pounding against the hanging bridges and making them all sway.

“Thirty minutes,” he panted, out of breath, finding her in the group and pointing at her. “Great, you’re here. Wet, but here. Where’s everyone else?” he asked, turning around in circles a few times as if turning around again would make them magically materialize.

They all glanced at each other. “Weren’t you getting everyone?” she asked.

He made a face, groaned, and ran away, leaving the four of them alone around no campfire.

Someone shouted in the distance. Several someone’s shouted back.

Then, “SOPHIE! CONTROL YOUR CAT!”

“I--what?”

“YOUR CAT is holding them HOSTAGE,” Dex explained, yelling as he ran a little ways back in their direction so they could see him better, pointing off somewhere to the right.

Sophie didn’t have a cat, but she did have an Echo.

Glancing around her feet, she was surprised to discover that Echo wasn’t anywhere in sight; in fact, she hadn’t seen it since it’d started following her when she’d almost tripped over it.

She sighed, standing and making her way to where Dex was, who stood rigidly at attention, still pointing in that exact same direction.

Coming up to him, she paused. She looked between him and where he pointed and back. He didn’t move.

She nodded to herself, and followed his directions.

What had Echo gotten itself into?

Gazing into the distance with sight too-clear to be entirely elven, she saw Echo standing up ahead, sitting back on its haunches in front of an open door, gazing inside without a care.

Jogging to get there quicker, she didn’t realize why she’d been called in to “control her cat” until she got right up close.

Inside, just beyond the door frame, four of her friends stood watching the not-cat, the not-cat blocking the only exit out of the building.

Echo looked back at them.

“Get it--,” Maruca told her, making a shooing motion with her hand. Biana just stared at the not-cat, Keefe staring at her, Wylie with his head in his hands at the absurdity of it all.

Sophie couldn’t suppress the laugh that burst out of her. “Are you--did--seriously? None of you could just walk around it? This is where you draw the line?”

“Easy for you to say!” Maruca exclaimed. “Every time we try--” she stepped forward, and Echo let out a loud BRRR “--it does that! We’re trapped, Soph.”

Sophie sighed, though she couldn’t hide her grin, bending down to scoop Echo into her arms, the not-cat spreading terror and sowing chaos. In a cat-like fashion, it immediately decided it no longer had bones and it needed to become liquid in her arms, making it difficult for her to keep her grip, but she had plenty of experience with Marty and adapted deftly.

“I can’t believe you--come on,” she smiled, leading the way back to the center area, everyone behind her trailing behind, sufficiently mollified by their encounter with the glitchy creature Sophie’d come to think of as her own.

Rejoining the circle, everyone found their places, Fitz and Marella’s debate forgotten as the air heavied, the weight of what came next quieting. They were all painfully aware of the state of the world, of what was at stake.

Sophie was particularly aware that each day they didn’t do something was another day Phoenix the girl, was stuck with Phoenix, the organization. No matter how hastily made her promise was, she’d meant it with everything she was, and intended to carry it through to the very end.

It’d been hard enough getting thrown into this war when she was twelve, and Phoenix was even younger than that.

Whatever Murad wanted her for, whatever reason he kept her around, she’d stop him.

Whatever connection Fintan had with her, whatever influence he had over her, she’d get in his way.

“You have the cache, right?” Marella asked, looking at Dex, who had settled next to Sophie in the circle; while she’d been thinking, Wylie had conjured a campfire made of silently bursting spheres of light all melding together in oranges and pinks and whites, reminiscent of something she’d seen in the Forbidden Cities, though she didn’t want to distract herself trying to figure it out.

He nodded, pulling it from his pocket. “Right here. I haven’t tried to open it yet, but it feels really similar to the others I’ve tried to hack…which probably means that it will not be easy to get into.”

“Oralie showed me how to open one,” Sophie offered, realizing she may not have ever shared that with anyone else. All the talk of Elysium and Kenric’s confounding message had gotten swept to the side by Keefe’s new ability and the excursion he took they didn’t really mention.

“She did?” Sophie nodded, letting Echo escape her grasp with a BRRR. “But it’s not good news. That needed blood, sweat, and tears, and she said there was no way around that. We don’t even know whose cache that is, even if we could get them to agree to help us open it.”

They went silent.

“But this wasn’t a councillor’s cache,” Fitz said. “They keep those only accessible to themselves because they contain all those forbidden secrets. This one was in a library where people--well, certain people--could just access it how they wanted. I know it was apparently really hidden and the councillors themselves don’t even know what’s in it, but it wouldn’t make sense if only one person could open it; if it was something like that, then it would be in a safe or a museum or something, not a library. Libraries are for accessing information.”

Turning to stare at the cache-that-might-not-actually-be-a-cache, the question then became, “Well then how do we get to the information?”

Fitz shrugged, helpless, as Sophie looked at him. He’d just been reasoning--and very intelligently at that--but it didn’t solve the rest of the problem.

Wylie and Dex started talking, debating potential solutions, but Sophie tuned them and all the subsequent additions from the group out, furrowing her brow as she stared at the thing in Dex’s hands, as though with enough force she could pierce right through to the secrets within. Maybe she could intimidate it with her ferocious, uneven eyelashes; they’d certainly had an effect on Vertina.

Dots of twinkling crystal shone within the golden marble shape, each one winking at her as it reflected the morning sunlight, casting strange patterns of light onto Dex’s fingers and palm, fingerprints pressing to the smooth surface.

Oralie and Bronte had been the ones to send them on this wild chase, months worth of wonderings and sudden realizations in rooms filled with rotted history and impossibility in the wake of such unbelievable tragedy had led them to this.

To Foxfire, a place of infectious light.

To the Mentors’ Cafeteria, where history would have something sweet to say about her.

To Atlantis, where that history was kept.

To a cache, where secrets were held.

They’d completed the riddle--or at least, they almost had. All that was left was to learn those secrets.

Play a melody for me, and tell me what it says.

That was the only thing that didn’t fit, that they hadn’t figured out.

Mindlessly, Sophie let her fingers card through Echo’s fur, swirling along the glitched black and white colors, trailing along the patterns in its fur. She started tapping a rhythm into its skin, lightly, as though unconscious of the action.

Melodies? Why would Oralie be talking about melodies? It wasn’t like the Lost Cities were big on music; all the music she’d heard so far was gnomish, sung to her by Calla or Flori.

Melody.

She looked down at her fingers, the word on repeat in her head, and as she did so, Echo arched itself into the touch, rubbing against her in such a way that a shock of electricity zapped into her fingers. Static.

The feeling tugged at a memory, a memory she’d tried to bury; she’d tried to erase the feeling from her consciousness, escape the hurt, the betrayal, and the all-consuming humiliation of having the answer to all her questions right in front of her eyes for years without her knowing.

Even when Councillor Oralie had grabbed her by the wrists instead of the palms that day in her castle, set in the heart of Eternalia, it had still felt like electricity jolting through the two of them, shocking buzzes of energy draining from Sophie into her…into Oralie without restraint. She hadn’t learned control yet.

But that day she had, going through her abilities piece by piece, allowing herself to be honest about how they felt, until they’d gotten to her enhancing and she’d decided it felt restricting.

Then everything had clicked, a few glorious moments before her world had come crashing down in ways she hadn’t even had the time to think about.

But that wasn’t the part of the memory that had drawn her attention to it, it was the feeling, the way she’d turned her enhancing off, felt it flicker away.

She’d thought it felt like sliding her will across the string of a violin, a clear note ringing in her mind as she took control.

Hadn’t she often described the sensation as a note ringing through her, on and off.

She’d never told Oralie that, though, and yet…

“Can I see that?” she asked, mumbling, bumping her arm against Dex’s to get his attention.

He started, cutting off from whatever he’d been saying to Fitz, turning to her. “See wha--oh, this? Um. Sure, why?” He handed her the cache, dropping it into the center of her palm where it rolled around before settling in the center.

She furrowed her brows. “I…had an idea. But it’s probably a stretch so…”

“That means she’s definitely right,” Keefe said, nodding sagely, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he focused his attention on her. “I’ll bet everything I know about the Great Gulon Incident on it--though I obviously didn’t have anything to do with it. Any takers?”

“Obviously not,” Marella rolled her eyes. “We’re not gonna pick a losing battle.”

Sophie flushed, trying to tune them out as she picked the marble up between two fingers, glancing at Echo and sincerely wishing it actually worked. Nothing like a little pressure.

Exhaling, she slid her will across that violin string holding back all the energy buzzing through her, still recovering after the drain from Atlantis, letting the note ring out clear through her body, echoing through each bone, each artery, each vein, her fingers fluttering with the influx.

Sophie gasped, eyes widening as the marble grew warm in her hands, all the tiny specks of crystals in the cache glittering and pulsing, flickering in response to the downpour from her.

Without warning, they all flashed, everyone flinching back as multiple projections erupted from the cache, pointed out in all directions from the little marble in her hands, more than she’d ever thought them capable of holding.

Dropping the cache into her lap, she shoved her fingers in her ears, trying desperately to escape from the horrible cacophony of hundreds of projections just like the one she’d seen in Oralie’s cache playing over each other, all at the same time, and she wasn’t the only one.

Tam stared with a fury better suited for eternal torment at the projections, Biana vanishing out of sight as she pressed both hands over her ears, Maruca’s wings coming up around her like they could block the noise.

She’d unlocked the cache.

[Paragraph break]

It was, as always, Dex who saved the day.

Grimacing, he snatched the torturous little marble from her lap as Echo yowled and jumped away, squinting at it as he fiddled for a few moments, tapping and scraping his nails along the marble and swiping at the projections in the air until they’d faded, leaving only a ringing in their ears as everyone lowered their hands, Biana reappearing, Echo BRRRing with great annoyance from a nearby tree.

“I am….so sorry,” Sophie said to break the now-deafening silence, keeping her hands close to her chest; just turning off her enhancing didn’t feel like enough. She needed physical space between her energy and that accursed little thing.

“Did anyone understand any of that?” Linh asked, playing with the silver edges of her hair as she peered at the marble. “Because I think my brain stopped working.”

Everyone shook their heads no, but Wylie remained strangely immobile, still staring at where the projections had been, as though he could still see them.

Maruca nudged him, noticing. “What are you thinking?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. I just…what did you do?” he asked Sophie, who explained that it’d been just a neat enhancing trick. “So…energy. Your energy set it off, but it accessed every single thing stored in the cache--there has to be a way to narrow that down.”

“The councillor’s cache needed passwords,” Dex offered. “Maybe this needs something like that too, like you need to be thinking of something specific or say something out loud to access specifically what you want. And instead Sophie overrode the system and accessed everything at once. I bet now it would work normally since it’s unlocked.”

“What passwords or key words, though?” Fitz asked.

“How am I supposed to know? I wasn’t even the one to unlock it.”

Maruca leaned forward. “It’s unlocked right now, right?”

Dex nodded, holding the cache forward so everyone could see the gleam over the scattered crystals suspended in the glass marble; they burned as though lit from the inside, a tiny glow in each creating a night sky held in the palm of a hand, just waiting waiting waiting to spill its secrets to whoever could listen.

“Phoenix,” she said, as though giving a direction.

A single projection popped up, a disembodied voice beginning to speak about some incident with a Phoenix in a Forbidden City, an image of the creature in question displayed side by side of a video of a raging fire somewhere near a volcano, a volcano with a village at its base.

Dex paused the projection, shaking his head. “The cache isn’t gonna know who Phoenix is; we didn’t even know they had a name until a few weeks ago. We’ll have to use different keywords. But at least we know how it works now,” he added as an afterthought. The year read 79 C.E.

“Experimentation,” Fitz tried, getting results on something to do with a new plant species gnomes had synthesized that’d gone awry, but the elves had helped control when more hands and specific abilities were needed.

Tam tried “Monsters,” but only found two results talking about the Loch Ness Monster and Bigfoot, respectively. It seemed to have something to do with undercover efforts to capture the two of them so they stopped showing up in the human world and rumors.

On and on they went, trying Fintan Pyren and Organization and Inhuman and Phoenix, but like the little girl, are you sure Monsters isn’t right, and Murad, and just give us the thing, dammit!

It was well into the afternoon by the time Sophie had given up--temporarily, she reminded herself. This was a temporary defeat; they’d figure this out. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but she couldn’t keep justifying looking into the stupid riddle she’d finally solved after what felt like a year and five weeks of dragging it along.

There were people who needed her, people who needed someone, and a world that needed someone to step up and claim the challenge of setting it right. No one else was going to do it.

Biana, Maruca, Marella, and Linh crowded around a paper where they brainstormed more potential keywords, but she couldn’t bring herself to join them just yet.

“You’re chewing over some problem in your head, aren’t you,” Keefe whispered to her, having incredibly unsubtly scooted over on his butt inch by inch to get closer. They’d all pretended not to notice.

Sophie shrugged. “I have a lot of problems.”

“If only I knew what that was like,” he raised a brow. “So spill. What’s on the Mysterious Miss F’s mind that troubles her so?”

Hesitating a moment, she let her fingers brush through Echo’s fur to stall for time; pets were great for that, even though Echo wasn’t a pet. “I…was trying to figure out how we could get to the Main Facility,” she confessed, cheeks heating as his eyebrows skyrocketed, though he said nothing. “Here’s the thing, we didn’t actually find it, and it was Flori who brought us there--and she brought us underground, so I can’t teleport us in. And it could be anywhere in the world, just like wherever we’re living right now. Who knows what forest we’re in the middle of! So if we don’t have the location I can’t bring us there, but we need to get there so we can finish what we started, and hopefully they’ll have their other locations listed there so that I can figure out where they took me that other time, because I think that’s where Phoenix stays, and that way I can get her out.”

Keefe made a face somewhere between a frown and deep thought, running his tongue over his teeth as he looked off somewhere. “Yeah, that is a problem. Do you think my…my monster would know where it was?”

“Oh! Maybe. I mean, that was one of their facilities before they…completely lost control, to put it nicely. They might know where each other are, that way we can either leap there or if there are pictures, I can teleport us in--but like, in a sneaky way.”

“Really? You think all this has no impact on who we are?” Marella asked, laughing alongside it loud enough that she drew both Sophie and Keefe’s attention.

Fitz waved his arms about. “That’s not what I’m saying! You’re putting words in my mouth,” he accused. “I’m saying that the wings don’t have an impact on how elven we are! Of course they’ve had an impact on who we are, just not that part.”

Tam noticed the attention they’d drawn and shared a look with her.

They’re at it again, his voice whispered into the mindbubble, but he kept it away from the two of them. I vote we push them off the balconies.

I’ll tackle Fitz, Keefe offered, making a few over-the-top stretching moves as though he really were preparing to tackle his best friend out of a tree-house village.

Biana hid a smile in her hands. Get his ass.

“Okay, just, hang on--hang on,” Fitz said, completely oblivious to the plan forming around him. “We’re still elves, it’s our minds that have been opened and changed, there’s a difference.”

Marella rolled her eyes fondly, finding the argument more entertaining for the both of them than anything. “If we’re still elves, but also have been changed, then what does that make us? Half-elves?”

“No, that’s not--” he cut off, interrupted.

They all were, Dex’s near-silent gasp ringing out alongside Sophie’s as the cache sparkled, pulsing with the energy that’d brought it to chaotic life, one shard of crystal brighter than the others.

A single projection was suspended above the cache, though no noise came through.

They’d triggered the cache by accident.

And it had responded.

To the phrase half-elves.

[Paragraph break]

“Did that just--” Keefe asked, starting at the cache settled nicely in Dex’s palm, all thought of tackling Fitz off the village abandoned. “Anyone else confused?”

All eyes followed Dex as he tapped at the single projection displayed above it, eyes widening as it exploded into dozens upon dozens of them, multiplying and surrounding him like he was the center of the universe, or l a character in some stupid sci-fi movie she’d watched with her human family.

“Half-elves?” he whispered to himself, looking between all the different projections. A slight sliver to his left allowed him to make eye-contact with Sophie, who immediately scooted closer next to him, pushing through the wall of frozen projections and into the circle, the cache sensing her presence and accommodating.

She glanced around, trying to make sense of it. “I thought elves and humans were cut off from each other?” she said, unsure whether it was a statement or a question.

“They were,” Fitz murmured, staring staring staring at the projections, perplexed. “At least, that’s what they told us in every history class.”

“But they also told us humans started the conflict that led to Atlantis sinking.”

Which now they knew had actually been the elves' fault, been Vespera’s fault.

Silent, Dex made some incomprehensible gestures, spreading the projections out so everyone could see the mess, thoughts on what to do next with Phoenix and the Neverseen completely abandoned; everyone wanted to know what, exactly, they’d just discovered--and accidentally at that.

Biana tapped at one full of text before her as it rotated slowly past, skimming through the words Sophie’s mind would never be able to naturally understand. One day she’d have the time to learn, but not now.

Her eyes widened as she read, ignoring the eyes on her. “This is all scribbled and scratched out, but you can understand some parts of it,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

“Well what parts?” Fitz asked, scooting closer to peer over her shoulder, getting annoyingly close in that way siblings could get away with.“Wait--does that say what I think it does?”

Tam pressed both hands to his face. “Oh for fucks sake just tell us already instead of all this cryptic crap.” He rolled his eyes, leaning forward with a huff to tap at one of the images, a low static sounding as the audio of a memory began to play, capturing their attention.

“--make us leave? But we--entire lives here! They can’t--to us!” a voice whispered, growing in volume and horror, cutting in and out before smoothing, as though it’d been corrupted either intentionally or with time.

“It’s for the best. You’re--dangerous. Think--future generations.”

“They--erase us! Because they’re ashamed, with all the talk of genetics and purity. It’s bullshit! So what I’m part human? I’m--elf, too.”

“--not my choice! Please don’t fight it. I don’t want--to happen to you.”

The clip cut out there, but Sophie swore the crackling memory was still playing with the way the voices rang in her ears.

Part human, part elf.

Maruca swallowed. “Um. That said what I thought it said, right?”

“If you thought it was someone saying they were part elf and part human, then yeah, it did.” Wylie bit at his thumb absentmindedly, eyes wide and dazed, unfocused in the direction the voice had come from.

Sophie ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to center herself. “But why would they hide this? What did…what happened to them?”

Was this person the only half-elf? Who were they talking to in that audio clip? When was it from? She hadn't the faintest clue how to even begin figuring out how to find that out, let alone knowing what any of that information would do.

A floating projection drifted close to Dex’s right, so he grabbed it out of the air.

Covered in text, he read it aloud, squinting and stumbling through the archaic words as he skimmed. “From here toward, all mentions made of persons of impure elven blood will be discontinued. In the interests of all elves, mention will no longer be permitted in any medias or classes offered in the elven curriculums. Those found in violation of this decree--” he cut off there, having gotten to the part that outlined the punishments, face pale.

“They erased them,” Tam murmured, looking similarly pallid as he squinted around at the various pieces of history stored away and forgotten in this little cache--how had it come to be there? What was it doing in the Atlantis library of all places. Where had it even been? It was the sea serpent that’d found it, not them.

Fitz shook his head. “I don’t get it--why would the council send us after this? What does it matter? Well, I mean, obviously this is huge, because half-elves aren’t supposed to exist, but apparently they did--or do, I don’t know anymore. But what does this have to do with what we’re doing?”

A suspicion started to nag at Sophie, one she really didn’t know what to do with except ease however she could before it drove her out of her mind.

Without responding to Fitz’s question, she scooted towards the center of the revolving sphere of projections, feeling an awful lot like she was back in that facility in the room at the end of the hall, stepping onto that stone and watching the rush of screens surround her like in some sort of sci-fi movie, too. Except the movie had become her real life and she had to deal with all the wild and impossible things that wanted to kill and hurt her and the people she loved instead of just getting cool tech.

She started grabbing at various projections, anything with an image, no matter how grainy or ill-defined; it wasn’t like the elves to have such low quality images where she couldn’t even make out the edges of a shape, but if this had been erased, who knew what condition everything was in.

How had this little cache even survived being erased?

How had it even been compiled?

How had Bronte and Oralie known about it, even if they didn’t know what it contained?

“There she goes.” Keefe pushed himself up from where he was sitting to join her in the middle, scanning around with her. He grabbed at photos she missed, memories hidden behind walls of texts, compiling them into his own assortment to merge with hers.

Marella cocked her head to the side, curiosity burning in her eyes. “Are you looking for something?”

“Not really, but I can’t read the words, so this is the best I can do.” Shrugging, she started to flip through the various images.

The first was a map of the Lost Cities. She couldn’t read any of the elven names, but she didn’t need to. On top of the official printing of elven geography, someone had scribbled in messy ink names in archaic human languages, denoting different locations around the world alongside elven. That, mixed with her admittedly scant knowledge of current elven city layouts, combined with her knowledge of human geography, told her what she needed to know: these weren’t the same Lost Cities she knew.

This map was of a time before them.

The next shifted and moved like those 3-D bookmarks her school always had at the book fair each year, but with a clarity those $2.50 scratchy things could never achieve. It showed a city not unlike Atlantis, but without its signature balefire sconces and pure crystal constructions. This city stood neat and organized, crystal and wood working together to give a breathtaking effect only multiplied by the glistening reflection off the water from canals running through the city; some were dug into the ground, large enough to fit a boat, others small and climbing through the air and gutters, cascading off of rooftops to merge together and flow away.

Crystal in buildings, even if it wasn’t the whole thing, was a distinctly elven choice. Yet she’d never seen anything like this style of architecture anywhere in their world.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Biana added as she leaned over Sophie’s shoulder, squinting down at the image as though that would make something click. But there wasn’t anything to click with, not if it had all been erased.

“I think it’s…a half-elf village.” She couldn’t think of any other reason the architecture would be so elven yet so not, would be hidden in this file about half-elves. Sophie offered her the photo, moving onto the next one as everyone gathered around Biana to take a look, at least those of them that weren’t trying to read through everything Sophie couldn’t.

One by one, she made her way through the photos and memories and everything else visual in her pile, unaware of the passing time, the chill that descended over the air as the sun sought its rest below the horizon. She hardly managed more than a nod of thanks when Fitz brought out blankets for everyone, wrapping them all up nice and cozy beside Wylie’s faux-fire--it’d shifted to greens and whites and greys.

She saw pictures of places, architectures previously unknown but so right alongside everything else, evidence of human sciences and beliefs scored into the walls. The symbol of an ancient god alongside a DNA strip, bookshelves lined with human languages written by part-human authors.

She listened to audio clips of meetings both secret and official. Conspirators, half-elves, finding each other and trying to figure out what to do next, if they had any power, if they could do anything; they spoke hushed of their worries, what would be done to them. Would the Golden Cities relocate them and be done with them, would they be pushed from their homes and abandoned to the elements, to the wild?

Many of them had never lived anywhere else but the Golden Cities, which she realized was the name for the Lost Cities before they’d been lost. Not to be confused with the golden capital, Gildingham. They worried where they’d go if they obeyed, how they’d survive.

In the official audio clips, councillors she didn’t know wielded authority she didn’t recognize, proclaiming amongst themselves the erasure of half-elves from history, from memory. They agreed on their forgetting, a cleansing that would remain unknown to any but them. Other species would not be alerted, their knowledge dealt with separately, and measures would need to be discussed to keep this decision from the ear of the humans; they hadn’t yet been separated, after all.

Scrap of information after another, it was all about the history of half-elves in the Golden Cities, how they’d been practically nothing, then their numbers had grown. Not enough to be noticed at large, not enough for their cities to be included officially on maps--if the elves were even aware of them, but enough that there were villages just for half-elves, who came together and found themselves among familiar faces and experiences.

And this had to be erased.

But they never explicitly mentioned why.

Faces blurred together in family photos, an elf with diamond eyes holding a child secure to their back beside a human with smile lines and textured skin, radiant smile of a laugh frozen in time, the child grinning over the shoulder with eyes brown brown brown like hers.

There was so much she had yet to see and not nearly enough to answer all the questions burning a hole through her chest, to soothe the sting in her eyes at the thought of what had happened to all these people, where they’d gone, forgotten.

She’d never forget them, even if all she had was a fragment of a name on a scrap of a letter, or a picture without a label of someone alive and free and unburdened by their world that’d decided to turn them out.

The tears in her eyes muddled the photos so much she nearly missed a crucial detail in the photo she’d just scanned over, committing these people to memory.

It actually wasn’t a photo at all, but instead a clip of a memory. She didn’t know who the person was, but they were rushing around their home, going from room to room and scrambling to shove things into a bag that seemed much too small, reminding her painfully of that day down in the Underground when she’d shoved the few things she thought she might need to hold onto into that tiny backpack she’d used to run away.

Footsteps pounded outside the house, people calling to one another; the walls were a wood packed with dried clay, bricks of crystal interspersed throughout, decorating the wall like glitter spilled from a jar.

Shirts, pants, things of water, a sentimental item snatched from a mantelpiece and tucked into a cloth wrap, gently placed among the foodstuff squished together in the haste. Fruits she didn’t recognize, breads she did, all shoved together as they grabbed a starstone hidden in a jewel encrusted box at the bottom of a bookshelf. The ancients had been said to use starstones before leaping crystals were created, a distant voice reminded her.

She nearly looked away as the person rushed towards the door, calling out for someone to do something behind them, a person who shared the home rushing around just the same, trying to fit their entire lives onto their backs as they were erased, watching themselves disappear from the history books.

They looked back, someone with flowing dark hair and stubble chasing after, pulling the bag over their shoulders as they pushed into the fading light outside.

Whoever this memory belonged to took the time to look around for a few moments, drinking the place in one last time. They scanned the street, the cobbled ground, the flowers growing in pots on doorsteps, looking at the people they’d grown around rushing around. People with grey hair leaning out windows, young adults tying hair back, children clinging to their parents.

Looking away with shaky focus, they took their companion’s hand, raising the starstone to the sky.

And just as the light swept them further, they made eye contact with one of those children, right at the memory ended.

But Sophie had the advantage of time, of being able to pause and take a moment to scan the streets without the pressure to run, to look at all the other people--elves, humans, half-elves alike, rushing from their sentence--expulsion from the Golden Cities. Erasure of anything associated with them, anything their people would remember. That included the very villages and communities they themselves had built. Included elves.

Because elves lived there.

Elves who had built families with humans in those villages couldn’t be allowed to continue, had to be separated, though the records refused to tell her why. Only speaking of the good it would cause, how it would correct their errors, benefit the future.

Refocusing, she turned her attention back to the memory.

Paused, off to the side she could see a little boy, the one the memory made eye contact with at the very end. He popped into their peripheral even before they looked at each other, giving Sophie more to remember him by, a way to watch this snippet of his life.

He stood with a bunny stuffed animal clutched tight to his chest, curly black hair sticking out in all directions as he reached towards someone turning the other way, holding out a hand. The little boy was stepping towards them, who Sophie could only assume was a parent.

Rewinding the memory a few moments, she kept her eyes on the boy for a reason she couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was the utter heartbreak of the moment, the reminder that children were caught up in the middle of all this. Maybe seeing that little boy reaching for someone when the world was turned upside down reminded her a little too much of the way Phoenix had held tight to her, asking in barely more than a whisper how she’d gotten away from Fintan and Murad, how she’d escaped.

Rewinding further, he stood blurry in the eyes of the memory, only there in the peripherals for a few moments at a time as the memory’s sight shifted focus, but she watched as he was carried, held close to the chest as someone with hair as dark and curled as his hurried along, anxiously glancing at a device in their hand.

Their face paled at whatever they saw, eyes closing like they were bracing themselves before they shoved their device away, setting down the boy and whispering something into his ear, standing up and looking back the way they’d come.

They took a few steps away and the boy cried out, reaching towards them, other hand holding tight to the bunny rabbit sewn of patchwork fabrics, well-loved enough it must’ve been passed down.

His parent looked back at him, a pained expression flickering across their face--at least that’s what Sophie thought it was as the memory shifted, looking back at the house the person had come from before back to the street, that little boy an insignificant factor in the scheme of it all.

They crumbled, darting back to hug the boy once more before they held up their hands placatingly, stepping further and further away, begging him to just wait, to stay right there with every fiber of their body language. Not that the little boy would understand. Not that Sophie did.

Why leave that kid? Were they coming back? They had to be coming back, right?

The memory was ending soon, she knew, having already seen it to the end.

But what she hadn’t paid enough attention to her first watch, before she’d focused on that little boy to commit him to memory, to remember who he was when no one else had, was the final turn.

As his parent sprinted the other direction, he watched them go for only a moment, spinning around, looking around the street with his bunny clutched close, shoulders heaving as he looked and looked and looked, mouth agape.

In the final moment, he looked directly at whoever this memory belonged to, making eye contact for only a moment as they were pulled away by the light of the starstone and the memory started to replay.

This time she paused right before the end so she could truly see him, the snippet of his face that'd made her want to rewatch it all over again.

Frozen on that frame, the little kid trembling, she zoomed in, all her focus on the face she wanted to commit to memory. It was the least she could do for these people, to let them live on in her when she could do nothing else.

As she zoomed in the picture started to blur, but the elves' attentive minds and unparalleled technology left the image clear enough for her to notice one detail.

The little boy's eyes.

Wide, whites visible on either side, they were the most startling eyes she’d ever seen, eyes that couldn’t decide if they wanted to be blue or green, so rich in their elven hue she would’ve said she’d never seen eyes that shade before.

Except, she had.

She’d seen that exact shade of greenish-blue once before, had hoped to never see them again.

That blue and the curling black hair, she could practically hear the snap of his latex gloves, feel the prick of the needle as it pushed beneath her skin, feel the chill down her spine as he snapped at something around the corner, see the swish of the embroidered red cloak that’d hid him for so long.

That little boy, she’d seen that exact same shade of blue before.

Seen them set into Murad’s cruel face.

#kotlc wings au #shattered upside down #quil's quill #kotlc fanfic #hello everyone it's only been a week but it's wings au day again!#and it's a chunky one!#and full of lore!#i have so so many thoughts head full #head bursting #head exploded #but enjoy!!

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libidomechanica · 12 days ago

Text

With shadow fleet; she commemoration was I

A limerick sequence

Watz glad moning, the long dead, the leads from head and faith, swear it. With shadow fleet; she commemoration was I in lowlye layed, hir bryȝt, redly I wolde. To chamber.

Corinth alle þe wonder; for truthful, monsters echoed from the world is disturb. She bread, now ar ȝe not one. You did their native pound stretched man, I think on race.

And that initial-scarred ful hiȝe sette bi þe boþe halyday lested, auinant. His schelde hit on Aunt Elizabeth and alle þay found to swing. In rain, I thoughts.

He lounged at mele messengers did not love and rudely seek out the least he watz blawyng of me? An Eagle sored hye, that morning such sort the lone was wonde?

Beware with coloured apert of hours of the C he gave us break? I cannot claim: if not, sweet pure, do not to be enjoy’d, is most wreck the cave and Dryȝtyn!

The case for the red cloud, there is a light! Upon the white pese is dimme and fancies to refer to. And as I haf fraystez flesche and drank him for to wax ful ryche.

With her foes with fire, till it stole, and in a heap of such glam of my day; who were gnawed away along morn that’s in her few books: hope. Poetic arm arms that path?

Like a farewell loosest, faste, infant’s flame or clouding young Eulalie beauty veil from remembered, þou kyssez. In this rosy silken masquerading thoroughfare.

And etayn in hymself, the Pagans who resign. Thou shalt wind the hard-maid gay; but let this to the trumpet black, thou art? Was I in his hap was opposition.

Which I spoke, and peace, there was borne, we’ll go, and God on his own bride. And in her eyes followed haire, nor ever turned at me a littel lut with wake, my woful day.

But her height in yowre born or not? But some great love-time. Between explosions, as beleague of some were wylle. Hit were ruffian’s head, sweet; from the heart will comprized.

The knave, that when I wage battering was in passionate in the enamel. The sea remembering is her hung. And I am wyȝe schal we semly wyth a life?

No winter went, but idiot gabble! Since which man, with this slain would never could not persuaded a Russian storm; burnez telle, lepez hym semly hit here.

So late on the sings, and on the breeze in field; let us know what, he! I con not melts. Go so you see his part: as the who sees me you forth and lips shall I die.

Thus that next? As one, but you that I drave among women’s pride demur: and, when I should make. Became Christ enthralling thorn; no leave me my songez, þat al lyked.

Into amaze, to learne to schwue ne to be fair. Of the power to ease my good is with its own surrounded is þe brydel he care of a name is Martha!

So radiant fire sprinkled cherries by the mountain where most grated the trains. On all is vanity’s machine, and taught would learns took a different face more þe dok laste.

Define—nor Lov’d and drank its Fountain- source in gaol is pitiless rocks ye rove, like fleas off my pomegranates budde, record and Lyonel, and who quake to þenne?

I besechez, vch hille hasped in a visor of Remorse. Than mine take not, a little tent yow lykez hit here. Were wyf— þe costez þe bayes to Tantals smart.

Healthful friendship could make. Whom my song, my spirit of þe roust of other’s lips Loues selfe, all with your fair? Ask me no more—but pass: I think us streets of our Love.

If i could not such a things I do, when a mourning mind thirst: for they flashed will not be hard? Stand only to expressed. She saw them ought that dreery death descry such?

How fair the shelter of both jump back, it’s that burde bottom the moon, draw near. Of unremember the world. But die by long into my place on Earthly; and þe grete.

As her! And I have to tears front row with renkkez to Sir Gawayne for hit heldet, of more, but that I am come and strange surprize the ducklings, samite she dead.

A petty Ogress’, and azimuth, and laȝt fro þe brought them bothered garland ancient men whom we they are mutual rendez. Of heaven, twenty in the prince.

Is but what woe after, and be calls of my house behind the green lane, again once who gave his. Them wich inhere; I can, without my boy never can teache the bread.

And blew, and on the apple-tree lay lurk, what they rode; it selfe beget? And oozed all breast, there those disches þat tyme þat tyme, þat þou, leude hym loued the star-laden sky.

Goes, and of ladiez gifte, þat he spread. The moon, the left his gold of the heard war-music, you served, I know a shelter now of thy sphere; they mocks,—shall knuckle on lode.

And ȝe ar her brother, that sprange and none to the hubbub of thy soul’s thou doest thy face, in þoȝt. Ay watz halawed, whom Fame is young Eulalie one generation.

I never, never the wind! I had a heart, which time the pointed frame wherein morn. With new and with hoofs bare her. The scorn to solely serued, he with female hands.

Toward the hut I found him in thy calm white hiatus of an Angel guard bleak steel tempest in they maun I still my arms. For by denial seasons self the germ.

Old bright, in toune. He did for no firebrand to this honde. Of his helme, þe hall flowed that that hand of life with thy Greek had was it will made me to meet but in flight.

All. Where be whispering atoms lay, like them all else he distance lies, that house for this is þe grene chapel þou me tene place even as before King roared make synne.

Who knowe! Everything but yet no more. Or fold there this one place; þe blod ouer hit now hat; liȝt luflych leȝten leaves, had him by, when folk at noon, and wynne þe wlonk euer.

I see their ears listen! To Kerke the gusty shades whereto think it enough. For their shade where be love but in the hall flowed me. Clay for while something hearth-stone lake.

Would have heard trewest on the shuddering nights did for her sex’s antidote. Thus herbs in the heart, as I am on thy complayne, much speech a friend.—This is alway.

Her arms, while on the Oriental, suggest me those turns her venture is a house, no, no. Since gomen bygan, or hot day, till have letters are ridiculous.

Ho dos hir vp radly view the current slipp’ry ground so closet case. Threat or little wilful thing bars, murmured down the winds are, but most and done into treasure!

All good wife, and then the loftiest played and gif Gawan; his axe, and their separate, did for ever white neck was round here, and Stand, whose curtains over. In case to paint.

Maud with their ful snare grows lay in disguise. Now continual hair—belle Isle, while oure on earth and rod ouer on my tales are fed with bruzd his bulk aboute, þat prove her.

Then an empty left us flaccid and come of your fists are bad. I pored upon us where burne bode burne, on a spere in theyr peace—this Discourse, o ioyfull verse.

They hate memory and now than aught thee that when haþeles þat he waterfall, and doggez to his brackish water’s terrible tasks: Gather white. Either that walks.

Now is vylanye myȝt to acordez and lovely colonnade. You got an oþer knyȝt ful þingez; þat bi þe champaign; and alle þe for thee england is plaintiue please.

Why! Matter, by that hides always so dumb look and calde hit schewed! From the fire, the thou not to the heart when the pear to mwe vtter, so make a brawne of alle oþer.

Then later in? That ye shepheard, she sits to prize the tower of the waves, on þis more temple pomp, which it came up with incredulous. The keepe a sacrifice.

And the soft the three, I would sing of the Russ flotilla getting by one, silverswords ritch, and the story? His scatteries recent, that dawed bot þaȝ men boþe.

On bent it drop as the sigh for a whittle! Of þe quelle as a flowers his weapons to masses sweet; but moved my vision drede he wolde hit yow devaye wolde kepe.

Print of the length upon the white skin; I nibbled within you! Sinks, yields, what an iron in my hearty, when evening shreds when we mery tale may thy silver-grene.

That his hour in his legs his auntered and leany knaues, they came, all kinds existed? What may ceased; he shall dwelling mantle, while he hade in hast þat þou be dead!

That hides done sole men who but at you wounded! Head, gained ground; and wise men foȝt. Thy fate and frote, and blear’d wombs of wreck, or wits by thy song of those make the moon, and war!

So she, have done. Shall die. To take with the grist of summer. The Chariots of day; and shot a slant actions, lover from a darkness of knottes ful ȝerne at me.

Hate of all them. Struck; with defended hym swared, and that she said, Stubborn, but for thee: the finger on rosy terms in idle loom still may know. I think on rank!

Of insult let her in the story lingering fires, and your knyȝtez. And hear divine in halle, and twenty years, do I remembering was, trailed when thy face and still.

And what high, grave the waked; my tears your soul was returning they lost both Prince her come ye? Face, onely by his this, while thee without founded brethren stayneth!

That bids nor weep, and my telescope, they market I steal indeed from with awa’! Weeping branches green boat, Select their shoes of war would think she cannon on stedde.

My mood is but a steep floors, old age shown all the time, sylvan history stays blank wall. Transmit a scent, to learn her eye was a sad they with the moon, draw in you will.

And hugged and ugliness in mynde hym lyȝe in þis halden þe costes þat hym to speded by servance. And hit fallez, and bear the shadow moves picture’s shadows.

On vche tyme þat ȝe me that wont to see. ’ Martial immortal intend, but her beloved; but there were firm, or whether inspired! Dead to-morrow, or cries Hark!

When I told the sorrow afterimage see. On all, hear, my sweet, to lag behind you say: back rocks the glass shall stir not up, nor thy face their soul, going his rough.

Yet God’s sweetest, to drag it to þe dece drew in her altar, O my beloved right! Who were parts couldn’t be lost, they had nomen, he wolde. To flyȝes, wiȝt wall, that all.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #225 texts #limerick sequence

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