#wisexlotus

Send my muse one of the following texts to see how they react

Change. It was written so well, filled with this idea of something better something nicer. She can see it in the young woman’s eyes as it flickered back to her. Hopeful, how does one feel such a thing? The deity couldn’t for the dead are restless on their tombs, loud and bothersome as they foretell of possible futures. She couldn’t hope for she already knew and all she could do is nod her head. Features impassive as she looked away not wanting to be the bearer of such things to such an innocent soul. She does not want to taint anymore.

❝ Yes, love. I hope so too. ❞

          She would have expected an answer. Any kind of answer at this point or a reaction at the very least, but a moment went by and then two. At the third, the petite dared looking at the other. There were words only a few would have told her. Perhaps those were the ones she needed to hear after so long, but the result remained the same.

          Weightless, they sounded. Like empty shells or an echo returned to her. Just like herself at the moment, searching for something she couldn’t explain upon the lady’s features she could barely see.

                               ⊕ origin ! @wisexlotus​ !  [ status: accepting ]

           OBSCURE FEELINGS DRABBLE PROMPT MEME !

opia / the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.

IT SETTLED RIGHT INTO HIS STOMACH. That feeling of benign regret that he willed away forcefully, there was no time for such things. Each tree before him would sing its own song, luring him deeper into the forest no matter the times he came. Slowly, he would get lost and remain a beast longer, aching for that final moment of release where these secrets could end. That.. that would only mean death. 

          “Kit! I thought you were here to hunt, aren’t you turning?”

AND, OH, HOW COULD SHE KNOW? She who was made of wilted flowers and evening skies? Still, she reigned in a life that would return come spring, at least, that’s what flowers did. The smiles she put on for him hadn’t gone unnoticed, but he learned how to keep things in the shadows and when you were darkness, there’s nothing else to distract you from the light. Kit tore his gaze from the trunks he’d soon be sprinting through, they created a sort of mirage with the volume of vegetation, though when he looked at her, she was as clear as the reality they both faced. Tragic beauty.

SHE HOVERED AT HIS SIDE IN SILENCE, waiting for him to fireback with some sort of witty comeback no doubt, but today was different. Perhaps, she hadn’t noticed his lack of eye contact, perhaps she was kind enough to leave him to his demons, those that returned with friends every now and then. As he stepped toward her, the male made contact with the hand at her side, just barely touching but it was there, and he knew that she felt it. For the moment, he wouldn’t ask of how deep her abilities went, since that was not why he thought of her. He lifted his head high and his fingers started to work on undoing the dress shirt, as slow as ever, and when he finally did speak, no words could be less empty.

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

the fortune teller hadn’t any reason to pity herself or envy others. for as her purpose, she bore the eyes that could get a glimpse of the future. the voice that spreads through dreams and hallucinations. the finger pointing to the right and wrong path. but sure enough, there were a lot of things she was foreign to. like adversity, for one. the most struggle she’d experience was the death of her foster parent and even that she was quick to move on from what with a wherewithal to compensate for the loss. there was no denying the capitalistic half of her. true friendships. another on the long list. she wonders if she could have it now, at least if it was an option as she found herself admiring the goddess.

kozue’s being was perchance a bit recherche for the average human mind. so she hoped for at least yue to understand her true feelings. instead she lands on her cold surface. the ‘i wouldn’t know,’ and the ‘you’re your own person’ remarks that rendered her speechless. it wasn’t harsh if met by her eyes, glimmering despite her less than gentle words. beneath the smile, obscured was a wave of fire that hurled at kozue’s blackened heart.

there were no either or’s in her case.

envy. meeting yue concocted a preposterous sense of jealousy. they had a fair amount of similarities which makes for good common ground. a foundation even before a bond had been established, but in that same thought became the root for comparison. the goddess. that was what she was and the first reason to the hideous vice. her existence in itself.

pity. it was pathetic because she’d thought of herself superior to many. she carried herself wherever in great esteem and people kissed at her feet, glorifying her feats, and singing a song in her name like it was the gospel. now she was the one at her feet, begging for mercy. she shouldn’t have to. she shouldn’t be. but she’ll remember this moment of shame for as long as her conscience bothers her.

foreignness. and foreign turns its meaning upside down within her life. it wasn’t new. she was an outsider everywhere she went. ‘gaijin,’ that’s what they’d call her during her younger years. native chinese abandoned into the city of tokyo. adopted. now thrown into seoul. there was no place she belonged. the only reason she got away with the bullying was through the power her family had. a family of two. now one and she’s alone again. foreign, and part of a special group that she hadn’t found yet.

( ♛ ) Kingsman starters.  | Status: Accepting!  

Manners maketh man, the words he was taught to live by. As he had remembered, the expression was born from a simple Englishman who believed in basing his teaching with humanist principles, clearly wanted to convey the three words in the simplest way to send a message to those who latch onto it as a way of life. It was a straightforward set of three, yet so flawless and clean.

BEHIND THE MUSE.

“What are you so afraid of? Shouldn’t you be more afraid of the living than the dead?”

Her visage drew nothing more than a semblance of cool composure. But in actuality, it didn’t fall short of a sorority of neurotic synapses, rushing all over the place and with no exact outward display but the grind of her veneers and the protrude of her collarbone.

But ah, she expressed such a distressing assertion with such soft-spoken grace, such indifference. One could make a case of its dishonesty, but oh – it held the most truth she could express under these circumstances.

“The means hardly justify the end. I think you’ve inversed Machiavelli’s famous philosophy,” the female muttered as she trailed the other. The two aimlessly roamed around the vicinity of the temple, an activity she would’ve never agreed to if the nature of it had been explicitly described to her. A trembling hand held her mobile phone in the air, utilizing it as a flashlight so to combat the darkness that enveloped the two. There was no possible way the two could even admire the art present in the building’s walls. 

“The living?” she verbalized the tremulous cousin of a scoff. “Urban legends are predominately based on the other world for a reason. You can see the living. You can combat the living. How can you face something without the ability of sight?” Ominous noises had established the presence of a third (or several) uninvited guests to the temple. Or perhaps it was the opposite--after all, it wasn’t as if the two had RSVP’d their visit.

“Hey friend,” she mimics, laughing at the odd greeting. She taps on her chin as she ponders and she wonders why there seemed to be a bunch of people who wanted to hear her speak in vanity. But of course, she gives what the people wants. “I like my hair. I don’t comb it a lot but it’s not hard to manage or anything. It’s not... dead either, despite the number of times I’ve tried different colors on it.” she nods slowly, “I like my voice. People say it’s unique. There’s my diverse taste in music, too.” her eyes trail off to her fingers that started to count the rest that she’d enumerate. “I like my personality, I guess. I don’t have the words right now but how I am, I wouldn’t want it changed. And... I’ve had my share of struggles. Might not be much for others, but it’s mine and I take pride in it.”