The first thing I see is white. It is blindingly pure and I have to raise a hand to shield my eyes. When the light fades, I blink 8 times, trying to grasp my surroundings.
The room I stand in is warmed por the flames dancing in the fireplace. A burgundy sofá sits on the flowered Persian rug, accompanied por two arm chairs and a glass coffee table.
The pregunta "Where am I?" leaves my mind in that glance. It is replaced by "Why?" and más urgently "How?". I walk cautiously adelante, hacia adelante and run a hand over a bookshelf crowded with thick encyclopedias and vibrant fairytales.
This place.
This house were I lived as a young child, where my father taught me to ride a 2-wheeler in the driveway and my mother filled with the scent of baking chocolate with an horno full of brownies.
This house.
This inicial had burned, been consumed por angry red and naranja and yellow, greedily reducing little más than mournful grey crumbs. I saw the feasting with my own eyes, watched it again and again in haunting nightmares.
And suddenly, a woman enters the room. She is me, twenty years from now. Though her hair is straighter, shorter than the waves that cascade down my back. Her eyes are a clearer, bluer sky than my storm-clouded greys. And something else. Something about the way she holds herself says she has seen too much, but her warm smile suggests she has learned to forgive and accept unchangeable memories.
"Mom?" my voice cracks as I speak a word beyond my vocabulary, stolen from me por those hungry devourers from Hell.
"Aryess." The voice, the way she speak my name, so familiar, so living, ringing every note of the measure, sends a shock through my body and freezes me where I stand. It's her. It's impossible. It makes sense to me in only one form.
"Am I dead?"
The room I stand in is warmed por the flames dancing in the fireplace. A burgundy sofá sits on the flowered Persian rug, accompanied por two arm chairs and a glass coffee table.
The pregunta "Where am I?" leaves my mind in that glance. It is replaced by "Why?" and más urgently "How?". I walk cautiously adelante, hacia adelante and run a hand over a bookshelf crowded with thick encyclopedias and vibrant fairytales.
This place.
This house were I lived as a young child, where my father taught me to ride a 2-wheeler in the driveway and my mother filled with the scent of baking chocolate with an horno full of brownies.
This house.
This inicial had burned, been consumed por angry red and naranja and yellow, greedily reducing little más than mournful grey crumbs. I saw the feasting with my own eyes, watched it again and again in haunting nightmares.
And suddenly, a woman enters the room. She is me, twenty years from now. Though her hair is straighter, shorter than the waves that cascade down my back. Her eyes are a clearer, bluer sky than my storm-clouded greys. And something else. Something about the way she holds herself says she has seen too much, but her warm smile suggests she has learned to forgive and accept unchangeable memories.
"Mom?" my voice cracks as I speak a word beyond my vocabulary, stolen from me por those hungry devourers from Hell.
"Aryess." The voice, the way she speak my name, so familiar, so living, ringing every note of the measure, sends a shock through my body and freezes me where I stand. It's her. It's impossible. It makes sense to me in only one form.
"Am I dead?"
Alias: unknown.
Age: 14 (would be 18 now)
Appearance: long blonde hair and brown eyes, hair usually worn in braid o up (ponytail, bun)
Personality: she was stubborn and always thought she could do things on her own. she was Valiente on the outside but was scared but never let anyone see it. She was never the one to smile so easily and be at ease. And she was never someone who lost without a fight.
Powers/Abilities: she doesn't have any powers but combat and sword skills.
Weapons: a single sword.
Past: died in a break out gone wrong.
Others: she wasn't someone to let people into her life. But she cared if someone were sad o upset.
This is a small announcement, I only post this articulo beceas the new fanpop system is so broken Thad I can't even poste any muro posts o imágenes anymore. so to the announcement.
I knowe I have not been on here muce lately but I wil be o más often.
and il stat whit a series of story's about Tyrion Blackwell ( the undeath king) both in his time and the modern ages, beceas I have inspiration to write about medieval stuff.
So im gald to be bak.
Godmor, a.k.a. Twan a.k.a gunfire ( and al my other oc's)
I knowe I have not been on here muce lately but I wil be o más often.
and il stat whit a series of story's about Tyrion Blackwell ( the undeath king) both in his time and the modern ages, beceas I have inspiration to write about medieval stuff.
So im gald to be bak.
Godmor, a.k.a. Twan a.k.a gunfire ( and al my other oc's)