café et étoiles

writer

[freestsoulintheverse]

Fear no man.

There is no person who is more than you.

We are all flesh and bone.

We are all mortal men with souls.

Mortal men can be killed like any other creature.

Every man has a strength.

& every man has a weakness.

Never fear Death; for all Men Must Die.

Embrace it.

Embrace life.

If we are to die, make it a glorious death.

One you would be proud of.

Valar Morghulis

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Valar Dohaeris

[etoilesetcafe]

Your ribs wrap around your heart and lungs, a cage to protect things that are delicate.

your heart pumps, wanting to break free from the cage made of white bones. if it breaks free, you die and the heart ceases its pumping.

is this why all delicate things are trapped?

[etoilesetcafe]

source

Forgotten and buried, a long lost fear that once haunted every men who step foot into the bowel of the forest. Her kind died out without the supple flesh of human to feed their appetite, without the scent of terror that they feed on. Rumors and stories ring the bowel of the forest, tales of men eating monsters, reincarnation of nightmares. Now, the bowel is quiet with the slumber of creatures too old to wake up, quiet with the slow prowl of decrepit hunters.

She is the one of the last of her kind, a monster of another age. An age when men worshipped them as Gods before the new God lure them away with promises instead of awe and fear. Moth like wings grow from the gnarled bones of her back, her flesh and muscle fallen with time. Twisted branch like horns on a head shark with angles, covered by brittle and leathery skin. Large eyes dark as ink with no whites makes her face startling insect like, any trace of light sucked away by the wear of time. She crouches on a thick branch, unmoving, staring at the trees of the forest.

Her sisters and brothers have been gone for eons, leaving her alone on her branch. She does not feel hunger anymore, a sharp pang that have grown as familiar as her own claws and skin. She does not feel the lust for the thrill of a hunt, nor lust for the terror of lesser creatures in her presence. There is simply no one left to witness her pursuits, no one to give her purpose. The only sense of want left in her is the yearning for another world, where those who once ruled beside her went to. Left behind, surviving is a cruel joke placed upon her. For a young creature that once strived to be greater and better, to rule over others, now she doesn't have to work for it anymore. She is the only one left. Tricked by nature, even the work of death eludes her. So, she crouches on her branch, waiting.

If you venture by accident into the bowel of the forest and look up the trees, you might see a monster staring back at you with black voids on its sharp and twisted face. You might scream, run in terror, or simply frozen with shock and horror. What you don't know is that there is no need to fear, the monster is long gone. Crouching on that branch is just a shell that nature refuse to let go off.

-Orla

(this is an original piece that I wrote)