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The Castean Empire pt.1THE CASTEAN EMPIRE by, Jamie1317kast
To choose what is difficult all ones days, as if it were easy, that is faith.
Baron Gabriel, sir! A nervous guard saluted. Weve brought the prisoner, as you requested. At first it seemed as though the man sitting on the high, marble throne did not hear the guard. But when he cleared his throat to speak again, the Baron cut him off.
I heard you quite clearly the first time. His quiet, yet chastising voice sent shivers up the guards back. The Baron ran his dark fingers through his even, chin-length white hair. Now bring it in.
Y-yessir! The nervous guard saluted again and managed to walk calmly until he was out of the Barons line of sight, at which point, he fled to the dungeons to fulfill his duty. It was very difficult to be around the Baron without feeling jittery and afraid; he was a very powerful man.
Baron Gabriel von Seraphim leaned ba
Useless BeautyUseless Beauty:
Authors Note: Any and all characters mentioned or alluded to here belong solely to me: I do not give permission for them to be used.
Prompt: Write about something useless and beautiful.
I am a simple nobody. My lady wanders far and wide and yet here I sit, waiting for her. I am small and fall-red, fuzzy with a thin smile and white cheeks. I love my lady and I wish she was by my side more often. She bought me to comfort her, and yet now I give her only pain. But still when she is asleep, and I feel her dreaming beside me in the dark of these winter nights
Sometimes I kiss her cheeks and tell her its alright.
True love has no place in this world
Too much pain, into a ball, I curl.
And yet Id give anything for just one kiss
And a young man to tell me, As you wish.
From Ramparts to RuinFrom Ramparts to Ruin:
Authors Note: All characters who might be recognized in this work belong to me and not to anyone else. I do not give permission for them to be used.
Prompt: Write about confinement: physical or mental, welcome or unwelcome, imaginary or real.
In this photograph is a young girl. It is more of a memory than a photo. Rain streaks the tall, thin window behind her. The sky is the kind of dark grey that happens on stormy days. Vaguely a forest, forest of sorrows and death and eternal thunder, lays out below the window. The landscape, built from the back inwards, like an oil painting, crests into white peaks in the far, frigid distance. The girl has ebony hair, tussled from bed-play and tawny skin that rosin would have loved. Her sapphire eyes speak of fear, contentment and pain. I can see that she sees that she is trapped; but that she wouldnt leave her prison, even for all the promises in the world. There is an adult coyish
The Tale of Yin Shinamori IIThe Tale of Yin Shinamori ll: Rain
Disclaimer: all characters therein and the world belong to me. I do not give permission for them to be used. Kris Shinamori, Yang, Crimson StSyrr dont belong to me, I claim no ownership or copyright. Pokhiel belongs to the company that created Legend of Mana.
The summer storms had started and Yin bemoaned this fact as he ran home from town. Stupid rain!
Fat drops tore down through the leaves of the jungle, so hard that the soil was drenched. The forest all around him was filled with the rushing sound of rain, and the fog had rolled in off the Ricazon River, making it hard to see the path. Everywhere Yin looked he saw dense foliage and the approaching wall of mist. He ran on, covering his head with the hood of his large, sand-colored cloak. Despite the rain, the afternoon heat had built up and he was sweating even though the air was now chilly.
A dark shape suddenly flickered at the edge of his vision. Yin stopped and
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