- Report Post
- Posted: Wed, 06 Feb 2013 06:30:21 +0000
it`s way too late ❜ ▬▬▬▬ to be this locked inside ourselves
xxxxxTHE TROUBLE IS THAT YOU'RE IN L⋮ OVE WITH SOMEONE ELSE
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx ◞IT SHOULD❜ ×BE ME
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxSACRED PARTS, YOUR GETAWAYS ●●
xxxxxxxxxxxxx&:YOU COME ALONG ON SUMMER DAYS
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxtenderly *:↘ tastefully
xxxxxxxxxxxxxI'M IN LOVExxx✽. WITH SOMETHING REAL
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxit could be me that's changing it could be me that's changing it could be me that's changing
.... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... .... ... .. .... .... ... .. ..... ....
xxxxxxxx✿: ↘ two lovers walk a lakeside mile OH, HOW I LOVE YOU
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxnell myshkin the angry girl coding by wingfat
Two women—men?—people—sat fawning over a young woman. There were brushes being yanked through her hair and a corset being shoved onto her—hadn't those gone out of style yet?—while the victim of these atrocities sat, defenseless and fuming. She didn't like it that she was being made 'pretty.' She was fine with her white hair being plain and boring; she was fine with her clothes being plain and boring. She was fine. She didn't need fixing.
"We'll make you real pretty, won't we?"
"Real pretty. Real pretty."
The sigh was miserable. She wondered if demons were assaulting all the other participants in their bedrooms, forcing them to get all fancy for the evening's event. Nell certainly hadn't been expecting it; she'd been napping in her inn, minding her own business, when they came in, spewing piles of 'pretties' and 'lovelies' at her. But wasn't the point that Nell didn't want to be pretty? More accurately, that she could never be pretty. She was too far gone; you had to be pretty far to make it into the preliminary rounds of this competition.
How cruel, evil, intrinsically animalistic can you be?
The other competition, the one running alongside hers, was different. How forgiving, kind, magnanimous can you be? They were more than competitions; they were lifestyles. You didn't win Pride, set it on the mantle, and then forget about it the rest of your life. You lived Pride, breathed nothing but yourself. It was something that went on forever, or at least until your expiration.
So a sick game, then, at least at one end of the spectrum.
A dark and dreary one for those like Nell; those who were broken enough that even God couldn't fix them. Though she supposed it must have been nothing but pleasant for the others. They didn't even need fixing; if anything, they fixed others. For that, Nell envied them.
And for the fact that they didn't have to deal with Boone.
His inhuman, gender-neutral cronies were yanking on the corset ribbon. The sudden constriction caused her to gasp, a white face flushing pink with annoyance and shame. What had she been reduced to? All thanks to desire; the desire for power, for wrath. For her name to be forever associated with the raw emotion called rage. Nell found a sense of pity and self-loathing in the fact; yet something about it was glorious. It was like dull sunlight streaming into a throne room; some semblance of greatness, yet utterly and obviously corrupt.
With her hair in ringlets and a puffy dress itching at her collar bone, Nell stared at the place. Boone really did like to go all-out, whether in this realm or in his. Guards stood at attention before what one may have confused with a true palace, and for a long while Nell paced back and forth before the place, mumbling to herself little nothings about not being intimidated and being a grown woman. Eventually she did approach the gates, and she was escorted in without having to announce her identity. The guards weren't quite human either, and she wondered how Boone expected Rigel and his crew to actually join them in this place. The mansion itself was regal and bright, and enough of a labyrinth that Nell had to have someone guide her, holding her small, corpse-colored hand, or she would get lost. She'd gotten lost twice now on her way to find the dining hall; however, she did eventually manage it, with the help of a guard.
The place was nice; she'd give Boone that. But the windows, opening onto a black night sky, had no curtains drawn over them and made Nell stare at them, as if fearing someone was watching from the outside. The room was decorated with deep maroons and slate greys, right down to the paintings lining the walls. All elaborate and signed with illegible names, Nell looked over the paintings and a violent red shade found its way to her cheeks. Were she to check, she would find that none of the pictures in any of the paintings were properly clothed. She bunched up her skirt in her hands, her fingers casually poking about the intricate details on it with guilty, shaky movements.
She complained to herself about being the first here; though she was early, she didn't think she would be the earliest. Angels were always on time, weren't they? Where were they? Nell knew it was a dangerous idea to accept the devil's dinner invitation, but she also knew it was courteous and kind to accept an invitation and show up on time. With their animosities temporarily tucked away, there wasn't any glaring reason for the pretties not to show up. She never expected beings like herself to show up to anything on time, but she could've expected more from the heavenly ones.
Nell took her eyes from the painting, though that didn't help her pink face. She instead went to admire Boone's furnishings.
"Fantastic tablecloth," she grumbled, running a finger along the red silk and feeling the need to gently touch everything currently on the table; silverware, dishes, even the candles burning in the center. She politely wandered the room, glancing towards the door with hopes of company every other minute.
Sure, the little celebratory get-together didn't make much sense, but it should still be fun, right? Though they were glorifying the competition to be the most pure and most vile beings in existence and the most blissfully free beings in existence, a feast was a feast.
Her eyes found their way to another one of those paintings; this one was particularly risque and despite feeling inwardly that it was foul and unpleasant to look at, she found herself with a flushed red face and a sort of inability to look elsewhere.
// lol shitty post but it'S A POST OK AT LEAST IT EXISTS