doing this late bc my keyboard isn't spamming 6 anymore :D
"I suppose," she replies regardless, if only to be respectful to the person who had spared her their attention, "I suppose it has a beauty of its own."
It is a lie.
She does not know if the painting can be called hideous; however, its incomprehensibility is a fact. It is obvious, just by looking at it, that it had been made without prior consideration. Any, and all, meaning it would be given would be an afterthought. She cannot call such a thing a job well done, but she is not an expert. Her opinion could very well be the chattering of a fool.
—Story 6: Smile, Short Story Collection
The sadness of insignificance. The sadness of abandonment. The sadness of despair—honestly, I am no different. This city is surrounded by a dome—not a literal one. The people here love metaphor. I suppose it's a weirdness we share.
We are all decaying. We are all spiralling. While Paris is called the city of lights, we are the city of despair. You can even say that the environment pulls people into a state of deep, suffocating sorrow. That, however, is a lie.
—Story 3: The City of Sorrows, Short Story Collection
Once more, Noé couldn't find the comment in any way encouraging. The old man was still oddly energetic for the age he must have been, considering the wrinkles. It was, of course, good if the man was still youthful enough for such travels, but Noé was allowed to point out oddities. Namely the frigidly pale hue of the man's sagging skin, pulled taut at the oddest of places, and those burning red eyes staring from within sunken sockets.
Noé hadn't known humans could have such coloured eyes.
—Story 5: The Woodland of Dragons, SSC
that's pretty much what i'm working on right now since the rest is lorebuilding and roleplay snippets <3
no pressure: @iris895 @autumnrain777 @pookiepenguin @that1murderdronesfan