an equine & cervidae rpg
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506 [Year ]






8 hh





Last Visit:

01-19-2021, 11:42 PM


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When he was born it was dark outside, with trees leering in from every angle. I have never much liked the trees that stare through my windows day and night. They hate my children. They hate my family, as it ebbs and flows like the sea. They take and give back their bodies and souls seemingly at random and I can do nothing to stop it.

My shutters crash. My doors creak. My floorboards groan like I’m already dead, sinking into the woods that chant songs outside my gate. And still Elias is born in the dark, screaming like I have never heard a thing scream.

A house should protect its family. I look at him and I see why. As he grew, Elias looked more like his father: tall and thin as an aspen, with the same straight, long nose and red eyes. He is perhaps prettier than his father was, especially once the man died young and Elias continued living: his legs got ever longer, his nose grew ever straighter, and the blood red of his eyes began to sink into the gray bags beneath them.

It is only as he grows ever older, and the bone white of his scales starts to wrap around his throat like fingers, that I begin to imagine those fingers as my fingers, tight on his pulse point, catching every ragged breath he tries to drag out of the pit of him. I do not realize until he is full grown that he and I are made of the same rotting wood: black and white and red in a dizzying pattern that makes me half-mad to look at him, and him half-mad to look at me.

He smiles and his teeth are my teeth. He breathes and his breath comes out in the throat of my chimney. He shudders and it rattles my pipes.

We are both so hungry.

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Cannon (PM Player)


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