Elli's Tunes of the Mind ♩♪♫♬ -Do not Post-

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[benevolent ebil]

「Gabriel」

"The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard,
The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky,
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard:
Enough that He heard it once: we shall hear it by-and-by."

✘ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxCenturies will never change this...

» Forever My N a m e Shall Be... →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Gabriel

» And Yet It Seems Time Produces N i c k n a m e ( s ) For Everything... →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI’ve been in the hands of god so long, I didn’t hear the nicknames they gave me. Messenger of God is the only one that ever stuck, but then perhaps that’s even more formal than Gabriel. .Sometimes I think I hear the whispers of sleep form something, but I’m sure this isn’t a word. Perhaps a name, it does seem familiar . . .

» My love, I Can Assure You That A g e Is Nothing But A Number→
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 213

» Thankfully A Persons H e i g h t Shall Always Change, But So Does W e i g h t Below →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx5’4 high and about 125pbs . . . I’m not short . . . You’re just too tall.

» On This Miraculous Day Of Hell I Was B o r n Below →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx August 1st

» Even If Centuries Have Past & Time Has Taken Its Toll My G e n d e r Is Set In Stone →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMale

» Don't You Know S e x u a l i t y Is Such A Touchy Topic →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I love when I love- never learning to distinguish rules about it. Is loving a man wrong? Is loving a woman wrong? Then what is right? Love isn’t wrong . . . so how can that be? I kiss what is dear to me, hold it tight. A pet, a boy, a girl- love is the one thing without boundaries.

» The Years Have Changed My A p p e a r a n c e... Do You Recognize Me? →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxLight cuts through the clouds and H A U N T S ME, like bad dreams. Outside L O O K I N ' I N I'm feeling lost and cold as S I N. A shred of hope a little bit of sweetness - anything please . . .


✘ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxHmph, What A Pain In The a**...

☸ I Never Asked For This G i f t →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxI’m not sure if it’s a gift . . . but I dream in riddles. Sometimes it causes me to sit up in the middle of the night, eyes the color of a coming storm- heavy clouds before the rain. In a soft voice, but so chilling even though it’s hardly more than a whisper anyone nearby would know about it instantly, I speak of prophecy. Messages. Despite this freedom, damnation, whatever you prefer to call it- I am still just a vessel for him. His angel. As much as we’d like to think he’s abandoned us, he’s always in our ear- calling us home. Though, my prophetic mumblings don’t always happen when I’m sleeping. A few times, I’ve passed out where I stood. After I wake up, it is not unusual to cough up just a little blood, and my throat to feel raw; As if the only reason these riddles come out of my mouth is that hundreds of tiny scars have opened and by apology offer something rare.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxMy other gift, though not as fancy as magic or telepathy, is my music. Though I haven’t a chance much to mess with it yet, I am . . . I would be considered a “prodigy” among the human kids. The first time I picked up the guitar, or piano, it was like I couldn’t stop when I heard the sound come out. I can pick out every note in any kind of chord, and compose as easily as breathing. It’s as good as any super power though, and something I’d soon rather die without.


☸ Now I Know I Am Truly Blessed →
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Mikhail "Misha" Nikolayevich Zakharov

✘ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxThere Is No Such Thing As Fairytales...

✄ After Living For So Long, You're Bound To Have Your Own O u t l o o k On Life... →
What a foolish little trusting boy- I’m certainly quite to an extent, when you first meet me I’ll tuck myself away until I’m only a wide-eyed kid staring up through light lashes. But curiosity can get the best of us, and persuade me to talk – I’ll freely whisper to you and ever more than whisper. I’ve never had a reason to believe someone would break a promise- they’ve always come through for better or for worse so I’m accused of too easily following into step without asking why. I am also very . . they said . . tolerant? I’m not bothered by much and quick to smile even if I don’t mean it, though usually I do. However, when I do open up . . I’m a bit simple-minded like a kid, naïve, but if shown I will take the initiative- I’m too hungry for life to let a moment pass by when I regret not doing something. Impulsive? Brave? Maybe, it’s easy to get attached to things, or people, for me too. Not everything about how I act can be simply written out, as they say actions speak more than words- and if I gave it all away where would be the mystery? I will admit . . . I have a. . . submissive tendency. If I get to loud, or dance about like a maniac it only takes a thumb trailing on my bottom lip to make me still and quite. But still and Quiet is very different from unresponsive, I assure you.

✄ Close Your Eyes, Shield The Children; The F r e a k s h o w Is About To Begin... →
I’m sorry, I’d tell you if I could but I honestly don’t remember . . .. Though sometimes I have dreams. The kind where you wake up screaming but when someone rushes to ask what’s the matter you don’t even know yourself. . .

┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸

But please . ┳ ┴ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿ . let me . ┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ . Every day I’d kneel there, arms pressed hard against the alter, cooling my skin against its silk stair- every day . . . The colors were different in the church, the sun rained down in the mornings wetting the walls with a thousand different stained glass window shadows. I liked to imagine the spots on my arms in front of me sometimes like velvet, other times like violets among the myriad flower stars scattered on the floor and I’d make careful games of keeping my liquid red ribbons from the field. My sanctuary, I’d peer out from beneath the amber shadows during service- all the people’s eyes on god. They never noticed me- I’d leave the whispers of visions, glimpses of yet to comes, there at my feet and be home in time to lock the door and curl up back at the hearth. Just as the bedroom door clicked open. ┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼

"┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿ B o Y . . . "He called- pulling me, in his eyes, awake and by my hair from the hearth. I learned to ghost smiles on the first day of this- let them fly through the body clutching at his arm to keep on my toes. Like a painter he took his dull pocket knife and drew onto my lips a grin. I learned awfully fast in those days. My body carved out a spider webbed lace some days and at some nights his hands pressed me into purples and blues and ocean fruit. But God his sister’s voice . . . . To her I was clumsy, the bruises I told her came from tripping on rocks so often – the cuts from tripping on the church stairs as often as I tread there- Though I’d never leave anything as filthy as my blood at my Lord God’s doorstep. I’d never leave anything to make her worry or wonder. Her brother adored her, wouldn’t touch her- promised not to as long as I . . . . ┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿

. . . . . . She played piano too. Could sing sweeter that a songbird. The gold piece in a pool of pennies-she sang in the church choir. I only ever dared even touch the keys her fingers danced upon when all the doors were locked and nobody home- the grand piano in the church’s balcony. When she sang of god I could hear him in her voice- bright eyes- pale cheeks- she was the only one I whispered too-loved. but I couldn’t tell -around her- I’d never tried. But I would sing too. Weaving with the chords when she played piano so she never noticed. I knew god was good- after all, he’d made her.

Finally- one day she caught me practicing on the grand piano. Thousands of scribbled pages in front of me a symphony in barely legible print I’d learned from the abandoned music beneath the bench, all scattered like ants on the floor. I never knew she took them home- my diary my heart- blood on the pages. She heard me sing it too, took that home with her. Took it to him. “He can sing like an angel! Oh, if we’d only known! I told brother Aos, we listened to him again today- With music like this it wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted to keep him for himself at the institution he runs. . . why’s he always been so quite before? I left the pages he’d written with him last night too . . . .”

Her brother . . . I never knew she told him. He found me early at the church- and I couldn’t be anything but still beneath his fingers as he propped my mouth open with his lips- not anything unusual but next I knew– something like fire clawed its way down -down my throat. It was the first time I pushed him away-

“You’ll never sing again little bird.”

Hot iron rods in my throat, I couldn’t breathe- shivers worse than the heat peeling up my spine- and touched at my lips to pull my fingers away painted crimson and spotted with tiny diamonds, glinting every so often at the catch of the light. Glass. . . Coughing into my hands only made it worse- every note I’d ever cherished seemed to rip from my body with each cough and piece of bloodied shard on the floor.

“And yet you still say there is such a thing as a god?” He whispered into my ear.

When the church opened for mass, She was the first at the door- knowing I liked to hide behind the pews before the sun rose. I wasn’t there that day. She looked for me, ran about excitedly- my symphony, the one I’d written with her in the heartstrings - Brother Aos had more than liked it. I was to be taught formally, the song performed in a month time- for the King of England no less. . . I’d never be want for money again and could afford my own home instead of staying at the church all the time, or becoming even further indebted by staying with her brother. She found me again at the alter- laid against painting of Jesus they had in the center. Placed just so that the arms seemed to curve about my body . . . and a rose of blood haloed around my head. Every day I’d kneel there, arms pressed hard against the alter, cooling my skin against its silk stair- every day . . . The colors were different in the church, the sun rained down in the mornings wetting the walls with a thousand different stained glass window shadows. I liked to imagine the spots on my arms in front of me sometimes like velvet, other times like violets among the myriad flower stars scattered on the floor and I’d make careful games of keeping my liquid red ribbons from the field. This time I’d finally lost- she saw my red ribbons strewn across the steps-

I was thirteen then, when I finally had a way to sing out loud, when I finally had a way out of the life my parents sold me for. I was thirteen, when I died. ┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿┳

◆ - ◇ - ◈ - ◉ - ◊ - ○ - ◌ - ◍ - ◎ - ●

Maybe one day I’ll learn . . . I’d tell you then I’m sure. Whatever past I have, I’d like to imagine it was a good one, that I lived next to god and worked in a church carrying his message like I do now. Or maybe I just did little things; it must have been something awfully great. That’s what I’d like to think. But perhaps . . .I can start from what I do know? Though there’s not much to that. I was christened Gabriel the moment I opened my eyes and knew I was in heaven. It was a time like learning to talk- you don’t remember a time when you couldn’t, but you trust from those who knew that there was a time when you were growing that you couldn’t. I was trained, at the beginning to be by his side. They called it me in time an archangel- God told me, in life I was faithful, young, and so I was chosen to be the messenger but I was refused the privilege to see for myself my past. God knows best though, I believe, though it could hardly be harmful to know who I was and find who I am. He warned me away from the sweet music of the chorus though, in heaven, though I really liked it . . . But his voice was calm enough. I don’t know why, but I never thought I’d hear such a thing. It was like breathing freely for the first time. I became blind to anything else- a living content a still. But something was still missing. . . . Anything once human grows restless after a time and life was so quiet. The silence was defining and those messages that passed through my lips felt raw and empty like some other sound should be there instead. I’m sure you know the story from there- my last message. The bond keeps me from heaven- but the longer I’m here the more likely it seems that won’t be the only thing. I’m tasting the air here- knowing I’ve felt it before but still finding it new and dazzling.


✘ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxEven Those Who Are Cast From Salvation Have Pleasures...

✔ Things I A d o r e The Most... →
♬ - God - - as with any angel, it’s in our very nature to adore him. When I left, it was never for lack of love. That is as burned into my veins as if I’d been programmed like a computer to it. But it’s more than that too- creator . . father . . .Lord . . . I left because I was incomplete in areas outside spiritual thirst. Becoming hollow on the inside.
♬ - Sound - - from a needle dropping to the floor, to the low voice of another being- I won’t lie- I’m infatuated with it. The sounds the wind makes at it plays with grass in the field, the cry of ocean waves, the moan of pain and then delight. It’s my water- without it I’d shrivel up and I can’t imagine I could do anything but turn into dirt and dust. There is more than one kind of beautiful sound as well. The sweet, soft kind and the one filled with emotions. Emotions bitter, ugly, sour, sweet, all like candy to me. I’d do anything for it.
♬ - Music and Songs - - A song is one of the best kinds of sounds. The sound of feelings- with the ability to bring you high and drag you low. Sing to me? It’s better than a kiss- though . . . I’ve never had one so I couldn’t say but . . . I doubt there’s anything better than a song.
♬ - Thunder and Lightning - - They aren’t so frightening after all. More like great instrumentalists! It’s the only thing that makes rain bearable.
♬ - Guitar - - Both electric and classical- it’s a sound I am not familiar with but love how if you lie on the floor or against a wall you can feel it if someone’s playing nearby in your stomach.
♬ - Show instead of tell - - That’s pretty much just what it sounds like. I’m much more affected if you show me something than tell me about it. Touch me, if you want, don’t tell me about how you want to. Don’t ask. Drown me in your actions- sing me to sleep sing me to hate. I need to feel you. Words don’t work anymore.


✖ I Can Not Help But D e s p i s e This The Most... →
♬ - Chocolate - - it’s bittersweet. Do I really need a reason? It just tastes like dirt . . .
♬ - Rain - - So depressing and wet . . . mostly wet . . .
♬ - Cold - - let me lean on a warm body any day. The cold just seems to freeze me up. Worse than chocolate.
♬ - Riddles - - I’m so tired of those. Where’d the simplicity go?
♬ - Lies - - be entirely honest with me please. Be honest in your hate, be honest in your disdain, I can handle of few cuts. I’m not porcelain. I’ll heal.
♬ - An unturned instrument - - it’s fun sometimes, and in the spirit of whatever piece its being used acceptable. But to play unturned, and aware, and . . .It’s just pure lazyness in most cases. I’d tune it for you in a heartbeat, so please don’t . . .
♬ - Noises of high frequency - - A chair being scraped across the floor, nails on a chalkboard, or a high pitched squeal from a computer. My ears are sensitive, so the noise will drive me right out of my mind to find the source and dispose of it as quickly and painlessly as possible.


☢ Hidden B e n e a t h The Surface →
I’m not prone to nightmares- I prefer to call them adventures. But, there is . . one thing. I’m afraid of an end. Not heaven, not Hell, but an end. Silence in place of life and there is so much I want to do. I want to feel, taste, touch, maybe love? I don’t know. Whether the journey is happy or sad, isn’t it still worth living? A fate worse than the fires and brimstone Lucifer coddles, would be to simply not exist at all. Those emotions- they’re all too precious to just disappear. I’m afraid of time slipping past and looking back to see what I’ve done is nothing. I know I’m an angel of God . . . a messenger . . . but the idea of leaving something incomplete haunts me. I want to know . . .I want to know this earth. I want to walk with my feet bare in the mud I want to scream with my head underwater- but I want to live. I’m scared of that, being locked away and . . . . Please, don’t ever say what I’ve lived I’ve wasted. What you’ve lived- you’ve wasted. Nothing is . . Nothing can be . . don’t say it. I love God- but the moment I heard a song, and another voice I knew I’d be no use to him with the tunes consuming my thoughts. I’m afraid to go back to the silence of nothing. Peaceful silence- it’s a sound in itself. But the silence of not knowing is . . . much worse.


↘ Behind Every T r a g e d y There Is A Cause...→

▸ Benevolent Ebil◂

[benevolent ebil]

α в c ם/∂/δ є ғ ɢ н ι נ к ℓ м и σ ρ q я s т υ v ω x ץ/ч z

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Ȁ Ȃ Ȧ Ӓ Ӑ Ʌ Ⱥ Ά Α Λ Ѧ Д ᾈ ᾉ ᾊ ᾋ ᾌ ᾍ ᾎ ᾏ • ȁ ȃ ɑ ɒ ɐ ȧ α ά Δ д ӓ ӑ ᾀ ᾁ ᾂ ᾃ ᾄ ᾅ ᾆ ᾇ ᾰ ᾱ ᾲ ᾳ ᾴ ᾶ ᾷ
Ƀ β Ѣ • Ђ Ъ Ь ъ ь Ϧ ɓ ʙ ϐ ѣ б в Ҍ ҍ
Ȼ ʗ Ͻ Ͼ Ͽ Ϲ Ѽ Ҁ Ҫ • ɔ ȼ ς ϲ ѽ ҁ ҫ
ɖ ɗ ȡ ʠ δ
Ȅ Ȇ Ӗ Ɇ Ѐ Ȩ Ȝ Έ Ё Ε Ξ Σ ξ Є Э Ӭ З Ѯ Ҿ Ҽ Ӛ Ә Ӟ Ҙ ә • ə ε έ з є э е ϵ ϶ ȅ ɘ ȇ ɇ ȩ ѐ ё ѯ ҿ ҽ ӛ ӟ ҙ ӗ ӭ
Ϝ Ғ Ӻ • ϝ ɟ ʄ ӻ ғ
Ѡ Ѿ • ɠ ɡ ʛ ɢ ɞ ʚ ɕ
Ȟ Ή Η Ң Ҥ Һ Ӈ Ӊ Ҕ ᾘ ᾙ ᾚ ᾛ ᾜ ᾝ ᾞ ᾟ • ʜ ɦ ћ ʮ ʯ ɧ ȟ ɥ ђ Ћ н ӈ ӊ ң ҕ ҥ
Ȉ Ȋ Ί Ϊ Ῐ Ῑ Ὶ Ί • ȉ ɨ ɩ ɪ ȋ ϊ ΐ ῐ ῑ ῒ ΐ ῖ ῗ
Ɉ Ј • ɉ ȷ ʝ ϳ
Ќ Қ Ҟ Ҝ Ҟ Ӄ • ʞ ɮ κ ќ қ ҝ ҟ ҡ ӄ
Ƚ ζ • ʟ ɫ ɬ ʅ ɭ ȴ ʃ ʄ ʆ
Ϻ Ӎ • ɯ ɰ ɱ ϻ ӎ
Ƞ Ν Π Ѝ Ҋ Ӣ Ӥ Ώ Ω Л Й • ȵ ɲ ɳ ɴ ή π η и й ѝ л ҋ ӣ ӥ ᾐ ᾑ ᾒ ᾓ ᾔ ᾕ ᾖ ᾗ ὴ ή ὴ ή
Ȍ Ӧ Ȏ Ȭ Ȫ Ȯ Ȱ ʘ Ό θ Ѻ ϴ Ӫ Θ Ѳ Ю ф Ὸ Ό • ȫ ȭ ȍ ȏ ȯ ȱ ɵ ɸ σ ϕ ό Φ ѻ ѳ ӧ ӫ
Ρ Ҏ Ῥ • ρ ϼ Ϸ ϸ φ ҏ ῤ ῥ
Ɋ Ϙ • ϙ ɋ Ϥ ϥ ϱ
Ȑ Ȓ Ɍ Я Г Ѓ Ӷ Ґ • я ɹ ɺ ɻ ɼ ɽ ɾ ɿ ȑ ȓ ɍ ʀ ʁ г ѓ ґ ӷ
Ș Ϩ ϩ Ϛ • ϛ ɛ ɜ ɝ ʂ ȿ ș
Ț Ⱦ Ҭ • τ Ϯ ϯ ȶ ʇ ʈ ț т ҭ
Ȕ Ʉ Ȗ Ώ Ω ц • ȕ ȗ ʮ ʯ ʉ ʊ υ μ ϑ ϋ ύ ΰ
Ʌ Ѵ Ѷ • ɣ ʋ ʌ ѵ ѷ ῠ ῡ ῢ ΰ ῦ ῧ
Ϣ Ш Щ • ϣ ш щ ѿ ѡ ʍ ώ ψ Ψ ω ϖ ᾠ ᾡ ᾢ ᾣ ᾤ ᾥ ᾦ ᾧ ῲ ῳ ῴ ῶ ῷ ὼ ώ
Ϫ Ж Җ χ Ӽ Ҳ Ӿ Ӂ Ӝ • ж ϰ ϗ ӽ ӿ ҳ ӂ ӝ җ
Ȳ Ɏ ϒ ϓ ϔ Ύ Ϋ Υ Ў У ц Ѱ Ӱ Ӯ Ӳ Ӵ Ҷ Ҹ Ӌ Ῠ Ῡ Ὺ Ύ • Ч џ ў ү ұ ɣ ɏ ȳ ʎ ʏ ɤ Ϟ λ ϫ ӯ ӱ ӳ ӵ ҷ ҹ ӌ
Ȥ • ɀ ʐ ʑ ȥ ʒ ʓ ȝ

? Ɂ ɂ ʡ ʢ ʔ ʕ ʖ ˀ ˁ
Ȣ ȣ ȸ ȹ ʣ ʤ ʥ ʦ ʧ ʨ ʩ ɶ ы ʪ ʫ Ӹ ӹ
љ њ Ѹ ѹ Ѫ Ѭ Ѥ ѥ ѧ Ѩ ѩ ѫ ѭ ѱ
҈ ҉
҈ ҉
ʬ ʭ ɚ ɷ ҂ ҃ ҄ ҅ ҆
ʰ ʱʲ ʳ ʴ ʵ ʶ ʷ ʸ ͤ ͥ ͦ ͧ ͨ ͩ ͪ ͫ ͬ ͭ ͮ ͯ ʹ ʺ ʻ ʼ ʽ ʾ ʿ ˌ ˎ ˏ ˑ ˒ ˓ ˔ ˕ ˖ ˗
˂ ˃ ˄ ˅ ˆ ː ˇ ˈ ˉ ˊ ˋ ˘ ˙ ˚ ˛ ˜ ˝ ˞ ˟ ˍˍ


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ⅰ ⅱ ⅲ ⅳ ⅴ ⅵ ⅶ ⅷ ⅸ ⅹ ⅺ ⅻ ⅼ ⅽ ⅾ ⅿ

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㊐㊑㊒㊓㊔㊕㊖㊗㊘㊜㊝㊞㊟㊠㊡㊢
㊣㊤㊥㊦㊧㊨㊩㊪㊫㊬㊭㊮㊯㊰


☽☾✗✘✓ ✔ ☐ ☑ ☒ ✕ ✖✚✪✣✤✥
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❃ ❂ ❁ ❀ ✄ ☪ ➸ ♨ ☢ ☠ ☭ ♈ ☮ ☯
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♔ ♕ ♖ ♗ ♘ ♙ ♚ ♛ ♜ ♝ ♞ ♟ ۩ ۞
♠ ♡ ♢ ♣ ♤ ♥ ♦ ♧ ✦✧✩✫✬✭✮✯✰ ☼ ❣
♲ ♳ ♴ ♵ ♶ ♷ ♸ ♹ ♺ ♻ ♼ ♽♯♩♪♫♬♭
☰ ☱ ☲ ☳ ☴ ☵ ☶ ☷ ☚ ☛ ☜ ☝ ☞ ☟
☿ ♀ ♁ ♂ ♃ ♄ ♅ ♆ ♇ ♈ ♉ ♊ ♌ ♍
△ ▲ ☆ ★ ◇ ◆ ■ □ ▽ ▼ ❤❥♎ ♏ ✐✌
๑ ＃ ＠ ＆ ＊ ￥ ☸ ☆ ★ ✪ ¤ ☼ ☀ ☽☾
♡ ღ☻ ☺ ❂ ◕ ⊕ ☉ Θ o O ♋ ☯ ㊝ ⊙ ◎
◑ ◐ ۰ • ● ▪ ▫ ｡ ﾟ ๑ ☜ ☞ ☂ ♨ ☎ ☏ ✍✡

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ಠ_ಠ ◕ ◡ ◕ °__° ಥ__ಥ
(-`ω´- ) (●ゝω)ノヽ(∀＜●) >_<
⊙▂⊙ ⊙o⊙ ⊙︿⊙　 ⊙ω⊙　⊙△⊙　 ⊙▽⊙
(◡_◡) (◕-◕) (◕o◕) (∩_∩)

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┄ ┅ ┆ ┇ ┈ ┉ ┊ ┋ ⋮ ⋯ ⋰ ⋱
─ ━ │ ┃┌ ┐ ┍ ┑ ┎ ┒ ┏ ┓ └ ┘ ┕ ┙ ┖ ┚ ┗ ┛
┞ ┟ ┢ ┡ ┦ ┧ ┩ ┪
┣ ┫┝ ┥┠ ┨├ ┤
┬ ┭ ┮ ┯ ┰ ┱ ┲ ┳ ┴ ┵ ┶ ┷ ┸ ┹ ┺ ┻ ┼ ┽ ┾ ┿
╀ ╁ ╂ ╃ ╄ ╅ ╆ ╇ ╈ ╉ ╊ ╋ ╌ ╍ ╎ ╏
═ ║ ╒ ╓ ╔ ╕ ╖ ╗ ╘ ╙ ╚ ╛ ╜ ╝ ╞ ╟
╠ ╡ ╢ ╣ ╤ ╥ ╦ ╧ ╨ ╩ ╪ ╫ ╬
╭ ╮ ╯ ╰ ╱ ╲ ╳ ╴ ╵ ╶ ╷ ╸ ╹ ╺ ╻
≡ ≢ ≣ ≤ ≥ ≦ ≧ ≨ ≩ ≪ ≫ ≭ ≮ ≯ ≰ ≱ ≲ ≳ ≴ ≵ ≶ ≷ ≸ ≹ ≺ ≻ ≼ ≽ ≾ ≿
⊀ ⊁ ⊂ ⊃ ⊄ ⊅ ⊆ ⊇ ⊈ ⊉ ⊊ ⊋ ⊏ ⊐ ⊑ ⊒
⊕ ⊖ ⊗ ⊘ ⊙ ⊚ ⊛ ⊜ ⊝ ⊞ ⊟
⊠ ⊡ ⊢ ⊣ ⊤ ⊥ ⊦ ⊧ ⊨ ⊩ ⊪ ⊫ ⊬ ⊭ ⊮ ⊯
⊰ ⊱ ⊲ ⊳ ⊴ ⊵ ⊶ ⊷ ⊸ ⊹ ⊺ ⊻ ⊼ ⊽ ⊾ ⊿
⋀ ⋁ ⋂ ⋃ ⋄ ⋅ ⋆ ⋇ ⋈ ⋉ ⋊ ⋋ ⋌ ⋍
⋎ ⋏ ⋐ ⋑ ⋒ ⋓ ⋔ ⋖ ⋗ ⋘ ⋙ ⋚ ⋛ ⋜ ⋝ ⋞ ⋟
⋠ ⋡ ⋢ ⋣ ⋤ ⋥ ⋦ ⋧ ⋨ ⋩ ⋪ ⋫ ⋬ ⋭

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❛❜❝❞【】〖〗►◄﹃﹄『』◢ ◣◥ ◤
≎≎≎≎≎≎≎≎
==== ☠ ====
☆═━┈┈━═☆
± : . : ± : . : ± : . : ±
▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄
╔══════════════╗

╚══════════════╝
┏━━━━━━━━━┓

┗━━━━━━━━━┛
Oº°‘¨ ¨‘°ºO
•°o.O O.o°•
¨°o.O O.o°¨
—¤÷(`[¤* *¤]´)÷¤—
••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••´
`•.(`•.¸ ¸.•´).•´
`•» »-(¯`v´¯)-»
`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´
`•.¸¸.••´´¯``•• .¸¸.•´
`•.•●•۰• ••.•´
׺°”˜`”°º× ׺°”˜`”°º×
ண

----------------------------------

▀ ▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █ ▉ ▊ ▋ ▌ ▍ ▎ ▏ ▐
░ ▒ ▓▕ ▖■ □ ▢ ▣ ▤ ▥ ▦ ▧ ▨ ▩ ▪ ▫
▬ ▭ ▮ ▯ ▰ ▱ ▲ △ ▴ ▵ ▶ ▷ ▸ ▹ ► ▻ ▼ ▽ ▾ ▿
◀ ◁ ◂ ◃ ◄ ◅ ◆ ◇ ◈ ◉ ◊
○ ◌ ◍ ◎ ● ◐ ◑ ◒ ◓ ◔ ◕
◖ ◗ ◘ ◙ ◚ ◛ ◜ ◝ ◞ ◟
◠ ◡ ◢ ◣ ◤ ◥ ◦ ◧ ◨ ◩ ◪ ◫ ◬ ◭ ◮ ◯

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¡ † ‡ ↔ ↑ ↓ •«» ¤₯ ƒ ₴ ₥ ₦ № ₧ ₰ £ ៛ ₨ ₪ ৳ ₮ ₩ ¥

– — … ° ≈ ≠ ≤ ≥ ± − × ÷ ← → • §

๑☺ ☻ ☼♣ ♥ ♦•۰•●○●ஐﻬ↔ ↕ ▪ ▫ ▬♦ ◊ ◦♫ ♪ ღˇ √ « » ™ ♂♀ ©№® ◦º°×°º◦ ´¯`•»ºØ´ ׺°”˜`”°º×»- ஆ ௰ Þ ௫

๑•ิ.•ั๑ ๑۩۞۩๑ ✿.｡.: ☂☃ ☄ ★ ☆ ☇ ☈ ☉ ☊ ☋ ☌ ☍ ☑ ☒☢ ☸ ☹ ☺ ☻ ☼ ☽ ☾ ♠ 　 ♡ ♢ ♣ ♤ ♥ ♦ ♧ ♨ ♩ ✙✈ ✉ ✌ ✁ ✎ ✐ ❀ ✰ ❁ ❤ ❥ ❦❧ ➳ ➽ εїз℡❣•۰•●○●

ゃōゃ ♡๑۩ﺴ ☜ ☞ ☎ ☏♡ ⊙◎ ☺ ☻✖╄ஐﻬ ► ◄ ▧ ▨ ♨ ◐ ◑ ↔ ↕ ▪ ▫ ☼ ♦ ▀ ▄ █▌ ▐░ ▒ ▬♦ ◊ ◦ ☼ ♠♣ ▣ ▤ ▥ ▦ ▩ ◘ ◙ ◈ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♭ ♪ の ☆ → あ ぃ ￡ ❤ ｡◕‿◕｡

＃ ＠ ＆ ＊ ￥☸ ❁ ❀ ✿ ✾ ❃ ✺ ❇ ❈ ❊ ❉ ✱ ✲ ✩ ✫ ✬ ✭ ✮ ✰ ☆ ★ ✪ ¤ ☼ ☀ ☽ ☾ ❤ ♡ ღ☻ ☺ ❂ ◕ ⊕ ☉ Θ o O ♋ ☯ ㊝ ⊙ ◎ ◑ ◐ ۰ • ● ▪ ▫ ｡ ﾟ ๑ ☜ ☞ ☂ ♨ ☎ ☏

︻ ︼ ︽ ︾ 〈 〉 ︿ ﹀ ∩ ∪ ﹁ ﹂ ﹃ ﹄﹝ ﹞ ＜ ＞ ≦ ≧ ﹤ ﹥ 「 」 ︵ ︶ ︷ ︸ ︹ ︺〔 〕 【 】 《 》 （ ） ｛ ｝ ﹙ ﹚ 『 』 ﹛ ﹜╳ ＋ － ﹢ × ÷ ＝ ≠ ≒ ∞ ˇ ± √ ⊥ ∠ ∟ ⊿ ㏒

▶ ▷ ◀ ◁ ☀ ☁ ☂ ☃ ☄ ★ ☆ ☇ ☈ ☉ ☊ ☋ ☌ ☍ ☑ ☒☢ ☸ ☹ ☺ ☻ ☼ ☽ ☾ ♠ 　 ♡ ♢ ♣ ♤ ♥ ♦ ♧ ♨ ♩ ✙ ✈ ✉ ✌ ✁ ✎ ✐ ❀ ✰ ❁ ❤ ❥ ❦❧ ➳ ➽ 〠 〄 ㍿ ♝ ♞

♯♩♪♫♬♭♮ ☎ ☏ ☪ ♈ ♨ ºº ₪ ¤ 큐 « » ™ ♂✿ ♥ の ↑ ↓ ← → ↖ ↗ ↙ ↘ ㊣ ◎ ○ ● ⊕ ⊙ ○　 △ ▲ ☆ ★ ◇ ◆ ■ □ ▽ ▼ § ￥ 〒 ￠ ￡ ※ ♀ ♂ © ® ⁂ ℡ ↂ░ ▣ ▤ ▥ ▦ ▧

✐✌✍✡✓✔✕✖ ♂ ♀ ♥ ♡ ☜ ☞ ☎ ☏ ⊙ ◎ ☺ ☻ ► ◄ ▧ ▨ ♨ ◐ ◑ ↔ ↕ ♥ ♡ ▪ ▫ ☼ ♦ ▀ ▄ █ ▌ ▐ ░ ▒ ▬ ♦ ◊ ◘ ◙ ◦ ☼ ♠ ♣ ▣ ▤ ▥ ▦ ▩ ◘ ◙ ◈ ♫ ♬ ♪ ♩ ♭ ♪ ✄☪☣☢☠

㊊㊋㊌㊍㊎㊏ ㊐㊑㊒㊓㊔㊕㊖㊗㊘㊜㊝㊞㊟㊠㊡㊢ ㊣㊤㊥㊦㊧㊨㊩㊪㊫㊬㊭㊮㊯㊰

✗✘✚✪✣✤✥✦✧✩✫✬✭✮✯✰ ✱✲✳❃❂❁❀✿✾✽✼✻✺✹✸✷ ✶✵✴❄❅❆❇❈❉❊❋❖☀☂☁【】┱ ┲ ❣ ✚ ✪ ✣ ✤ ✥ ✦ ❉ ❥ ❦ ❧ ❃ ❂ ❁ ❀ ✄ ☪ ☣ ☢ ☠ ☭ ♈ ➸ ✓ ✔ ✕ ✖ *.:｡✿*ﾟ‘ﾟ･✿.｡.:

【】〖〗＠﹕﹗/ " _ < > `,•。≈{}~ ～() _ -『』√ $ @ * & # ※ 々∞Ψ ∪∩∈∏ の ℡ ぁ §∮〝〞ミ灬ξ№∑⌒ξζω＊ㄨ ≮≯ ＋－×÷﹢﹣±／＝∫∮∝ ∞ ∧∨ ∑ ∏ ∥∠ ≌ ∽ ≦ ≧ ≒﹤﹥じ☆

■♀『』◆◣◥▲Ψ ※◤ ◥ →№←㊣∑⌒〖〗＠ξζω□∮〓※∴ぷ▂▃▅▆█ ∏【】△√ ∩¤々♀♂∞①ㄨ≡↘↙▂▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █┗┛╰☆╮ ≠ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅┢┦aΡｐy .......♧♧ ☜♥☞.︻︼─一　▄︻┻┳═一

﹏◢ ◣ ◥ ◤ ▽ ▧ ▨ ▣ ▤ ▥ ▦ ▩ ◘ ◙ ▓ ▒ ░ Café № ＠ ㊣ ™ ℡ 凸 の ๑۞๑ ๑۩ﺴ ﺴ۩๑ o(‧'''‧)o ❆ べò⊹⊱⋛⋋ ⋌⋚⊰⊹ ⓛⓞⓥⓔ べ ☀ ☼ ☜ ☞ ⊙® ◈ ♦ ◊ ◦ ◇ ◆ εїз

☆•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.¤ ~♡のⓛⓞⓥⓔ♡~☃⊹⊱⋛⋌⋚⊰⊹✗/(*w*) ≡[。。]≡※◦º°×°º◦εїз´¯`•»｡｡♀♡╭☆╯ºØغøº¤ø,¸¸,ºº¤øøºﷲﷲ°º¤ø,¸¸,

げこごさざしじすぜそぞただちぢっつづてでとどなにぬねのはば ♪♫╭♥ ๑•ิ.•ัﻬஐ ✎ぱひびぴふぶぷへべぺほぼぽまみむめも

❃❂❁❀✿✾✽✼✻✺✹✸✷ ✶✵✴❄❅❆❇❈❉❊❋❖❤❥❦❧ ☀ o O ＃♡ ┽┊﹎.εїз︷✿‧:﹎｡❤‧:❉:‧ .｡.:*･❀●•♪.。‧:❉:‧ °º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø*.:｡✿*ﾟ‘ﾟ･✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*ﾟ’ﾟ･✿.｡✎*εїз

↔ ↕ ▪ → ︷╅╊✿ ❤`•.¸¸.•´´¯`•• .¸¸.•´¯`•.•●•۰• ••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••—¤÷(`[¤* *¤]´)÷¤——(••÷[ ]÷••)—

〓 ☆ ★┣┓┏┫×╰ノ◢ ◣ ◥ ◤ Ω ж ф юЮ ━╃ ╄━ ┛┗ ┓┏ ◇ ◆ ※ .'. ☂.'.❤ ♥ 『』 〖〗▓ ► ◄ ▒ ░ ▓ ╮╭ ╯╰ ァ ┱ ┲☃ ☎ ☏ ☺ ☻ ▧ ▨ ♨ ◘ ◙ ♠ ♧ ♣ ▣▤ ▥ ▦ ▩ ⊕

׺°”˜`”°º× ׺°”˜`”°º×»-(¯`v´¯)-» ×÷•.•´¯`•)» «(•´¯`•.•÷×*∩_∩* ⓛⓞⓥⓔ ╬ ╠ ╣∷ ღ ☃ ❆ ￡ ∆ ? Õ Ő ő ∞ © ‡ † ? ஜ ஒ ண இ ஆ ௰

♪♪♫▫—(••÷[ ]÷••)— •÷±‡±±‡±÷• Oº°‘¨ ¨‘°ºO •°o.O O.o°• ¨°o.O O.o°¨—¤÷(`[¤* *¤]´)÷¤—••.•´¯`•.•• ••.•´¯`•.••´`•.(`•.¸ ¸.•´).•´`•»

»-(¯`v´¯)-»█┗┛↘↙╰☆╮ ≠ ☜♥☞ ︻︼─一　▄︻┻┳═一 -─═┳︻　∝╬══→　::======>>　☆═━┈　┣▇▇▇═─ ■◆◣◥▲◤ ◥〓∴ぷ▂▃▅▆█ 【】

๑۞๑ ๑۩ﺴ ﺴ۩๑๑۩۞۩...¤¸¸.•´¯`•.¸•..>>--» «--<<..•.¸¸•´¯`•.¸¸¤... .•:´¨•☆ •.¸¸.•´´¯`•´❤

℠ ℡ ™ ¶ ₧ № ™ ℅ µ Æ æ Ǽ ǽ IJ ij Œ œ

¼ ½ ¾

✠❖☸☠ ✠

Δ - ▹ - ◆ - ◇ - ◈ - ◉ - ◊ - ○ - ◌ - ◍ - ◎ - ● - ◐ - ◑ - ◒ -◓ - ◔ - ◕ - ☮ - ☯
✓ - ✔ - √
✕ - ✖ - ✗ - ✘
✙ - ✚ - ✛ - ✜
✩ - ✿ - ❀ - ❁ - ❄ - ❅ - ❆ - ❇ - ❤
♪ - ♫ - ♬ - ♭ - ♮ - ♯
✫ - ✬ - ✭ - ✮ - ✯ - ✰ - ✱ - ✲ - ✳ - ✴ - ✵ - ⋆
✈ - ✁ - ✂
♀ - ♂
↖ - ↗ - ↘ - ↙- ↚ - ↛ - ↜ - ↝ - ↩ - ↪ - ↫ - ↬ - ⇒ - ⇦- - ⇧- ⇨ - ⇩ - ➔
↭ - ↮ - ∿
∮ - ∭ - ∯ - ∰ - ∱ - ∲ - ∳
∴ - ∵ - ⋮ - ⋯ - ⋰ - ⋱
⊕ - ⊖ - ⊗ - ⊘ - ⊙ - ⊚ - ⊜ - ⊛ - ⊝ - ○ - ☼
⊞ - ⊟ - ⊠ - ⊡
⋎ - ⋏
⋐ - ⋑ - ⋒ - ⋓
⌘ - ⌠ - ⌡
℥ - Ω - ℧ - ℨ - ℩

¦ º • • ← ↑ → ↓ ↔ ↕

× ÷ − ± π ⁄ ∆ ∏ ∕ ∙ √ ∞ ≈ ≠ ≡ ≤ ≥
☺ ☻ ☼ ♀ ♂ ♠ ♣ ♥ ♦ ♪ ♫
▀ ▄ █ ▌ ▐ ░ ▒ ▓ ■ □ ▪ ▫ ▬ ▲ ► ▼ ◄ ◊ ○ ● ◘ ◙ ◦ Ξ ◕
§ ¬ ⌐ ‰ ′ ″ Ω ⌂
¤ ₪
¨ ¯ ´ ¸ ˆ ˇ ˉ ˘ ˙ ˚ ˛ ˜ ˝ ̀ ́ ̃ ̉ ̣
‼ ¡ ¿ ‽ “ ” „ ‘ ’ ‚ ‛ « » ‹ › … – — ― ‗ ‾


☼☽

ღ ♪ ♫ ♥ ♣ ♠ ♦ ● → ⇒ ► ◄ « » ☼ ☆ ☽ ☾ □ ▽ ↘↙╰╮ ¤ ю ◡

`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´

ツマシンなバスタドのメデるれはしないだろうりてたもですフクスイワダラテグー。

ィォッァ じ


Г г Ґ ґ Ѓ ѓ ─ ╫╓ ╗ ╚ ╩ ╔ ╬ ╟ ╣ ├ ┤ ╘ ┴ ↔ ↓ ↑ ± Θ

①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨⑩ ⑪⑫⑬⑭⑮⑯⑰⑱⑲⑳ ⒶⒷⒸⒹⒺⒻ ⒼⒽⒾⒿⓀⓁ ⓂⓃⓄⓅⓆⓇ ⓈⓉⓊⓋⓌⓍ ⓎⓏ ⓐⓑⓒⓓⓔⓕ ⓖⓗⓘⓙⓚⓛ ⓜⓝⓞⓟⓠⓡ ⓢⓣⓤⓥⓦⓧ ⓨⓩ

﹤ - ﹥ - ∝ - ∧ - ∨ - ∥ - ∠ - ≌ - ∽ - ≦ - ≧ - ≒ - ~ - ～ - ※ - ＊ -  - ≮ - ≯ - ＋ - － - × - ÷ - ﹢ - ± - ／ - ＝ - ⊹ - ⊱ - ⋛ - ⋋ - ⋌ - ⋚ - ⊰ - ⊹ - 彡 - ❝ - ❞ - ° - ﹌ - ﹎ - ╱ - ╲ - ☁ - Þ - ௫ - べ - ☪ - ∷ - ≈


ა ბ გ დ ე ვ ზ ჱ თ ი კ ლ მ ნ ჲ ო პ ჟ რ ს ტ ჳ უ ფ ქ ღ ყ შ ჩ ც ძ წ ჭ ხ ჴ ჯ ჰ ჵ ჶ ჷ ჸ

𝔄 𝔅 ℭ 𝔇 𝔈 𝔉 𝔊 ℌ ℑ 𝔍 𝔎 𝔏 𝔐 𝔑 𝔒 𝔓 𝔔 ℜ 𝔖 𝔗 𝔘 𝔙 𝔚 𝔛 𝔜 ℨ 𝔞 𝔟 𝔠 𝔡 𝔢 𝔣 𝔤 𝔥 𝔦 𝔧 𝔨 𝔩 𝔪 𝔫 𝔬 𝔭 𝔮 𝔯 𝔰 𝔱 𝔲 𝔳 𝔴 𝔵 𝔶 𝔷
𝕬 𝕭 𝕮 𝕯 𝕰 𝕱 𝕲 𝕳 𝕴 𝕵 𝕶 𝕷 𝕸 𝕹 𝕺 𝕻 𝕼 𝕽 𝕾 𝕿 𝖀 𝖁 𝖂 𝖃 𝖄 𝖅 𝖆 𝖇 𝖈 𝖉 𝖊 𝖋 𝖌 𝖍 𝖎 𝖏 𝖐 𝖑 𝖒 𝖓 𝖔 𝖕 𝖖 𝖗 𝖘 𝖙 𝖚 𝖛 𝖜 𝖝 𝖞 𝖟

[benevolent ebil]

♯♩♪♫♬

`·.(`·.¸ G | A | B | R | I | E | L ¸.·´).·´


Crept through the curtains, as quick as the cold wind
slowly exploring the room where you sleep

☆═━┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈i will dissolve into the dark beneath your bed┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

☂ : The pillow caught his breathing, caught it and kept it there sewn into the soft cotton. His hands clawed their way to the underside of the mass of feathers finding the cold and keeping still there, peacefully, unlike the rest of him. A low gasp slipped, stolen through his lips, while his fingers trembled and legs curled up beneath him, tossing the covers off in the process. In less than a second the silent fit changed direction and he clutched desperately at the covers- thrown into a fit of coughs awful and dry ripping from his throat. Light colored eyelashes twitched, unseeing gold peeking through the curtain at the dark of the room before a final jerk of his body threw him up, sitting, in a fit like a lost child in a market of colors. Savage, harsh colors sharpening their daggers against the light bouncing off of the wares and slicing into his eyes- Rhythm thrown completely into another clock tick tock, it took a moment before the blood stopped pounding in his ears, and he blinked at the surroundings like soap in his eyes trying to adjust to the sting. Something like water dripped from his mouth, and his throat burned like hot iron pins stuck to the back of it. He reached up to wipe away the liquid, absentmindedly, and when he pulled his hand from it, it came back red.

“A dream?” Gabriel’s voice floated through the dark- swollen but soft. He blinked again, drowsily, unable to recall what he had been dreaming- or what made him wake. He laughed brightly, rubbing his eyes and stumbled out of the bed leaving it smelling like ash and smoke and ice cream. Well, Vitali’s bed. It had been the only one unoccupied for the night . . . And he had grown tired of the floor. Sure the vampyre would know later, most likely, but maybe it would encourage him to stay at home and keep him away from his room. He struggled a moment, trying to find his voice- waiting for the stitching up and healing to occur before realizing nothing was wrong in the first place. He brushed the rest of the blood from his lips, brow furrowed, because the ache in the back of his throat had died away and the blood didn’t seem to have a source. His foot tapped a beat onto the cold floor, exploring the texture there and soon finding it a good medium of sound. Floors- his toes quickly found all the soft spots and the thick spots the low spots and the high spots and the careful examination became a dance on the floorboards. His voice rose among the drumlike music movements, weaving between the odd rhythms like silk but not dictating much in the way of words. Occasionally he’d narrate his parading to the other end of the room or opening a door since the antics carried on out into the hallway. His eyes sparked, the honey sticky sweet and drenched in amazement and enthusiasm. His voice may not have reached much past the area in front of him but the beating of his bare feet on the floor surely could be heard by anyone . . . well it would be noisy to everyone on the first floor. Of course that matter never occurred to Gabriel, and soon he was at the top of the steps adding an air guitar solo (like he’d seen on television) to the improvised song which sounded a bit like this,

“WAW WAW WAW WAGGA WEOOOOOOO MEEDLY MEEDLY MEEDLY MEEEEEEOOOOOWWWW!”

One must understand, it didn’t take long for him to know Vitali disappeared every night, and though he didn’t know where he went it gave him plenty of time to sit in front of the tv admiring the commercial jingles and repeating them like a walking advertisement about the house. And entertain himself by learning the air guitar. With one last spin, his feet stilled and his hands fell to his side. Like a circus closing for the night, the bright atmosphere around him tipped over with the sounds his feet had made replaced with a stern and very present heartbeat.

“He’s back . . .” Gabriel whispered, peeking tentatively down the stairs.

Vitali hadn’t even opened the door before Gabriel crept down to the first floor, waiting cross-legged on the last step. It wasn’t rushed at all though, if anything it had been a quiet descent, the only noise the sliding of his pants across the stairs, they were a bit too long since he’d had to borrow them from someone in the house. He wasn’t sure who, and wondered how long it would take the owner to realize they looked awfully familiar. The life he'd taken up at this house was strange, uncertain as the new melodies constantly finding him. The vampyres, none of them were too happy- though Gabriel considered leaving when he found the other angels there he couldn't do much but stay. The other angels. . . . were delicate in their feelings. Crying, screaming things he didn't understand at all. The words dropping from their lips like lilies made another language entirely. What had they said made them stay? Love. But not the same kind, they had whispered, not the same kind as love for one's brother or as loved by God. That was the part that threw him into a confused loop. The closest he could come to believing, was imaging this kind of love was like a heart full of a sickly sweet music. The kind that made you blind, and the kind that had you give up heaven for hell for merely a taste. Music was that, and yet the angels would sigh at him, the same disconnection and misunderstanding between them, and for however long he had on earth he knew he'd follow song and sounds. Like a drug, they made his veins wake up.

His eyes fell to trace the floor while he waited, small wings draped about him like ornaments rather than appendages. They still pulsed vaguely, veins of light casting shadows on the staircase- spots like constellations flickering across the walls. The first sound he'd heard had been Vitali's. Biting him had been such a hasty thing to do, such a natural thing to do. Yet Gabriel found himself trapped again, by Vitali instead of God. Trapped in the house with the different emotions mingling and stinging him compelling him to laugh and cry and get angry. Such a beautiful melancholy, he couldn't leave it. Couldn't leave the vampyre, nor the memory of the poison blood kiss on his neck. But then the door opened, dispersing his thoughts methodically.

“And here I was hoping You’d be gone.” That was the voice, the one- Gabriel stood up accusingly, but with a smile.

“Don’t count on it.” Gabriel whispered, closing his eyes and breathing in slowly the musty air of the house. He’d caught the purr in the voice, was twisting it around in his thoughts carefully, logging it away with every new sound- he liked how it felt or how he thought it might feel. Purring, but then he didn’t get to think much more on it for when he opened his eyes again to find Vitali much closer than he left him. But, it didn’t persuade Gabriel to back up a step but rather had him gaze unashamedly back even at such close quarters. He watched the vampyre intake a slow breath, not understanding it was to get a wiff of his scent. To get a whiff of the sweet slightly animalistic scents of ambergris or labdanum, stirring in the air with vanilla, rose, and a dark wood earth smell. It would be like biting into a lemon, shocking all at once but . . . a tension grew there between them, Gabriel unsure at the source- not familiar with the thirst that so often plagued a creature of the darkness but found himself tied to him so that something unsettling crawled in his stomach. “So little bird, how has your night been?”

He was glad when Vitali took the chance to step back, because whatever had been there froze him solid- left him staring up through half opened eyes and light lashes. It was like with Vitali far away again he had permission to move. “I have this sudden urge to build a cage and stick you in it. . . . Of course, you probably won’t stay in there, would you troublesome angel?”

“Depends, what kind of cage and what sound would it make if you tapped on the bars?” Here he took a few steps forward on his own, re-closing the gap and standing lightly on the tips of his toes so that he could tap the Vampyre deftly on the head. “See? If it made that noise, I’m not so sure.” He smiled charmingly though, and moved to tap his lips, “But if it was like that I might be persuaded. Cages don’t bother me. It’s only a cage if you let it be.” And with that he spun back around, searching the room for something. Of what he wasn’t sure . . . more music? When nothing presented itself he gazed back at Vitali, tilting his head expectantly and waiting. He’d become rather good at waiting.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈my hands will wait for a taste of your skin┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈━═☆

The stare of your portrait, the passing of your scent --
Left me no choice but to stay

♬♫♪♩♯

[benevolent ebil]

►:►_______FRANCOIS••DAREAUX••ARCHAMBAULT_______ ◄:◄

► Thε. ßåsïcš. σƒ. Lïƒε ◄

x - -x a.k.a ≠
♔ - Lecherous Old Man . .
♕ - Old Fart . . .
♖ - Kiddo . . .
♗ - Little Old King . . .
♘ - Franky . . .
♙ - Your Royal Shortness . . .
♚ - Monster

x - -x Years Passing ≠ 89 of those human years m’dear

x - -x Celebration Day ≠ April 16th

x - -x I am ≠ Male

x - -x Sphere ≠ Citrine

x - -x Powers and Abilities ≠ The ability to stop aging around the age you hit puberty. . . . . and . . . not knowing how to go back to normal. More practical powers include my electric personality. That is too say, its quite . . .shocking! Alright enough with the puns, I can hold the flow of electric currents in my veins as easily as blood, and can use the high voltage to produce something like lightning. The result of the energy kept inside me at all times, however, means that I can sometimes give off a static shock to anyone unwary enough to brush me. I am also light on my feet, able to manipulate and charge myself so that I run with the speed of light about me. Because of this combination, it’s rather fun to become intimate with people- that is up close in their face and with just a touch I can watch them explode inside-out from the quick burst of currents. Blood goes everywhere before our crystals even begin to soak up their life energy. That red rain has become my favorite part, and it’s something only I can do.

x - -x Additional information ≠ Note from Benevolent Ebil: Francois would like to think of himself as a Seme and probably would be if not for this small little height and youthful matter that plagues him. As such he usually finds himself at the bottom of things so to speak. Which frustrates him to no end, after all kings, should dominate not be dominated so to humor him, let’s call the poor fellow a Seke.

x - -x Pardon me for being ≠ addicted to beautiful people


► Iηηεr. Wσrkïηgš ◄

x - -x It's Like This ≠ I watched her die. My baby sister. . . Her soft hands grew wrinkled and her breath grew labored. One day, she couldn’t even walk about the castle anymore and it scared me that I could hardly recognize her at all. Her mind went, then slowly the rest of her. She died from old age, holding my hand at the very last and feeling it’s perfect elasticity. After I kissed her closed eyes we burned her, sharing her ashes with the wind so that the monsters on the outside could never catch all of it. “This disease shall be the end of me,” I remember crying to her before. Tearing up genuinely, like onions had decided to cut into the veins of my eyes, “this never growing older.” She cupped my face in her frail fingers, but never answered.

Sick, I watched as m y people celebrated her death. They expected the curse she placed on me to vanish in her passing- no one would dare speak it but I could see in their eyes how tired they were becoming of their little age-less king. It was a wide-spread relief . . . until it became plain as day I was to remain the same. My lack of growth frightens my people, scares them witless and wide-eyed. The only thing they’ve ever seen like it are the monsters. Am I half-monster? I’m not sure of anything anymore. You’d think I was by the way they talk about me as if I were ravaging their kingdom instead of them and I might as well be now. I’m want to know of if I’ll ever die, and without an heir I know I can’t honorably dispose of myself. I’m not sure though, honestly, because I haven’t grown a day older since I was a boy. I catch sicknesses and illnesses like any mortal man might, but as the king I was always sturdy. More with each passing day my fancy of growing up grew- till all I could think of was the day I became a man not only in my own eyes, but in the eyes of my people. I would stare in the mirror, willing some change but Grace never blessed me with the day it might come. Yet, that was how I discovered the ones who lived on the other side.

I was quickly swept up in the wild ventures of my neighborly kings, It’s for the monsters, they cried. Look at the knaves in that world with none at all! While our people suffer . . . It wasn’t hard to turn away from my current desperate situation to look at this new challenge. I even flirted with the idea of going over to the other side of the mirror. The tiny mirror folks aged much more quickly than even the common people of my kingdom. I grew a quick desire to go- and covered the nature up in the name of ridding monsters so that none would know my true motive. The kings- it seemed to me they all had their reasons. A couple, perhaps, truly wanted to go to this new world to see if anything there might aid their current problem but I sensed it was not so for all. Kings are but mortals men with crowns on their heads.

Surely, you know the story from there. We were able to cross across the mirror but at what deadly price? It set me to quivering, shivering and flinching with cruel emotions when the great lady told us to kneel. WE! Kings of many great lands, the notion was treason. A beheading should be warranted from every kingly head that began to bow. It wasn’t without a poisonous stare that I bent my own head and when she came to steal his lips too she found I had bit them into bleeding. But she didn’t tarry, the blood didn’t seem to bother the wench. I never thought there would be anything I could hate more than my horrid affliction, but I had never had my honor so trampled upon and abused. I vowed to stay alive, but only in the manner of time it would do to kill her. The humans of the land did a strange thing to me though. I didn’t mind the taking of their lives- but in the process I began to lose control at key points. I tasted blood and found I liked the sweet stuff on my tongue as well as fancied the look of it. The torturous screams fell like music soft on my ears. Perhaps I was a monster all along.


x - -x Calibrating Me ≠ With a deadly smile and a grin, I’ll watch as the blood drains from your face and drips down your lips- catching it on my tongue. I didn’t use to be a monster, you know. Not such a monster. But the more people tell you what you are and what you are not the more you begin to believe them. I became what they accused me of, maybe out of some sort of want for self-fulfillment or maybe it was just a natural thing I had been fighting all along. I’m dreadfully tired of being overlooked for my size and appearance- I’m old and wise as any grandfather might be without the pleasure of grandchildren to share it with. Perhaps that made me dumb, short-tempered, and in my attempt to grow up I tried to look into adult things. I thought if I couldn’t look like one, I’d act like one. People would know my age as soon as I spoke- so First I tried politics, then the military- but my weak body wasn’t made for the fronts of war and things were better left in the hands of my advisers as far as politics were concerned. I was no use protecting my people on the front line either, they always ended up protecting me. The only other thing left was love- or lust as I’ve come to see it. True love doesn’t exist, it’s just a children’s tale like anything else and I’ll be damned if I’m foolish enough to believe it. But Lust- It’s the one thing I can do- and play with emotions like putty. It’s rather fun to see the younger ones squirm under the hands of someone they think looks so innocent. It’s fun to looks into their eyes; the ones that still believe in love are the best. The second they realize there’s no such thing . . .I’m sorry. Am I sick? Sometimes it scares me, these thoughts- this ghosting through life. But at the same time I feel that there’s no turning back. I’d rather die. In fact, there’s nothing I’d rather do than finally die.

(with simple views of good and bad, Francois has it in his mind you can only be one or the other. He tries to be good- honestly. But somehow he ends up making small mistakes and then giving up and going further down the darker path. It’s always one extreme or the other, and he has a sharp tongue that will spit insults at you with a gorgeous smile on his lips.)


x - -x That's Hot ≠
♔- Porridge
♕ - Handsome young folks
♖ - Books
♗ - Blood
♘ - Bitter things
♙ -Tea
♔ -Deep Kisses
♕ -Exploding People
♖ -Mushrooms
♗ -Hobo Soup
♘ -Dying

x - -x That's Not ≠
♚ - Being forced into submission
♛ - Sweets
♜ - Sugar
♝ - Fading Away
♞ - Being ignored
♟ - Being made fun of for my height

x - -x Catastrophe ends with ≠

► Prεšchσσℓ. Stûƒƒ ◄


x - -x I dance to the beat of my own drum ≠ N/A

x - -x My personal motto ≠ “In our desire for eternal life we pray for an eternity of our habit and comfort, forgetting that immortality is in repeatedly transcending the definite forms of life in order to pursue the infinite truth of life.”

x - -x Additional information ≠ I have note aged since elementary school—and I will always remain the same under this childish skin.

x - -x My signature is typically signed in ≠ Plum and Gold
x - -x Pulling the strings ≠ Benevolent Ebil

[benevolent ebil]

Sphere:Citrine
Name:Francois Dareaux Archambault
Age: my that's rude baby doll, but if you must know I'm 89 . . . What? No I beg your pardon I am not lying
Played By: Benevolent Ebil

[benevolent ebil]

Ӻ ɽ Ⱥ ȵ Ҫ σ Ί ȿ

If Hans Christian Andersen could've had his way with me
Then none of this s**t would have ever gone down

⊹⊱⋛┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈⋚⊰⊹

♚ - He was a small boy, the one at the corner of the park, nearly five feet tall but yet not quite. His eyes cast themselves up, straight ahead, to the side, but never down, with a faraway look stitched into the irises dying them the color of royal velvet like the lips of dark shadows. When he tossed his head back, running his fingers through the pale locks, it was a haughty gesture for one so young. It would be impossible to find in it the carefree kind of spirit warrant to most children and he stood with a graceful ease straight and tall- an odd and unbefitting look to any young boy but to him he wore it well, as one might a tailored suit jacket. At the moment his eyes stared fixed across the street on a bench with rusting flowers holding the wood in place or more accurately on the young lady who sat there. Her eyes were bright, her hair was light gold and she caught him staring as she brushed it back and out of her eyes.

Stealing the glance from her, he gave her a tiny smile- crossing the distance between them in a walk much like a float. It made her curious; the way the small boy carried himself, so she sat up clutching tighter a bag of seed in her hands. Birds with cotton wings and cold button eyes startled but not at the boy, they were of want to know why she had stopped her previous actions.

“What are you doing?” Francois asked, his eyes searching, demanding but his voice a soft and light icing not only willing her to talk but sweetening her up to it.

“I-“ She breathed back, looking down at her feet and shocked at her actions to the small boy. After all, wasn’t he about 12? 14? And she 18 . . . It was silly. “I am feeding the birds.”

“With those seeds you hold so gently in your fingers.” Francois affirmed, a spark lighting up at the corner of his mouth a most innocent grin.

“Yes, would you like to try?” She chanced a glance up, offering him the bag which he lifted from her hands in the next moment carefully like pulling honey. A few seeds stuck to the side fell on her skirt and while she leaned over to brush them off he swiftly brought his child-size lips to her forehead. A quick intake of break was the only thing she offered to betray the thousands upon thousands of volts wracking shivers through her frame.

“Thank you.” He whispered against her skin, hot and fresh to the touch but that would soon grow cold as death. The birds still didn’t stir; the whole movement was silent and had an air of quiet grace and ceremony about it. It was as if it was the most natural thing in the world when the lady tipped to the side, supported no longer by any trace of life but by the rusting flower bench. He kept the sidewalks clean this time; he didn’t want to scare the little flying things.

He grinned, reaching into the bag and pulling out a handful of seeds then scattering them into the air and watching with delight as finally the small peculiar creatures shoved each other out of the way with the silk battering of wings trying to get to the food. The bag was soon empty but the birds still lingered at its finish. It wasn’t until Francois looked up at the sky, noticing its color with quiet dignity and realization that he set forth to move scattering the birds. His footsteps were quick, and quickly they led him to the base of a familiar tall, tall building.

A man tried to stop him at the door, a new worker, with the words, “This is no place for children.” To which Francois replied without even turning his head to so much as look at the man, “Then you better run along home quickly. It’d be a shame to see such a pretty face scarred trying to act like a big boy.” The ‘older’ worker was about to retort something smart back, when his friend grabbed him from behind and whispered into his ear. Francois didn’t have to look to know he would turn deathly white in shock and realization of his mistake. But he offered him a poised smile, like benevolent daggers aimed to kill. The boy made his way up to the top of the skyscraper stepping deliberately and walking swiftly. No . . he wasn’t just a boy. There was a certain dignity about him, a expectant inherit in his eyes, a proud streak to his action. He was a king. But even the little king hesitated, slightly, before opening the door to the skyscraper and setting his eyes on the mirror darker than the eyes of hell’s monsters themselves. But it didn’t change his composure; it was just a slight pause. And he didn’t apologize for being late. He was still used to the privilege of the rich and royal. In his mind, the late ones would be anyone arriving after he had, but he reserved that judgment a bit, reminding himself these men were also kings. As he looked he noticed Xigbar gone. But then of course he would be . . . Francois gave a small, curt nod and a smile. It was a high honor, coming from Francois. They would know. They were also kings, and that reminded him why they were there and the smile faded into a memory as he looked again to the mirror. He did see the others though-

“If we broke the mirror,” He asked musingly, “Think she’d go away? Or just get rather more upset than usual?” He shrugged the idea off, and leaned against a wall waiting- always staring straight ahead. After all, a king could never look back or down or no longer would he command control of his life.It only takes a second of looking down and someone can steal your life right from out of you. After all, hadn't that already happened? ♙

⊹⊱⋛┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈⋚⊰⊹

In my cell I'm tattooing myself with
Mermaids and swallows and though I do swallow
My mama thinks I'm grown but I'm really just little

and someday I will remember

[benevolent ebil]

_______________xxxxxxx ▶▶▶ Jaime Wallace Godot
________________________ ★☆ theMERCENARY

Jaime . 27 . 6ft6in . male . pansexual . March 4
tall ★ broken ★ childish ★ creepy ★ dangerous ★ dishonest ★ abandoned



Say it once, say it twice, take a chance and roll the dice. Ride with the moon in the dead of night.

[benevolent ebil]

↳ ━━━━━ ȡ Ѧ ɽ ῒ Ⱥ Ƞ ━━━━━ ↴
〖♞〗

± : . : ± : . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . : ± : . : ±


Laa daaa dee daaa laa daa dee daaa Elmo's world <3

Laa daaa dee daaa laa daa dee daaa Elmo's World! !!!
blah blah blah
blah
balh
baelsdkj

± : . : ± : . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . : ± : . : ±

┗━━━━━ ◄〖1000〗►━━━━━┛
cowards die many times
before their deaths
the valiant never taste of death
but once

[benevolent ebil]

↘ insert character quote here ↙

ﻬ ROLE ﻬ

FULL :: NAME :: HERE

▇ ▇ NICKNAME ▇ ▇ GENDER ▇ ▇ AGE ▇ ▇ SEXUALITY ▇ ▇ USERNAME ▇ ▇

[benevolent ebil]

Ideas for next shop-

Avi Specifically for shop
dressed like genie
3 Wishes
(3 spots)
Bribe the genie spot: order of 1 mil or more. 4th slot that takes first priority

Shop Stalkers Card?
Rules . . .
No about me
clean first page
circle sample pics

[benevolent ebil]

And so We shall test this as talking and stuff . . . rawr ~

[benevolent ebil]

Username: (Le Bien qui fait Mal)
Artist: (Benevolent Ebil)
Price: (500k (or hidden ace) for couple, 300k for single)
Reference: (Main guy:
)

Lady:

Extra ref:

(This doesn't look like the stuff you have drawn thus far, but I hope you'd be willing to give it a try >w< )

[benevolent ebil]

Username: Habiti Gigi
Artist: Benevolent Ebil
Price: 310k?
Reference: any of these ladies? Shadow[x][x]
Hoshi[x]x]
orLilith[x][x]

[benevolent ebil]

Username: shuggar
Artist: Benevolent Ebil
Price: 550k + tips ;u;
Reference: Friend art for these two ?
(without annoying arrow <w< ) +

// I remember meeting you awhile back XD;; but not sure whether you'll remember LOL [OTL]
anyway, I love your sample no.3 and all the (semi+)realism style arts you do *vvvvvvv* eheh.