dreaming on broken glass

Hello there.~ My name is Kari, and this blog is dedicated solely to my writing. If you wish to know more, please visit the ABOUT section. If you have any questions, ASK me anything!

[aruushinoru]

SOUL HAVOC SERIES - CHARACTER PROFILES : #1 --> THE BLACK-HOLE HAVOC

Name: Seren Nyxenvy

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Ethnicity: Welsh as traced back to the Before Days, from Stiriae in the present world

D.O.B. : 23rd September

Blood Type: AB

Hair: Short, just touching her shoulders, a dark blue that is a mix of navy and cerulean, with half-moon bangs, falls in soft, layered waves.

Eyes: Bright baby blue, large and roundish, framed by thick lashes.

Face: Round, with a small nose that has a slightly upturned tip; lips are round and slightly plump. Has a dimple on her left cheek, and a small splattering of lightly-colored freckles across her nose (only visible if you look closely).

Build: Quite petite, but is on the curvier side (measurements: 34-27-34), fair complexion. Height = 157 cm, weight = 45 kg

Clothing: She wears sheer skin-colored tights, along with navy blue combat boots with buckles and straps on the outer sides of her legs, that come slightly above her knee. Over the tights, she wears faded jean shorts that end at her upper thighs, the frayed ends of which are only seen because her top covers most of the shorts. She also wears an off-shoulder pastel-blue knit jumper-hoodie that clings lightly to her frame (but is loose and slightly long for her on her arms), under which she wears a form-fitting white tank top. Concealed under the sleeves of her jumper are numerous weapons and storage pouches that seem to magically appear from her hands, but are actually stitched into the sleeves of her jumper as a form of summoning technology. She also wears a small gold star pendant, and blue stone studs on her earlobes, and has a thin platinum ring on her right ring finger.

Personality: Seren is lighthearted, vivacious and the type who is quickly and easily interested in things. Her bubbly, mischievous demeanor makes it easy for her to break the ice with most people. She exudes a natural curiosity and cool confidence, that is combined with a strong thirst for adventure and exploration. Due to this, people turn to her as a natural leader, but this usually ends in defeat, because Seren dislikes any form of responsibility (though on a few occasions, she unconsciously "leads", acting as a taking-charge type.). Seren is can be impish at times, but usually projects the carefree and mildly-interested side of her as her external persona.

Many describe her as a playful cat -- she can be deadly when she wants to be. As a fighter, Seren has been hardened by years of living on the streets, along with being a forced child soldier of the Tortus War before her apprenticeship to Ellesmira Dawson. She becomes deadly serious in battle, and can kill swiftly, cleanly and efficiently without batting an eyelid -- something that has scarred her and led her to believe she is mentally and emotionally damaged. Indeed, Seren's remarkable ability to switch from carefree girl to cold-blooded killer is somewhat feared by her fellow Havocs. She is thus treated as a ticking time bomb, her rare Havoc ability furthering people's behavior to treat her cautiously. This has led to her deeply hidden distrust of people and human nature, and further issues she possesses with the confidence she has in controlling her own power. Due to a previous experience where her power could not be controlled, Seren witnessed the destruction she created as a result of it, and is therefore secretly afraid of getting too close to people in the physical sense, as they might become, quite literally, "sucked into" her messes of uncontrolled power. Seren thus seems content with making casual acquaintances, never letting herself get too close to anyone (with the sole exception of Adoria).

Abilities: Seren is one of two documented cases in Havoc history as a Black-Hole Havoc, one whose genetic mutation allows her to harness the "space between spaces"; or control and manifest vacuums created by sucking in the environment around her.

[aruushinoru]

Things to look forward to!

Soon (this could take months, tbh, so be prepared) I'll be posting the character profiles of a couple of my writing projects here. They include (for now): 1. The Butterfly Girl of Demon's End 2. SugarxAcid 3. Synthesesia Expect to see them coming!

[aruushinoru]

STATIC PROJECT - WALLFLOWERS

wallflowers In the darkness, I will meet my creators. part 1. faded Let my unwritten name be cast upon your frame, forever until my thoughts succumb to flame.

You are a lonely person. Blink, and the world will miss you, like you were never there. Try as you might, your colors are too pale to stand out in this world. So, you prefer to plaster yourself to the wall and watch the world pass you by without a second glance, without a second thought, without the slightest hint of curiosity, because you are not worth it. The pedestrians step away from you out of habit; you are but a part of the wall now, and no one can see you anymore. You see a group of bright people pass by. People who are bright and pretty and radiant with color, bursting with youth and a strange optimism that you once had, that gave way to cynicism and cold souls in your head. The skin of their hearts is smooth and unmarred, and the armor that protects them is devoid of any cracks, clear as porcelain and hard as diamonds. The colors spilling out of their veins is so brilliant you almost choke on it; it envelops the surrounding atmosphere with glittering jewels and flashing neon. You were a bright person, once. Just like them. Brighter. Warmer. Happy. But then, Pain came, and took you for his own. And your colors started to fade. From you, Pain wrought Despair, and in you, Despair crushed Hope and Innocence and all that you were into tiny little pieces too small to fix. The bright people began to distance themselves from you. “She’s contagious, it’s contagious, she’s contagious," they whispered to each other, as they grew farther and farther away from you. Unnamed disease you were called, and your demons, hidden, ugly things-they rose from your depths to lay their sharp claws in you head, and began to release their jagged bolts of black into your heart until all color was extinguished and only its absence prevailed. And they watched. Just watched. They stood on the far end of the sidelines and watched as you were consumed; watched the madness wreak havoc in your mind; watched as your heart shattered into sharp, translucent shards that became so discolored when they hit the ground; as Pain sunk his hand into you and ripped your soul away from your body. They were with silent, bright eyes as soundless things escaped from your lips, as your dying-light eyes gazed wordlessly into nothing and everything. You weakly cast your blood-drained hand towards them in pleading, but that circle of bright people closed into themselves, and their burning eyes heard your cries with no shame. And then, as your faintly pulsating colors grew dull and plain and pastel-dead, the bright people watched you like they didn’t care and left you behind, their footsteps echoing through you like you were hollow. (But the tragedy is, you were.) It was then you realized that maybe you were never a bright person in the first place. So now, you have grown into a wall. You are like a vine; the wall supports you, and without it, you cannot stand and you will fall. You are not the only one on the wall.  There are wallflowers, too-thin, delicate things of colors that are not bright, but not washed-out like yours. Their wisps of tendrils are surprisingly strong, as they stubbornly cling to the wall in wind and rain and snow. They are happy, timid things, pretty in their full bloom in summer. You wish you were a wallflower. But you are drab, ugly. Faded glory. You cannot be like them, the wallflowers, pretty little things with naive color. You can never be a bright person again, who radiates and pulsates and burns like a fire-oh, you are too scarred for them. You are alone. Stuck with your shades of gray, the almost-white yellow of your dress, the red of your hair that blends in with the brick wall you cannot live without and the blue-that-is-almost-gone of your eyes. You are not bright anymore. You will never be bright anymore.

You don’t belong anymore. You close your eyes: dead to the world, alive in your head.

[aruushinoru]

PROJECT #1 - USOTSUKI ALLEVIATE

U S O T S U K I   A L L E V I A T E

what are you going to do with your heart, my love?

P R O L O G U E

I’m drowning.

That’s the first thing I register. Water everywhere, black and noxious-filling my nostrils and my mouth and my lungs and oh God, it’s so dark.

I can’t feel my arms, or my legs. All I feel is my body growing colder, the bones turning into solid metal, dragging me down into depths that are darker than the loneliest part of my heart. There is something choking me, constricting me from the inside, like claws squeezing my chest and raking across my ribs. Fear grips me in its steel vice and I panic, even more when I realize I cannot scream into the blackness for a savior.

Then comes pain. Unbearable pain, stemming from my core, blinding, writhing, dancing in my head like demons. It burns and freezes and hisses and twists and my hands grasp at nothing as I try to make it cease. The pressure from the water I’m sinking deeper into is absorbing me, bending and cracking and breaking my body into the shapes it desires.

Is it even water surrounding me, pressing into my skull, my skin, creating a million fractures and fissures? Could it be something deeper, wilder, that I locked away and suppressed for so long, that has only now erupted in a snarling mass of darkness I created? I do not know. But it is heavy. So achingly heavy.

The voice in my head, the one that’s always been there, the one that lurks and creeps in the shadows of my mind, speaks up in a cold whisper that is an almost-taunt and almost-truth.

Heavy indeed, just like your heart.

[aruushinoru]

ORIGINAL PIECE - MEDICINE

medicine

You’ve always known that Onee-san is different. Maybe it’s the way she obsessively does things to perfection-like OCD, or the way she sometimes goes on crazy diets like eating only apples for a week, or even the way she doesn’t talk anymore. Maybe it’s because she’s so quiet all the time. But Onee-san is different, and you’ve always known. Before, when you were younger, before the shift that broke your family’s lives, you looked up to her. But as you have grown older, you have become more and more embarrassed and ashamed of who she is, more and more aware of how not-normal she is. Sixteen, and you’re a high school girl. You begin to leave Okaa-san and Onee-san behind bit by bit, entering a fluorescent world of girlfriends and boys and gossip and being pretty and popular. And slowly, you begin to hate coming back home from that glamorous world and entering the dull atmosphere of your own. You hate living this way, with Okaa-san and her restrictions and Onee-chan’s inability to understand, slipping further into her quiet world. So, one fine day, in the winter of your sixteenth year, you snap. You have just waved goodbye to your friend with a concrete smile. The visit to your house went well; Okaa-san prepared some delicious snacks for the two of you and stayed out of your way as you so explicitly expressed the night before. You don’t know when Onee-san came home, she went straight to her room, a silent presence as usual, but as long as she didn’t show up, you were perfectly content with finishing your English homework with your friend and gossiping endlessly with her all the while. Onee-san didn’t make a sound, and Okaa-san didn’t bother you, and you were pleased that everything went so smoothly. Until, the moment your friend lingered at the door, Onee-san appeared. Your friend’s already pretty, big eyes grew even bigger, if that was possible. “Hana!” she said, expression surprised. “You didn’t tell me you had an older sister!” (And you can’t help but compare her eyes, framed by huge stick-on lashes and enhanced with make-up, to Onee-chan’s plain ones. The difference in beauty is astounding-your sister is as plain as day and your friend is the girl who has males swooning after her, and your heart thumps in guilt and glee that you have found better company.) You hastily tried to change the subject. “Aha, yeah, I do. She’s a very busy person, right?” You shot your sister a look, telling her silently to leave. "Ah, no, I want to say hi!" your friend said with a huge smile. She walked over to Onee-san, as you made frantic signals to Onee-san to go, but Onee-san’s eyes just slid blankly over to you for a second, before returning to stare at your approaching friend. "Hi, I’m Tokogawa Shizuka," your friend beamed, and stuck out her hand. "And you are?" What happened next made you loathe Onee-san for the next few moments. All Onee-san did was stare at the girl, then at her hand, before shaking her head, taking a step back. Her gaze dropped to the floor as she began to sway a little from side to side. Your friend’s wide eyes stared unabashedly at her. A small part of you wanted to snap her out of it, angrily tell her to leave, because she had no business-no right-staring at Onee-san the way she was. But the bigger part of you-the furious, embarrassed part-didn’t let you do so. What happened next was a blur, and you managed to place a stony smile on your face as you lifted you hand and waved to Shizuka’s disappearing form. And now, you are here, blind with anger that is pure and unadulterated. You spin around, vicious. “How could you?” you snarl at Onee-san, who looks up and finally looks at you. "Hana!" Okaa-san cries, entering the hall, her face awash with alarm. You look at your mother, her face lined and worn from the efforts of working and being a single mother, and then you look at your sister, her slightly disheveled appearance, the mute face and blank eyes. The anger in your stomach churns faster and you want to throw up. "I hate this! Onee-san always embarrasses me!" you cry out suddenly, frustrated with your family, with Onee-san, with your friend, with everything. "Hana!" your mother shouts, but you pay her no heed. Onee-san simply stares at you, quiet still, but brown eyes wider than before.

"Onee-san is a freak!" you yell, hands now balled into fists. Bile begins to rise in your throat, but you charge through anyway, unmindful of the warnings ringing in your head, both physical and emotional, that follow suit. "Hana, stop it this instant!" But you keep letting the rage build inside of you, cheeks flushed and body trembling. You notice Onee-san hunch her shoulders a little bit more, closing into herself, but you are too wrathful to acknowledge it. Years of pent-up emotions finally get the better of you. “I don’t want a freak Onee-san!” you roar, drowning out your mother’s shouts and Onee-san’s wordless pleas. ”I hate Onee-san!" comes the final scream from your traitor mouth, the bile rushing back down where it belongs. SLAP. "Enough, Hana," Okaa-san hisses, voice dangerously low. Your cheek begins to turn redder and starts to sting, and you raise your now-tear-filled eyes in defiance, before turning on your heel and running, running, running, faster than your feet can carry you. Okaa-san calls out your name, sounding weary, and you catch a glimpse of Onee-san’s bottomless, aching eyes before you leave. . Eventually, the pain in your cheek subsides, but the pain in your heart does not. Guilt overwhelms you as you skip dinner and lay unmoving in your bed, tears streaming down your face. You don’t know when you fall asleep, but when you wake up, it is late in the morning, and there is a blanket covering you. Onee-san’s blanket. Slowly, you venture downstairs. Okaa-san does not look at you, but she says, “I’m letting you skip school just this once, for today.” Then she goes back to cutting the onions for today’s breakfast-omelettes-and as you drag yourself back upstairs you cannot tell if it is the onions or last night that is making her cry. Onee-san, you remember suddenly, and burst into her room, calling out her name… …only to find it different. The bed is still made, the room is impeccably tidy, and the curtains that are always drawn are now letting sunlight into the room. And Onee-san is gone. You walk to her desk, looking strangely abandoned of all of Onee-san’s skewered drawings (which are now neatly in a pile somewhere). All you find is a flower on her desk, and beneath it, a sheet of paper. The paper has a generic purple flower on it-your favorite color-a simple five-petal drawing in color pen. It is addressed to you. You pick up the flower and twirl it around gently with your fingers, examining it’s pristine beauty. A purple hyacinth. A memory, sweet and untarnished by your negative feelings, begins to play in your mind. Back when you were much, much younger, and when Onee-san still talked, you would always look forward to spending time with her after school. There she would stand-by the gate, and smile a little as you came running towards her, clasping her hand that seemed so beautiful and grown-up. You would walk to the garden with her, where she would sit and pull you into her lap, and together you would flip through the pages of her precious big book, an encyclopedia about flowers and their symbolism. “Look, Hana,” she would say softly, one long slender finger pointing to the picture. “An orange blossom for innocence, a sakura for gentleness and kindness.” Most of the time you wouldn’t pay much attention to what she was saying, instead preferring to stare up at her gentle eyes in wonder and think about how pretty Onee-san was. You blink back to the present, and stare at the flower in your hand. A purple hyacinth. I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Clutching the flower close to your heart, you begin to weep. . Onee-san comes back from class later than usual, but you are waiting for her by the gate. You smile a huge smile as you run towards her, clasping her hand that seemed so small and worn now. You lead her to the garden, taking note of her puzzled expression, and stand with her near Okaa-san’s prized sakura tree. She looks down at you in silent question, until you throw your arms around her and start to cry. “I’m sorry, Onee-san, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you wail. And slowly, Onee-san’s gentle arms encircle you as she rocks a little on the spot, humming a lullaby she used to sing to make you sleep. Onee-san says a few words that you will never forget, that you will never take for granted, that you feel would be enough even if she never opened her mouth again. "It’s okay, Imouto," she breathes in a hoarse, cracked voice that has been long unused, but is still sweet. "I love you. I forgive you." . Okaa-san smiles at the two of you as you enter. “Yakisoba for dinner,” she informs the two of you. “Aya-chan, how was therapy today?” Onee-san takes a bite of noodles and nods her head with a small smile. “I planned a canvas today,” she whispers, and you can tell that Okaa-san is ecstatic because she piles extra yakisoba onto Onee-san’s plate. "Oh really?" your mother smiles, enraptured. Onee-san nods again. "It’s Imouto," she says shyly, big, beautiful brown eyes peering at you from under long lashes. Onee-san has always been beautiful. You had forgotten that until now. "Itadakimasu," Aya-nee whispers softly, initiating the meal. At that moment, it is like you are free from negativity as your heart soars. Maybe everything that happened-Onee-san’s trauma-you can finally let go of, the disease of guilt and shame and longing for normalcy. The medicine is there right in front of you, in the form of Onee-san and the promise of encyclopedia days and flower symbolism and Onee-san’s beautiful face and gentle hand guiding you home.

[aruushinoru]

Hello~

My name is Kari, seventeen years old. I am a dreamer, writer and artist, currently running everxlasting.

At first, I'd created a private blog to post all my writing, but my ideas are so vast in number that I've taken a cue (again, haha) from my dear friend Nad...and created this public blog to pen down my numerous ideas.

You'll mostly see pieces of original writing floating around here as well as multiple writing projects/ideas swimming around in my head. Please do not copy them; if you do, be warned: I have a knack for hunting down people who plagiarize. Due to fears of plagiarism, I will keep most of my large projects tucked away safely in my private blog, earn my trust and you'll be privy to read them. This blog will mostly be a dump of excerpts, character profiles, snippets of conversations, analysis, and the like. Also, please do not reblog what I post here.

Alucinor in Latin means to wander in mind, dream - which is exactly what this blog is dedicated to. "Aruushinoru" is my spin on the Japanese pronunciation of the word, and is testament to the huge influence Japan has had on my writing. I hope you enjoy wandering through the clutter of my mind!

Any questions? Ask away!

(Sidebar art by me)