Junoix

Gotta tell me what skin

A regal thill stared down at the body of the felled Xannite, cerulean flame still coursing through her veins. "Charming.. Brave.. I liked this one." The Lady had known the man all of 30 minutes, and still he left a lasting impression.

Very cool and needed!

In some quiet village, a woman cleans the gore from her blade and scrubs the blood from her skin. Her eyes of jade turn to the burning body atop the pyre, then down to the severed head and letter she kept. With a sigh, the knight rose to a stand, preparing to make her way towards the Duke of Minitz.

One by one, they all keep leaving. Dropping like flies, eaten by maggots, migrating like wild birds. How many more will I lose, she wonders as an empty gaze travels over those crushing words. "You're hurting so deeply inside and I wish I could have helped you heal from it all." She wonders if there was anyone out there at all who could help her heal. How many more years will she live in torment, forced to watch as everyone turns their backs and runs? How much heavier will the burden on her shoulders grow before it eventually flattens her against the earth? "But you know what to do, and you hold my teachers staff not out of coincidence." As if having been summoned, that staff of ancient birch appeared beside the damaged elf, singing a calming tune that had nearly become a dependency. Eyes of sage looked to it, dry as the barren wastelands of the South. "I expect to hear when I die, the grand tales of the Fox Druid and the balance she wrought to the fuckers who kept taking from her." A scarred hand reached for Hileia, using it to stand on shaky legs. Oh how I wish I could cry, she thought to herself, but it seems she had no more tears left to spend. "You are strong." You are strong. "Gods I hope you're right."

An excitable elfess prepares for the occasion, fretting over what she should wear!

They’re in the walls (I’m doing well and I miss you bro <3)

A mother is not meant to outlive her children. And yet here she was, kneeling before her past husband's grave with their son's body in her lap - A body she had to travel to Celia'nor in order to retrieve. A brother and grandson on either side, two princes attempted to console her, but there was nothing that could be said or done to warm her freezing heart. He had not become a druid. She would never see her son again. Her firstborn, her pride and joy. And just like her daughter, forever lost with no hope of being recovered. I made an exception for her - I allowed this union, despite what she is, despite what I am. It was not grief nor regret that overtook the Matriarch's senses now as she tucked her son's crimson locks behind a mangled ear, but something far more sinister and hungry. There is a debt to be paid.

R

She was a child again - stuck with a face that wasn't hers as she burned under the desert sun's sweltering heat. She remembered how her Uncle accompanied her Father to save her, taking her within the Falcone Manor and restoring her appearance to what it once was. She remembered the near decade that followed, where she was kept from her Uncle for reasons unknown to her. She remembered when she was finally free from the Keep's confines, and how she reunited with her Uncle once more - the beloved man that helped save her. Her vomit stained the wooden floors of the Town Hall as she discovered her savior's lifeless body, still here and causing a smell of mildew to fill the place. It took all her strength to pick herself off the ground - to fight that rising panic as she inspected the body for any signs of foul play. His face was wet, and soft to the touch. The niece closed his eyes before lifting the corpse gingerly into her arms and carrying it out. Mischa should not see this.. Isabel laid the corpse gingerly atop of the mortician's worktable while her cousin dealt with the pompous overseer who left their dear Cosimo's body out in the open. Stealing a white sheet from within the funeral home's storage, she laid such neatly over her Uncle's body, ensuring that no one else would see the body unless they peeked beneath the cover. She fell to her knees, and laced her hands together, placing them on the edge of the table as she bowed her head in silent prayer. Please, God - See him to the other side.. Puffing on Margos Il Falcone, Isabel listened to the what was left to her as read by the arrogant gentleman who carried out her Uncle's will. "To the seventh of my beneficiaries, Isabel Amaranta Falcone-Wick, my eldest niece by Ludovica's lineage, I leave to you my sharpest blade from my arsenal - Artigilo." Artisan, she translated quietly within her head - a blade she would receive on the morrow. How fitting he would leave her with such a weapon. She pondered her Uncle's final message as she left the home, and entered her own within Florentine. "God walks with you all." "I'll do my best to make you proud, Zio..."

Flipping through time-worn pages, blowing dust off words in order to read them, the woman finally came across a loose page much more yellowed and ancient than the rest. It appeared to have been shoved in the center of the tome’s bound contents - perhaps for safe keeping. Eyes of jade greedily poured over the page, her dark brows furrowing more and more with each sentence. The tome was placed down in a huff, a gloved hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose as she felt a headache forming. Resolved to close the book and come back to it another time, the woman took a deep inhale before opening her eyes - only to find she was no longer within the brick walls she called home. ⟻⧫⟼ ⟻⧫⟼ Surrounding me is a twisting labyrinth of glass, crystal and quartz - mirrors from which I cannot escape my own wide-eyed reflection. It seems a reflection is all I am here, for when I attempt to look down at my physical body, it is nowhere to be seen. Is this the knowledge men would kill to have? I stumble through the maze as if I were blind, often bumping into reflective material as I struggle to find my way. I try to keep my breathing controlled, even as a ringing settles within my mind to replace the deafening silence. Stay calm, I just need to find the exit. With nothing else to look at but my own image, I find myself scrutinizing it - every wrinkle, every pore. I can see myself from so many different angles, some of which I have never seen before. I hate this. I continue on, a frown on my face that grows with every passing minute - has it been minutes? I can’t say. Perhaps a concussion is beginning to form with all the times I’ve bumped my head. I begin to notice a double in the reflections - a figure that was not there before. My perfect image, a doppelganger, not far behind me, whatever that means in a place such as this. This must be a dream. I must have fallen asleep while reading - Yes, that is the only logical explanation. This is all just a creation of my torturous mind. A sense of calm washes over me with my decision of fact, and I run into the mirrors less as I grow used to the labyrinth. It is short lived, as I see the double again - only it is closer now, and has changed in appearance. I pause as I observe her dark skin and veiled hair, her face red with sunburn and sand still clinging to her raw knees. Her expression is twisted in grief and hopelessness, mirroring my own as I remember the five years spent in that wasteland - The ringing in my ears turns into the bleating of a starved lamb. I rub my face with my hands, continuing. That is behind me now - I am over it, and yet, why can’t escape it? Why does the past continue to haunt me? I pick up the pace as I dodge towering spires of crystal and glass alike. The next I glimpse the doppelganger behind me, it is closer still, and different again: A perfect image of high elven beauty, pale skin unblemished with flowing waves of champagne blonde. She bears a pristine smile that does not quite reach her soft gaze, one I catch myself mirroring in my own reflection. I feel cold. I start to jog now, forcing the reflections to fade in my peripheral vision. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Panic is steadily overtaking the calm state I push to maintain, stark terror seeping into my frazzled mind. When I see the doppelganger again, it is a mere few feet behind my reflection and carries my appearance once more - but something is severely wrong. Glowing runes of origins unknown burned into her olive skin; tenebrous claws have grown from her bleeding nail beds. She coughs up ash, which clings to her maw and leaks from her eyes - those eyes, no longer my own but the yellowed slits of a serpent. She smiles at me, revealing sharpened and blood-stained teeth. Oh God. I am running now, tears I cannot force down staining my cheeks - I close them, hoping that may be the key to evading the creature, and begin to feel my way around. Please God, please save me. Save me from this nightmare. “-----!” I hear a voice echo in my ears - stern but full of warmth and concern, calling my name. Father. He has come to save me. A huge smile spreads on my features as I cease my running, opening my eyes and expecting to see the forever aged man waiting for me. What I find instead is that creature - standing right behind me now with a heinous grin and glittering gaze. I am unable to move, a doe caught in the light as its hand reaches from behind to cup my cheek. I can feel the warmth of its molten flesh, the scrape of its claws against my skin. It opens its mouth, and a hissing tone that is not my own utters words I cannot comprehend. “Ei beth.. Eresar bithe Atar-Gho.” I spin in the creature’s hold, causing its talons to rip open my cheek. I don’t even feel the pain as I gaze at it in physical form. Its real.. Its jaw opens wide, that mouth of ash and gore inching closer to swallow me whole. I close my eyes to the slaughter, anticipating the feel of those fangs slicing into my body - but it never comes. When I finally open them once more, I find myself right where I was before, kneeling on a wooden floor before that accursed page. ⟻⧫⟼ The woman immediately shuts the ancient tome as she attempts to regulate her breathing, choked sobs coupled with streaming tears of relief. “Just a dream.. Just a dream..” She repeats to herself over and over, followed by fervent prayers in a harsh whisper. Right as she is beginning to collect herself, the woman notices droplets of red partnered with the translucent stains of her tears on the ground. A sting she had previously not felt throbbing on her cheek, her shaking hand reaching up to touch the surface of the skin. When she pulls it away, her palm is stained red. Jumping to her feet, the woman rushes to a nearby chest, ruffling through its contents until her bloodied fingers curl around a handheld mirror. She finds deep claw marks marring her face in the reflection, blood oozing down her jawline from the open wounds. CRASH! Shards of broken glass surround the woman as she falls to her knees, holding her head in her hands.

Take it easy!! <3 I wish you luck and happiness in all your future endeavors.

Take it easy friend. I hope you feel better soon! <3

Who's your favorite Jojo

The letter was retrieved and read from within some dark enclosure, though no tears were shed from the Matriarch. Instead, a smile spread across freckled cheeks, a sort of maternal pride swelling within her chest. "Run vuln'ii, escape to the Wilds. Hopefully something better will be here when you return.."