morphetd

Faeid Part One: Dawning "And what of your son, sire?" Lord Perdhel of Gongolas shifted his gaze to the advisor at his side. "Elandir is very skilled, and since his majority has shown nothing but promise. I have no doubt he will seal this day." The advisor nodded, and turned his attention back the tournament arena. Inside the Ilen lord was not so sure of his second son's abilities. He had seen the lists; many a gifted warrior had signed their name in this tournament. But he reminded himself Elandir had bested some of his own captains. He had commanded many raids since gaining stewardship of the lord's Dîthen. He was more than ready, whet

NOTE: this painting used for the preview is Destiny by John Waterhouse. the epigone I. ((antigone)) she dreams of icarus-wings so he paints them there gold-leaf-feather-tips fluttering in the slight breeze. the waft of spice flecks mingle on tongues as she drinks her fill of him and takes flight. (he tastes of bleeding heart humility, and burning bark.) crashing, splatting, arms wide into the sun she goes, and fractures in many variegated sun-shards falling back, he gathers her up bearing her cuts like fragmented window pane glass on his own malleable body. the older ones merely white cat scratches against his tan. fa

The Girl in the Cafe - for my dahling E she sits her back turned toward the door burnpage-cornertorn journal open. a slender hyacinthe girl tremble fingers tied around wordsthoughtsfeelingshopefeardeathdualitypeace things that milk the draining youth that spark fires in lion caves that fuel the pen mighter than any sword just for the fact, that wisdom [neologism] bends iron all in good time. she remarks her writing gets smaller as the ideas squash themselves tight against her frontal lobe - let me out-oomph!-god it's tight in here-let me out! LET ME OUT! you'd never know she was screaming inside stuck in her placid hum.