burning my cathedrals
cause i dont pray anymore
Snip. Snip.
The slicing sound of shears would awaken Fever from her sleep, her body swiftly rising as if prepared to flee from an invisible predator, her legs screaming to run though they were bambi-like as she tried to reestablish her relationship with gravity - eyes wide with an unknown panic as the echoes of someone screaming bled into her ears. As she looked down upon her body she was marveled by the horror of long, black tendrils of hair slithering up her knees, no mouths or tongues yet the hair whimpered and wept as it weakly tried to reach her face; each voice a growing choral of distorted cries all saying the same words in different times until it deafened all other sounds:
You left us. You left us. You left us.
YOU. LEFT. US.
With a gasp, Fever breaches actual consciousness, and as her head swivels to find the sentient hair, she only discovers her own luscious tail encased around her acting as her pillow and covers. Sweat dewed at her brow, each haggard breath a sign of relief as she comes to the conclusion that she had simply been trapped in another nightmare. Despite the frequency of these dreams increasing, Fever could not reason why. Perhaps a shrink could provide her answers, a clairvoyant, someone more in touch with the other side.
A growing sense of dread and guilt boiled in the cauldron of her body, giving her a sense of nausea as she slowly elevates to her feet. Daylight had yet to crawl over the horizon, the kingdom of Solterra still blanketed by a soft, lavender dawn. The woman rises, goes through her morning ritual of oiling her body, whispering quiet and loving aspirations to herself, before leaving her room to begin her day. She did not wear her jewelry today, nor the keepsake from her mother.
With straight and unwavering purpose, she would saunter the barren streets and arrive at the Coliseum.
Ever since her return to Solterra, it had been on her ever-growing list of things to do - to go where the warriors go. And when she stepped inside the ring, a strange joy washed over her body, eyes twinkling as she imagined spectators lining the seats, calling out her name, barking at her to fight, and fight, and fight until she had given all the might she could muster. Her mother would be frowning right now, wherever she was, disappointed that her daughter would choose violence.
Violence was all she ever knew.
Fever was adept at hurting others, and for once she wished it to be praiseworthy. For some reason, unless she carried the title of battlemage or assassin, she would never be recognized as a fighter. She had been fighting all her life and it would never amount to anything.
Standing in the center of the ring, she would look up at the sky, a sudden tenderness on her face as she questioned why Solis would place all this anger, all this rage, all this misery in her if not to be used as a weapon. Did He find it funny? Was she just another jester to Him? Did He like to test her flexibility, how far would she bend before she snapped?
Fever fixed her jaw into a straight line, her demure metamorphosing into a sharpened glare.
Well fuck Him.
Haunted by nightmares of hair because of Him. Placed into this body because of Him. Scrubbed the blood off the pavement, learned to be subservient, watched those you loved be sold away, would never have a parade in her honor because she was born a slave - because of Him.
Today she chose to be warrior.
Today she chose to be a Solterrian.
Hardened by the sand and heat, fierce like the mid-day sun, unrelenting and miserable like a drought.
This was as much of her home as it was theirs.
She had a right to fight in this Coliseum like anyone else.
Abruptly, she would pivot and face the entrance, her ears pinned back, coiling and patient like a rattlesnake. Someone had to come here, a warrior certainly, some poor soul would be drunk on anger, aching for a fight just like she was, and when they chose to arrive, she would be ready with open arms and a dagger in her teeth. She would prove she deserved just as much glory and guts as any of the soldiers.
Why was she still so hungry for hurt?
OOC: open to anyone looking for a spar
The slicing sound of shears would awaken Fever from her sleep, her body swiftly rising as if prepared to flee from an invisible predator, her legs screaming to run though they were bambi-like as she tried to reestablish her relationship with gravity - eyes wide with an unknown panic as the echoes of someone screaming bled into her ears. As she looked down upon her body she was marveled by the horror of long, black tendrils of hair slithering up her knees, no mouths or tongues yet the hair whimpered and wept as it weakly tried to reach her face; each voice a growing choral of distorted cries all saying the same words in different times until it deafened all other sounds:
You left us. You left us. You left us.
YOU. LEFT. US.
With a gasp, Fever breaches actual consciousness, and as her head swivels to find the sentient hair, she only discovers her own luscious tail encased around her acting as her pillow and covers. Sweat dewed at her brow, each haggard breath a sign of relief as she comes to the conclusion that she had simply been trapped in another nightmare. Despite the frequency of these dreams increasing, Fever could not reason why. Perhaps a shrink could provide her answers, a clairvoyant, someone more in touch with the other side.
A growing sense of dread and guilt boiled in the cauldron of her body, giving her a sense of nausea as she slowly elevates to her feet. Daylight had yet to crawl over the horizon, the kingdom of Solterra still blanketed by a soft, lavender dawn. The woman rises, goes through her morning ritual of oiling her body, whispering quiet and loving aspirations to herself, before leaving her room to begin her day. She did not wear her jewelry today, nor the keepsake from her mother.
With straight and unwavering purpose, she would saunter the barren streets and arrive at the Coliseum.
Ever since her return to Solterra, it had been on her ever-growing list of things to do - to go where the warriors go. And when she stepped inside the ring, a strange joy washed over her body, eyes twinkling as she imagined spectators lining the seats, calling out her name, barking at her to fight, and fight, and fight until she had given all the might she could muster. Her mother would be frowning right now, wherever she was, disappointed that her daughter would choose violence.
Violence was all she ever knew.
Fever was adept at hurting others, and for once she wished it to be praiseworthy. For some reason, unless she carried the title of battlemage or assassin, she would never be recognized as a fighter. She had been fighting all her life and it would never amount to anything.
Standing in the center of the ring, she would look up at the sky, a sudden tenderness on her face as she questioned why Solis would place all this anger, all this rage, all this misery in her if not to be used as a weapon. Did He find it funny? Was she just another jester to Him? Did He like to test her flexibility, how far would she bend before she snapped?
Fever fixed her jaw into a straight line, her demure metamorphosing into a sharpened glare.
Well fuck Him.
Haunted by nightmares of hair because of Him. Placed into this body because of Him. Scrubbed the blood off the pavement, learned to be subservient, watched those you loved be sold away, would never have a parade in her honor because she was born a slave - because of Him.
Today she chose to be warrior.
Today she chose to be a Solterrian.
Hardened by the sand and heat, fierce like the mid-day sun, unrelenting and miserable like a drought.
This was as much of her home as it was theirs.
She had a right to fight in this Coliseum like anyone else.
Abruptly, she would pivot and face the entrance, her ears pinned back, coiling and patient like a rattlesnake. Someone had to come here, a warrior certainly, some poor soul would be drunk on anger, aching for a fight just like she was, and when they chose to arrive, she would be ready with open arms and a dagger in her teeth. She would prove she deserved just as much glory and guts as any of the soldiers.
Why was she still so hungry for hurt?
OOC: open to anyone looking for a spar
![[Image: 45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png)
i am a forest fire; i am the fire and i am the forest
and i am a witness watching it
