ImCookiie

Wee woo! This is fun.

Incredible work.

The Elervathar child had become encompassed in confusion and riddled in the fear that her home had been cursed through the impure actions of others. Her parents roamed around the near-desolate halls of the manor, in constant argument about topics unbeknownst to her. Elesia prepared for the worst, procuring recollection of her most valuable possessions— her vast assortment of teddies. “Hmh...” There was a moment of mute thought, as she attempted the arduous quest to select her favourite for the possible change ahead. “You. You... You, too.” Another call, to the cat that followed her. “Come along. We’ve quite the trip.” Dimaethor had called for her, and in that moment she had to depart. The child offered her room a final digestive observation, soft countenance creased in her squinted visage— until her blue-gradient orbs fall unto Iaria, once and for all, buoyant smile growing upon her puffy cheeks. Hastily, the small Elervathar began a rapid hop towards her father, forcefully curling her arms around his figure.

Wow! Nice update!

“Oim readeh!” The Proudfoot commented, in eager hop out of his bed and rapid-pace towards the festivities— as fast as his small legs allowed him.

Welcome to the server, friend!

Erich Barclay scanned each line of the scripture in frantic admiration, a thin gloved-digit aiding his indomitable concentration upon each word in valiant attempts to pronounce those which he hadn’t seen before. His narrowed mouth then became everso agape, so to mutter something— albeit no speech exuded from him for some time. The Barclay child remain in silence, erratic actions leading his path to private chambers. “Karolina.”

I am in love with a pixel.

The Woman wailed and wept for Him, abandoned at the altar of mortal coil and furthermore isolating herself from all— instead choosing to relish in overwhelming anguish, mourning the loss of her lover and once-hopeful dream. Few, frail and audible steps manifested in the reticent silence, contrasted only in the forceful crackling of path upon layered-snow, fatigued persona in odd lethargic venture inside the seemingly discarded settlement. “I return.” Alas, she continued forth, now obscured in the cobbled-pillars that surrounded her. The Woman shifted a singular digit to delicately rub at her exhausted visage, dark circles vaguely visible in her seclusion— albeit, she’d make little attempt to obscure it. Yet, the Vixen held a heartrending posture in inattentive path beside the Man, so that the duo faced one another, once more. An environment shared in many aspects, albeit it differed for once— an irregular, restrained silence bestowing itself once the clicking of her footwear halted. “TAKE HER AWAY.” The Woman erupted in belligerent speech that encompassed a silhouette of meddled mind and destructive utterance, sudden displeasure contorted into a fading, wicked smile in her agitated actions. The Cuth’arlin presented a new figure to the Man, one of bitter and anguished past— maddened umbrage settled beneath the facade of posture. Her cloth-obscured digits grasped a ceramic object in delicate motion, offering a slight ascent of it before pressing it to a narrowed mouth. “I shall, once more.” A skeletal figure awakened from restless slumber, cadaverous countenance bombarded and engulfed in the relentless force of her own treacherous thoughts, blustering the abysmal night-sky that encompassed outside, against the bitter conditions she had faced. The Woman mourned, then withdrew into the inner den from which she had been drawn out of, momentarily. She chided, nigh upon the thunderous congregation that appeared around her. “FAR FROM THY WARM LANDS.” The Woman’s dulled expression presented immobile, final regard of the rotten setting, dim visage accompanied by the glossed, cursed sights that she held. Alas, occupied by delusions of those of her past, twisted and weaved into abysmal monsters. The blighted Witch cried out once more, in tender submission to the sin-striking gaze that peered beyond flesh, directly toward the mantle of her very soul. “And so it concludes —” The tale of the Woman halted in frantic admiration of the desperate countenance of the valiant Man, once-prideful demeanour descended to the ground beneath in cordial but hesitant farewell. Her cerulean-dark eyes shone, though not with pleasure— rather, with the shaming doom that this Vixen had bound herself to, in this action. Adeline grumbled beneath hushed inhales, converging her sights with his own once more— a twitch more prevalent, now, as the pythoness perused his demeanour, countenance marred by scar and stare alike. “For now.”

Whoa! Nice update!

”Ha! I want to be a demented paragon, also!” A Maehr’tehral commented in audacious tone to the Silver State, sarcastic utterance aimed at no being in particular. Few sporadic motions tore the parchment into various pieces, a clenched fist ascending to the abysmal night-sky — maddened umbrage in the actions of the elf. ”I am never picked!”