The regular sound of the broom sweeping across the front step was calming, brushing awy the layer of nerves that built up under her skin. She was the picture of domesticity; the soft pink of her dress swayed with her movements, and hte long yellow of her hair was tied back from her calm face. Aside form the ocassional crash and mutter in the ( Read more... )

A small exercise in the perspective of gold dragon after the end of Slayers Try.
( The Fire Clan is dead. Long live thier terrible legacy. )

The snow drifts piled higher and higher. First they just gathered around her ankels, then the numbness spread to her hips. Eventually, each breath was a distant, unparticipated in sensation as the cold spread higher. Then it swallowed her, one small snowflake at a time ( Read more... )

The sands were gold. It was a shade of colour that could not be explained in all the poems or images of the world. The closet comaprison was gold turned into dusted sugar, then sculpted by the wind's hands into a flowing landscape that never remained the same day to day. It was by no means safe--nothing truly beautiful was ever safe. The very ( Read more... )

/Edit : Tried to fix everything deltashade pointed out with some typos.
( The Legacy of Malkior: Part One )

( fENCING )

This is the beginning of an idea I wrote several weeks ago late at night. Any thoughts an opinions are very much appreciated; feel free to pick it apart.

( Other's search the world for the chance to arrest their growth, to stop, to remain forever as they were forever and ever for power of some fear of mortality. Long ago, he'd forgotten why he was there, or why he'd stopped changing... )

( Ringernails tapped a stacatto against the wood. The long dead innards of an oak rumbled... )

JANE: Prologue 1(tentative)
(please edit and crit)

( Sometimes during Halloween... )

a poem that hit me in the middle of the hallway in school after reading e.e. cummings and t.s.eliot.
and my art project face of clay.

CLAY EYES
staring
into some
imaginary distance
created by
a thought and a dream
even though
the are a
FACSIMILE
of existence
I can
still
feel   their   stare.