Apr 13
Dusk comes swiftly as the winds start to pick up. Follow the darkness for dawn will rise again.
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Dusk comes swiftly as the winds start to pick up. Follow the darkness for dawn will rise again.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Pull tightly on the rough, barked branches even though they scrape your palms. Beholden is the one who climbs through the Rowen Trees that line the edge of your property. Your distant house looks small compared to the tall, ever reaching trees. Smell earth turned soil as your feet sink into the damp, swollen earth. Decay has taken the lead here, pulling all back towards the earth. Wisps of fog float in stripping you of your warmth and replacing it with bone chilling cold. What parts of you will you leave behind, what parts belong back to the earth?
Decay is not for the parts meant to bloom, clean your wounds and let the flesh grow back in full. The person you are today will greet you tomorrow, it is the healing that will allow you to see the sun within the trees. Walk towards and let the bright warmth overcome your body and warm your bones. The field of becoming.
Would you weave throught the winds of the trepid plains? Or fall in to the swirl handed bushes that weave alongside the meadow? Choose wisely for the being from the North rises fortnightly.
When you arrived I offered tea and a chair woven with moss and lichen from the East. When the rain stormed through the yard I sat knowingly on the porch and invited you to bring your chair. When the windows shook from the steps of the beings, walking in the pitch black void-coated darkness of the new moon. I offered you a space in my bed.
Life wove the pieces and the land fed the lore. The house slowly alivened, wood being fed to flames in the growing hearth. I met you in darkness and live with you in the light.
The setting sun no longer beckons to a a scattered, weighted heart. The eve of knowing has passed, the night of being has just begun.
It takes the heat of the Cresent void for you to finally climb towards the light. Star lit night is still brighter then the all encompassing void. The crows caw loudly above lulling your panicked heart. You can rest here and return here, but it is now time to leave here. Hold the memories close in your heart and call your name into the inky dark as thanks. Great love to begin again and you will now find your land will welcome you home again.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The breeze is gentle yet forgetful tonight. Whispers of dreams long forgotten, brief wisps of thought. The echos of silence spread through the forest an inky blanket of suppression. Heed the warning of denial for fallen, begotten and beholden are very different things to the house at the edge of the woods. The moon is high and night is nigh in this decayed wilderness.
Once thoughts, but quickly forgotten a forlorn, shifting madness of the heart. The creatures stir, void weilding beasts hiding within the sparkle of sunlight. Casted lovingly onto the forest floor. The vigilance is over, silent ones who hold reign led to sonder.
Awaken along the railroads a Crossway of weighted steel and the achings of one's heart. Tilted rays rise higher in the sky as black crested ravens beckon to the west calling to the pines. You ache, you feel, you love but you do not lose. The threads do not tangle. A time led knowing has set in, a justice compared to a lilac setting sun.
Follow the knowing for it leads to the moss woven fields.Follow the glimmers and see star streaked sky's. Follow your heart and find your way back home.
Under the brush lives eyes of invisible flame. Following, witnessing, slipping into the nothingness between the cracks of the forested land. Within the stature of the forest is an eye consecrated with wet moss silk, a dressing of the invisible regards.