#deityproject

@gallaxias‘s  @deityproject - Animals

@deityproject  - viii. influence | la muerte

cold | @deityproject

november 22, 1945

dearest friend,

Ruai is always just kind of... less during winter. she often spaces out for hours at  a time. she used to love cold weather, but for the last hundred years or so it only brings out the worst in her. one way that she deals with it is writing everything down in the form of a letter to no body and then burning or otherwise disposing of it so the letter is never read.

“my, it’s been a while, hasn't it? I suppose that’s a good thing.

I’m in a small hamlet called Blackburn and it’s snowing. not the first snow of the season, and definitely not the last, but something about tonight is... different. it reminds me of her.

anyways, it’s snowing, and it looks exactly like that night, you know the one i’m talking about. everything was still and calm and so so silent. 

‘Reality-warping horror’?” Her mouth beneath the mask curled up into a slow smile, and to those watching as she raised her wine glass, her hand seemed to glitch and flicker like static. “Nothing already exists, isn’t that scary enough?”

resya | introduction --- for @deityproject

Resya existed before the modern era, yes, but it is here that she thrives amidst static and white noise and flickering streetlights. It is here that she appears as a wisp of a shadow, goddess of static and bone, goddess of backwards thoughts and eyes in dark corners. She likes contradictions and dead end alleys and doors that lead nowhere.

She swung down from the lowest branch of the tree, eyes glowing molten behind her mask. “I’d like to think that those who never have nightmares are cowards.”

“And why’s that?”

“They face nothing but stillness and forgettable silence. It’s boring.”

She exists, but doesn’t exist-- a Schrödinger’s Goddess, if you will. Her ‘world’ is more of a concept, a dream-state of static and glitched out creatures and I can assure you the door you walked in through will not lead you back to the same place. When she bleeds into the dreams of humans she brings this conceptual labyrinth of doorways and dark forests with her, and then imbues it with the fears and doubts of mortals. It is less to frighten and more to warn, weaving premonitions and truths into the haunting whirls of terror she throws at the mortals.

Her form shifted and wavered as she looked down over the edge of the bridge, into the murky water below. To anyone else she was as human as they came, a tall woman with a large dog and an intimidating motorcycle. They rarely saw those moments where her form was incomplete, not entirely there. Like she was nothing but a holographic reflection of herself. I wondered, briefly, if it was because she was trapped.

I still wonder.

She was, quite literally, raised by wolves, and keeps with herself the immortal wolf Conn, her most faithful companion. Best described as ‘thick as thieves’, the bond Resya shares with Conn is something too strong to ever be broken.

Conn looked up at me with a low growl, and I saw my reflection in his many kaleidoscope eyes, felt exactly how he was going to murder me before he even began to move. I as very convinced that that was to be the end, but then the woman with the strange mask put out a hand, grinning at me.

“I think we’ve made ourselves a friend, Conn. A mortal... friend.”

What if you were told that lizards, dreams, and drugs were all the same thing?

Think about it, you’ll find it. And when you do, you’ll find her too. The God of Dreams in this American pantheon.

She’s seen the best minds of generations, and in her innocent youth, she once destroyed them carelessly. Drowning them in madness, starving them to a naked hysteria. They were her prophets and devotees. She still wishes she knew then what she knows now, but who doesn’t?

You see, she chose lizards to whisper to people those perfectly crafted, shimmering things. Those clouds she spun from almost stardust and void, the lizards are her children and happily oblige themselves to share her gifts with humanity.

And as for the drugs? Well, let's just say that there is always someone overdosing on dreams. She doesn’t control the output, especially after him, but she can regulate the quality of certain ones and the quantity. 99 cents for a simple, one-way pipe dream. Your heart and eyes for a moon to be shot in the face. It’s just her way of trying to help make the world a better place. The poppies aren’t only her’s though. You think she could make those terrible reds all on her own? And what of the deaths, the inevitable drowsy twilight of anyone dreaming too hard too fast? Death and dreams go hand in hand. Like roses and love-at-first-sight.

She drops by with him occasionally, but she is anywhere there is fear, pain, melancholy. She provides the cushions for those who recoil from reality. She is the gentle hands that show you the way through life. She is always there for you, through sickness and in health. Good times and bad.

Another god for @deityproject . The god of dreams, drugs, and lizards. I hope you guys don’t mind, I have one more main god I want to make before I’m done, so stay tuned, and here’s a hint.

@gallaxias‘s  @deityproject - Personality