Luv

Always looked up to you and thought you were a really nice dude. You're one of the few people who gave me a chance. I wish nothing but success and the best for you. I also wish for a signed copy of that New York times best seller 😉 xo

The old man was in fact looking for sin where sin had not taken place. He's also suffering from some sort of illness as he most certainly wasn't present for the event written about, odd.

The witch would outstretch both of her arms over the open tome, the pages stained with eldritch text. Her hands stretched aggressively as suddenly neon blue crystals rose from the scarlet letters, the geodes began to shift and flicker like a flame. The cavern would suddenly grow more quiet, or perhaps she stopped listening. The flames began to engulf the book and soon a very dark black smoke drifted from the fire, faintly. The witch's shoulders moved in forward as she almost fell into the book, but circled back up right. Her eyes felt heavy as the smoke began to violently plume from the book. Her eyes shut from the overbearing smoke until a voice suddenly caught her attention. "Failing lights amass one hundred sleepless nights-" Her eyes sprung open to reveal herself completely surrounded by the smoke, but she was in the cave no longer. The sounds of a weeping baby come from behind her as she'd turn to see a rather luxurious looking crib only meters away. She'd take a step forward before suddenly stuttering as her eyes went wide. She recalled that last time she'd done this with Vivec, how these are not dreams, but they are nightmares. The baby's voice suddenly shot up in pitch as it screamed, it's tears booming from all around her. Her blue eyes would cast a faint light along the white blank inside. She'd take a few slow steps forward and pressed her grey hand along the side, her thumb brushing against the white fur blanket. However, her gaze could not seem to make its way inside. The sorceress' lips would part before she'd release a shaky breath. A black haired woman with a dark black fur draping over her shoulders would stand behind Eileen with a soft gasp. Her right limb rose to rake her well pampered digits through the sleeked back white locks on the witch's head. "You cannot look at your own daughter, Estelle? She screams for you." The woman spoke through a haunting duet of a Norse accent and six feet of water.

Avarosa would make sure to put on her gloves before making her way to Haelun'or.

"You might find me strange for my envy of the butterfly. They are born like us, unequipt for the world, but should they manage to make it long enough they are given wings. They live long enough to see themselves grow into something beautiful." The dark cavern would echo a symphony of dripping water. Nature granted the moon a small opening to shine through, which illuminated the cave to reveal a pool of water which mirrored the astralbody. A shrouded figure would stand along the water's edge and look up at the moon, a soft rhythmic hum would escape it. The feminine pitch seemed to ripple over the surface of the pond as the hooded woman raised a foot and stepped onto the newly formed ice before her. She moved with slow steps and the haunting chant forged a path of solid ice with each step. A pair of grayish hands would reach for the hood of her black cloak and pull it down to reveal sleeker back, snow white, hair. "There's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody; it won't leave my head. There is no other that could compare, and that's why I'm forced to sing you on repeat." The walls of the cave were then coated in a bright blue light which had been sourced from the eyes of the woman. With each step she took the ice would become more and more solid beneath her. As she reached the opening her attention would be captured by rising smoke coming from the woods. The wind carried over the sounds of giggling children in the same direction, the deeper tone of a man's laughter would overpower them for a brief moment. She'd make her way to the water's edge and step onto the rocky riverbed. Through the foliage she could make out a man and two young boys at a campfire, a horse drawn wagon just behind them. She'd narrow her eyes on the trio whilst bringing her left palm against her stomach with a shutter. Visions of splattered blood against marble would cloud her mind. A chorus of masculine cries would surround her from all sides as her right hand rose to temple and her digits wrapped around her hair tightly. An abandoned library would be illuminated by the light by the same moon. It's radiance revealed many scattered books, bones, and a smashed bottle of rum. The sound of nails against a chalkboard would shake her vision as she'd find herself against the trunk of a tree only a few yards away from those at the fire. The man rose to his feet and looked in her direction, but not fast enough as she'd taken cover behind the tree. He made a gesture for the boys to go inside the wagon and they didn't object. "Is there a hymn to bring me peace? Why were my wings replaced with fangs?" Her eyes shot back open to reveal her nails digging through the intestines of the man who'd been sitting by the fire only seconds ago. Her hands forced the flesh and gore into her open maw and she stood no chance to her hunger. A piece of flesh fell from her lips as she'd look over her shoulder. One of the boys stood frozen in fear only meters from her. The other boy called out to him and began to exit the wagon. "Not even a chance to grow their wings. Butterflies wouldn't make good food for witches."

I Heard a Woman Weeping in the Woods By Luv A beachside manor stood just along the coast which resided on the edge of the dense woods. These woods, home to the Wood Elves of Axios, were dense and covered a large portion of the area. Urban legends spread of a ghost seen in those woods, along that beach. The lavishly dressed lady would always be depicted as frantic, but in some incidences described as mentally unstable. She couldn’t seem to remember her way back to that house. Ghosts are not real, right? There’s no way that someone who is dead could be… Not dead? If she really was a ghost, or even real, what happened to her? Why does she linger in those woods? Why does the walk the shoreline still? ((More of a creative writing post about the beginning of my character’s ghostly experience. The writing below comes from the perspective of my character’s soul trapped in a state of limbo and uncertainty.)) Desperation. The breath I cannot take burns me. It is smoke in my lungs and throat. As if I had inhaled fumes from a burning flame, and then held my lungs cruelly waiting. My mouth open, throat scorching, unable to pull in air. My chest, the horrible pain vibrating from my heart. My limbs and muscles refuse to move. I cannot breathe. I am choking. The heat roars to indescribable temperature. The stillness spreads to my chest and limbs. I want to scream, to tear at my face, to wail—but I am trapped. I cannot move. I cannot move. Lies. I must remember. I must remem— The house. I lost control. What have I done? I was so naive. The very things I wished for, formed in ranks against me. I made them. Robbed their mother from them. I was becoming the monster he wanted. I was known for my savagery, their mother was too. As I reaped, I reforged my motivations into a better approximation of your true shape. Desperately, I consumed more and more, hoping for the briefest echo of what I once was. Instead, like a fire, I burned too quickly, destroying everything in my wake. Selfishness. It was a beautiful day when I went to meet him. I hope the girls weren’t as excited about the trip as me? What if no one ever lets them out? Who is gonna keep Illidar company? I’m in this prison. The horror of that idea feeds my mania. The story of one, Kypris’dionne is ending. I can feel it. I have to get myself back up. I must… I must... I have no hands. I have no feet at the end of my legs. I can’t get up. The darkness binds me, like a coffin. No. I force myself upright. But I can’t know if it is working. I don’t know anything, only the darkness.

Amorette Blondelle would frown as the news arrived to her. Lowering her gaze and shaking her head briskly would take up a moment of time before she spoke, having now collected her thoughts. “I pray, for the sake of the accused... For Dimaethor’s as well, I would hope no one in the Motherland would be so ungrateful as the turn on the man who finally got the flowers blooming... The audacity.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t be opposed to witches keeping their natural hair color. I just personally think it’s a way to make your character “stick out”, which is fine, but I sort of liked the idea that the curse sorta put a veil over who they once were – making them all “look alike”. Yes, witches can keep their natural hair. Will I meme on them in the Frost Witch discord? 100%.