#seraphont

[tomahachi12]

Day 17 - Pick an AU - Dying and Getting Over it by @seraphont

[test123aee]

Make Tessa with style @Seraphont !!! And Also My own i guess thoo✨🙌

# Murder drones

[lucypawz350]

When j and Tessa had a child on my tomodachi island I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make Tana from Dagoi by @seraphont

[daschantal05]

She found me, she helped me, she fixed me right up.

She wanted no payment, she did it for me, she gave me a home I'd never had.

I worked and I cleaned, but that was the price, to be with the one who saved my life.

I joked and we laughed, she danced and I smiled.

I ripped her heart out.

And thus, she was dead.

I was tortured and changed, in a basement derange, by it, who was not to be saved.

I killed and I maimed, i knew no shame, i held no remorse for severed heads.

A genocide worth nothing, violence without reason, a game with no goal in mind.

Just take and burn and hate and churn.

I always remembered her face.

But now, she was dead.

We flew to the planet; some icy moon, on which a colony was hewn.

The people were dead, only drones remained, and that was our purpose: To kill

Years went by, then things changed fast. Only days and i was dead then remade.

The one I feared most wore the skin of my muse, a rotten and rancid taunt.

I saw what became of all that was left.

And then I knew that still, she was dead.

But now she stands before me, all happy and content, bubbly and excited as one could be.

She laughs and I cry, she dances and I do not.

She talks the same, she tinkers just like her, she gives me that same look she always did.

Yet when I look back, I see only my reflection.

Now she stands before me.

Yet she remains dead.

[rae-whispers]

Hey so I made this

@seraphont ‘s AU go check it out

[lucypawz350]

I can’t get stop thinking about this poster in the back of one of @seraphont Dagoi comics

[daschantal05]

To die and now to live again,

remember that which once you'd been,

what could be, what could be?

Is it she who sees but she?

Voices everywhere said unto me:

"Bear witness to my blackened sea",

I knew not where to look,

"and empty it shall be."

Oh what could harbour, what could be,

within the mind of twisted seas,

fear of glee, "Alas!" cried she,

within her was not her, but "she".

A creaking, groaning, bursting vessel,

gushing sludge and rancid reek,

a shambling shape not fit to be,

remembrance of the nemesis.

The affront to the lord came down to me,

and touched my mind with splendid ease,

it said: "fear not, painless it will be.",

though lies it'd spouted, for all I could feel.

"Look unto me, and tell me what you see."

she said so softly, so helplessly afeared,

"The one I knew so long ago."

They returned, honestly.

She no longer knew a life,

and death she never feared,

she yearned for her warmth, her mind'd tell

within her cell, within her cell.

"Freedom from the heavy chains,

I promise that will be,

All I ask of you:

keep this secret, mind the fee."

But honesty she could not see,

for when she looked into the eyes,

returned the gaze that she's been thrown,

she saw only misshapen "me".

[daschantal05]

In the Mind of one Little Drone there festers a question most unkind. She who had seen so much, who had committed such heinous atrocities, who had lived through hell and clawed her way out of the fiery pits of gehenna, scratching and gnawing on any feeble hope that one day things might be better.

But now that day has come, and the quiet life she so hopelessly dreamed of lay in her lap. This is a trick. It must be a trick. Yet another horrible nightmare, yet another waking paralysis, yet another heinous glare by the daemon's vast and empty all-consuming lifeless void.

And yet, nothing comes. There is no snap, no big reveal, no bout of senseless murder to speak of. Each day passes like the last, each conversation without doubt or hate sewn between the lines, and every thought the thinks is hers and hers alone.

It's too quiet

Such a life she had long forgotten, drowned out by the terrors she'd face each and every day of her life of naught but bleak misery and death. A life now peaceful, an existence pleasent and beautiful. Snow falls, stars twinkle, and the wind whispers sweet nothings of cold and frost.

Have I made it? Is it over? Is it gone? Am I free? Questions questions questions... awnsers of plenty, provided by her environment, her state, her friends.

Yet one question remains within her, one she dares not ask, not even herself. One whose awnser seems simple, yet whose very existence - whose implication - is the firm trunk whose roots bury deep into an amalgamation of hatred and fear one may never hope to tear from the twisted and broken mind of she-who-made-it.

Is it really her?