LMAAAOAOAOO
SELENE I'M SO SORRY FOR WHAT I'VE UNLEASHED UNTO THE WORLD
but also I'm gonna pin this to my fridge ty for this balding gift 👩🦲✨️
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LMAAAOAOAOO
SELENE I'M SO SORRY FOR WHAT I'VE UNLEASHED UNTO THE WORLD
but also I'm gonna pin this to my fridge ty for this balding gift 👩🦲✨️
robert its pissing me off
south carolina is gone
The Inner Sanctum is alight with the mid evening sun. An array of various colors slant down into the congregation halls, enlivening the empty room with an artistic vastness from the entry double doors all the way to the pulpit. The bishop's podium is erected tall, far above the uniform striation of pews, enticing onlookers to draw their gaze towards the gilded cage crowning such revered section.
Nestled behind such immense monument lived a medium altar. The visage of the Emperor chiseled into polished marble; pristine, untouched, venerable in its detailing. He wields his fabled sword in both fists with the blade pointed down towards the Earth, hilt hugged towards his middle. Downwards His head is bowed as if in prayer, face illuminated by a row of candles bordering before Him; a pale orange glow flickering over the alabaster cast.
At the far end of this display was a pair of golden gauntlets, clasped, fingers interwoven in silent plea. The Living Saints head is bowed forward, her skin pushed into the thumbs, with her brow strained in with worry. Fervent prayer spills from parted lips, hushed into the silence of her and the crackle of candlelight:
O' Throne, guide me towards thy light. Grant me stillness of thought; grant me clarity. Return to me modest understanding — return to me vulnerable heart. I humble myself before thee in reminder of who I am and who I ought to be. Instill in me strength, conviction, purpose. Grant me passage to victory.
And every such entreaty sung with sonorous praise; a hymnal hashed together between many into an earnest song from the heart.
St. Celestine kneels in total submission before all effigies which line not only the altar table but also the sanctum walls. She beseeches the saints for painless, quick death. She asks that all her efforts never exist in vain — that all she has done and will do inspire those that precede her in this endless battle for Humanity and its prosperity.
Nearing the end of her ritual, thin sandalwood incense is plucked from the small box within the altar drawer. The ends held over flame, wicking the edges until the coating flaked away when a sudden chill rolls up her spine.
It is a hollow feeling. An empty, blacken void. It is a rift best known to her as the sundering of reality parting between material and immaterial before the shriek of eternity shouts through the rip, with it every foul obscenity that itches to rend its way into the waking world. The Saintess remains still where she knelt, discerning fact from fiction ( should this prove to be a trick of her traumatized memory or a very real && lived moment to experience ). But, she was quickly finding this was not a warning to be ignored.
An existence unwanted, masked in porcelain serving only to veil the foul suggestion beneath. St. Celestine stood on her heels now, hand over corded hilt, guarded against her late night visitor.
" Leave, " she states only once with fairness, but still stern, " you have no reason to be here. "
The world could be shattering under foot and her with it, matters not, this creature knew better than to be within the holy grounds sacred to those like the Saintess. Not that any deal has been brokered between them on boundaries, nor as St. Celestine actually bothered to curate rapport with this thing ( a man, they had said — lamentable beast, she would argue ). Whatever it may be, she did not want him here and she was of no mood to speak with him either.
Whatever he had wanted, it would not be answered by her — for that she is certain.
Closed — @emwrcte
hilbert vc: hey man look!! a lil thing just for you!! you can trust it I promise!!
"Oh, why-- Someone appears to have misplaced their Pokeball! Oh, a MASTER ball you say? Well, we can't just leave that lying around, now can we--?"
he crawls right into the box
❝ i've given it some thought, ❞ some nonsensical argument of ideologies held within' their ever churning mind, irrational sentiment after irrational sentiment—— always a newfound issue to bring to attention, to mull over &͟. ponder. if the abrupt cadence of their voice startles hilbert, well, they are sorely oblivious to it: index finger &͟. thumb brought up to chin in sincere contemplation, brows knitted &͟. nose scrunched where they sit 'side him. the world is quiet, nearly silent &͟. if he'd been sleeping he's surely awake now. ❝ if i will be honest, i think pokemon centers do more harm than they do good. ❞ [ @emwrcte ] —— ( hilbert. ) ♡ !
There is nothing that goes against complimenting your battle-brother and raising morale on the battlefield in the Codex Astartes, Reclusiarch, sir. With all due respect, of course.
X with @emwrcte
we were once sisters, her chest aches, where did that go so wrong?
but that ache is quick to subside as that of ‘Blind Justice’ continues on, words spoken with a certain edge of malice that often laces itself into Morganas own tone when prompted upon her dear kin. it happens, from time to time, that she misses the thought of what such a bond could have been if not snuffed away by the teachings brought upon them, alas, differently.
❝ a memory of who you once were. ❞ before their Aspect mother dug her claws too deep. her own voice does not waiver, it is strong and direct, yet something behind her words cries with that loss. it does not matter. it hasnt for a very long time, this she knew. where Kayle was right, is that Morgana couldnt care for her now. she was the Perfected Image of who was created. Morgana was not.
her chin rises in slight, once similar blue eyes now marred by her decisions a glistering shade different, mirroring that of which is cast from Kayle alike. ❝ even if on my finality, i will see that you learn the truth. ❞ her hand clutches into a fist at her side, an itch to bring forth her own judgement upon the other right then and there. but why can i not?
because some part of Morgana did still care.
bound wings flutter along her back, the only other sound present beyond their spoken words as the bare of feet flex along the healthy world beneath her. its a short moment, quiet between her words, before attention is diverted off to the side and that once confident voice is different.
it is softer.
❝ have you ever thought that what Mother had shown us, taught us, could be wrong, Kayle? ❞
@emwrcte
HARVEST HAD COME TO AN END , and her wheat had been cut from the land . normally , she would have still been trapped within that village for they kept the wheat . however , her golden crop had been sold so that money could be made to help repair the stables from a previous fire that had caught from a broken oil lamp .
she knew not of where she was . the bustles were set in the corner of a dark room . she had emerged from the grain and sniffed the air . she scented the sea . . . she followed it , moving through a door quietly to emerge under the night sky . wind whipped at light brown hair . hands moved to hold her tresses in place as the gust died down only to be met with the spray of salt water .
a step was taken and she nearly lost her balance as the ground beneath her shifted . she stumbled to the railing and peered out of the vast darkness . where was she ? was she . . . on a ship ?