#weavesouls

[ruinedcrown]

@weavesouls | 𝐈𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠…

The Peoples of Camavor rejoice! A young King newly thrust upon the ancient throne, who possessed neither the inclination nor the aptitude for rulership, suddenly found himself crowned. Far too young to reign. An ordinary young man, with modest ability, and little imagination. Foolish and brash and inexperienced. And yet in the Sanctum of Judgement, the Argent Crown had chosen him still, that which burden and weight had now been placed upon his brow.

With an expression akin to that of a condemned prisoner about to face his execution, Viego waved to his subjects as he is paraded and presented. A stiff smile upon his handsome lips. The people would celebrate now. But how long will it take for them to learn he is but an imposter to his father's reign?

With a sigh, he he keeps his grip upon his horse's reins, wondering when this procession of pomp and circumstance would end. It was then however, that a face in the crowd had caught his eye...

" Who is that? " breathless, the prince— no, the King would ask one of his entourage riders. It was as if he had been caught in a spell. Perhaps it had been cupid's bow that would seal the fate and folly of a great nation...

[sxlemnity]

(snipped from here! - @weavesouls)

It was easy to tell when someone was in trouble. Especially when they looked so very lost. When the unfamiliar woman reaches out to her, Elaine smiles warmly and takes her hand to try and help her up.

"Are you alright, miss?" There was genuine concern in that soft voice, and the woman finds herself looking over the stranger for any wounds. "My name is Elaine. What can I do to help you?"

[hook-and-chains]

You need a change of fashion, DESPERATELY. -weavesouls.

"Oh but I have, Queen of Ruin."

The ghostly facade coalesces into his new form as the fire reveals flesh above the skeletal visage. His grin tightens into a rictus still getting used to the feeling of it after a millennium without it.

"It's so much more freeing this way I think. To go back to the root of everything that Erlok Grael was. To think I missed this. Though I guess it is fitting to be king now that your beloved has disappeared. Aren't you glad I kept a piece of you within my lantern for so long?"

@weavesouls

[yunalai]

☼

Random headcanon meme!

☼ : Does your muse like daytime or nighttime more?

— Qiyana prefers the nighttime, as it is a little quieter. Not that she ever knows silence. She can hear the melody of the howl in the nocturne air, the fiery drums of smoke from hearths, the untouched flow of the river's song as boats stop tearing through its surface. It is easier to handle than the day. Less people grating her ears with the sound of their sweat and the dirt under their nails and oxygen wasted to utter useless words.

Sometimes, she reaches toward the stars and wonders if they sing, too.

[paramythas]

@weavesouls​ asked: ❝ a miracle. you are a miracle. ❞  ( for gwen! :) )

      The world, she’s learned, is full of mysteries.       It’s one of those things one always hears, of course- about how there are always things happening that the bounds of conventional knowledge cannot explain. Gwen herself is one such thing, a memento of happiness given life through the spirit of the one who made her; a being not quite human, but also far more than. And now she looks upon the face of the one who gave her this life, at once familiar and strange, and cannot find the words just yet.       Her hands find Isolde’s, marveling at them- the hands that had made her, that had held her, seem so much smaller now. Her own frame is, she supposes, rather large- tall, mostly, almost enough to be of a height with the woman herself. And it is strange- so very strange, because to her misty memory, Isolde had always been a figure large and encompassing. Beloved all the more for how it made her feel as if her love was all around Gwen, constantly.       Gently, she squeezes the hands she holds, shaking out of her stupor, at last casting around for the words to respond. “If I am a miracle,” she says, struggling not to lose sight of her Maker through the tears clouding her vision suddenly, stubbornly, “it is only because you saw fit to love me enough to make me one. Come,” she continues, taking Isolde’s hands, and smiling not in spite of the tears, but because of them- because Isolde can see now, how much she’s given her. “I have so many things to tell you! Oh, the places I have been...!”       She cannot wait to tell her everything.