* MUNDAY ASKS .

   *  //   𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐆 .

NOVEMBER 19TH,   1970,   18:27PM ███████ MANOR,   WESTCHESTER COUNTY,   NEW YORK,   UNITED STATES.

ZERO:   𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎,  𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔. BIG BOSS:   𝚒’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜. ZERO:   𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚜,  𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍,  𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.    𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜.    𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘,  𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔.    𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎. BIG BOSS:   𝚒’𝚖 𝚗𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘,  𝚍𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚍.    𝚒’𝚖 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍-𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚛. ZERO:   𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔,  𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎.    𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜.    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚌𝚘𝚗,  𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛      ——      𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊 𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚘𝚗,  𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚋. BIG BOSS:    [𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐] ZERO:   𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗.    𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍.    𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚝.    𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎,  𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚊𝚜𝚖,  𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.    𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜,  𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐈𝐒  𝐇𝐎𝐖  𝐘𝐎𝐔  𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐃    𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇   𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉   𝒂   𝒕𝒆𝒏   𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅   𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒓    champagne flute in your hand,  putting a convenient face whilst mingling  ‘midst a room of serpents and pink-cheeked sycophants,  the crowd of self-christened ‘elites’.    here you are,  their  concocted idol,  exchanging  forced smiles  and  ingratiating salutations  with utmost reticence as they gather around you like a  band of hawks   /   suffocate you   /   make you feel  less  like a man and more like a dangling pound of  fresh meat  on display for the ravening masses,  salivating   /   eager to feast off  carrion fame.    you nod mechanically   /   uncomfortably,  move out of every casual touch,  a drunken shoulder clap,  a girl trying to chat you up      ——      they are  blind  to the blood clots  on your teeth   /   the hands smirched  red-matricide-regret   /   the mutilating grief transmogrifying your heart into one great abscess    [    it refuses to go away.    ]      ——      you do not need their emptied congratulations,  seeds of anger sprouting at the accursed title of ‘big boss’ spilling reverently from forked tongues,  an epithet so sorely  pyrrhic-won.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃  𝐖𝐀𝐒  𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓  𝐅𝐎𝐑  𝐘𝐎𝐔.     you have never been good at feigning  normalcy,  wearing ill-fitting human skin,  civilian clothes unbecoming of a man that wild.    you feel like a twarthed   /   naked   /   trapped animal.    (    no,  you don’t need any of it      ——      what you need is to clear your head because your chest is too tight,  the crowd is  too close   /   too loud,  they are taking up all the oxygen and it’s gotten too hard to breathe and you want to escape   /   lash out   /   rip at muscle and bone and claw your way out before you   -    )    check your blindspot,  case the room  :   there is no clear through-line to the exit.    east,  there is a door      ——      but you cannot say where it leads.    (    better to make for the kitchen,  take your chances in the service tunnels.    they checked your gun at the door,  but you’ve made do with  a knife  in worse situations.    you   -    )    see a window of retreat near the banquet table.    you turn,  make your way there in a hurried stride,  wholly undismayed by the expressions of annoyance you receive at the  rudeness  of your escape. 𝒚𝒐𝒖   𝒄𝒂𝒏   𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒆   𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒕’𝒔   𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒆   𝒐𝒏   𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓   𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌    as you evade the throng of bodies and approach a lengthy table brimming with saccharine delicacies.    you stop   /   breath   /   tamp down  instincts  to flee when the burgeoning leonine hunger pangs.    frowning,  you stare at the multicolored appetisers   /   most of which you have never seen before   /   till you take a pair of  meat skewers  and start gnawing at them like a  beast of prey.    a sudden presence at your side provokes chin to rise   /   eye to meet a crown of gold,  wintry blues  peering at you under the heliacal glow of a crystalline chandelier,  and you   -    (    remember the passive  coldness  of her face,  standing in that field as white petals whipped around your ankles.    she gave  her body  and  her child  to her country,  carried her scar as proof,  was willing to mactate herself upon  flowered altars  for a purpose beyond comprehension.    how does she expect you to do the  same  ?    you don’t understand,  you   -    )    see red,  press your eye shut but the petals remain,  like they’re stuck to the flesh of your eyelid.

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇   /   𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃   /   𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘,    shake your head      ——      she is not here.    she is dead.    this is reality.    you turn back to your food   /   get a proper sidelong look at the woman,  recognize her  for who she truly is  ;   lunafreya nox fleuret,  the  sovereign  of a protectorate in the middle of a political scuffle,  more of a  figurehead  on their machinations than a queen    [    much like you.    ]    her brother is a soldier,  acting as her dutiful custodian      ——      you recall shaking his hand briefly in the crowd,  he seemed as  disinclined  to be here as you.    you store the  information  away   /   attempt to be conversational:             ❛    leurs brochettes ne sont pas mauvaises.    mais je préfère encore manger du serpent que ça.    ❜    you say,  french fluently falling off your lips without much pondering.

@moonichor

𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 :   painted thickly with a layer of varnish, framed in pale fools gold  —  and she, a simple corner ornament.  she was made for this ;  noble-bred, a carefully hand-crafted icon.  wrought for the masses and self-appointed deities to utilize.  they seized and struggled for symbols in order to secure the slightest figment of influence, and if it were not over her, then they would compete over someone else.  they picked their gemstones to toss in the treasure chamber, leaving them without the glimmer, adulterating them within the shadowy obscurities, never to be seen on the television screen.  their ghastly tongues prattled inconceivably, in unison, to attribute to a synchronized white noise. 

with appetite did they seek her attention, too ;  ignorant of the tattered brims which remained proof of military sin and the crime to weaponize innocence like a volatile explosive.  it was a slow killing of a girl who had come to understand this as the typical behavior of hierarchical leeches, demonstrating their feigned relief to have just barely so slipped through the war-cracks.  of course, this was merely show, as they so blithely monetized the shed gore and radioactive bones.  this enormous gauge of politics spanned itself over each head, slithered with haughty threat, ‘twixt the pillars of it all where one specific chancellor watched over every singular motion of hers.  in sickening amounts so, that she urged to swiftly disappear among the crowd, toward the other side of these halls where she found …  you.    (  a trojan paradox, agonized with frauds, and praises for valor, and terrible expectations.  )    curiosity begged for satisfaction and dictated her walk, feather-light, beside you, only to sense a deeply rooted pain projected and carved into her marble-frozen apparition.

then  —  a perplexing dialogue.

“ pardon ? ”    unexpectedly widened brows and eyelids for commentary this macabre.  she fell through clouds.  etiquette quickly revised and staggering back into composure.  here she stood, not a single inch moved, silver-graced and primly kept, soft-handed and crystal-adorned —  in audience with a beast :    a rawed-up, wild child, clad in a man’s muscular structure, bearing its patron status like an ill-fitting crown, which it’s been so compelled to remove.  aggressively.  something equivalent to horror and awe struck her still, an astonished sentiment, existing between a deer and a bear.  suddenly, illogically, her personal tatteredness did not matter.  someone was always frayed more crudely, the eyes more bloodshot, the lungs more filled with desert-dust, the flowerbeds more stained with a carmine shade.    “ vous semblez être un homme avec un sens du goût incomparable. ”    at last, a response to indulge the attempt.  it might also be her individual attempt to shake off the paralyzation.    “ forgive me if it was my approach that caused you to jolt.   but you gave the impression to be in distress.  are you unwell, sir ? ”

𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬  𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺.

↬   THE  INFERNAL  DEVICES  SERIES   (  2010 - 2013  )  by  cassandra  clare.

sentences  taken  from  or  inspired  by  the  dialogue  from  the  series,  including  the  books  clockwork  angel,  clockwork  prince,  &  clockwork  princess.

+   feel  free  to  change  pronouns  /  roles  !

‘  one  must  always  be  careful  of  books,  and  what  is  inside  them.  ’

‘   we  live  and  breathe  words.  ’

‘  if  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  who  cares  for  you,  do  you  really  exist  at  all  ?  ’

‘  they  say  time  heals  all  wounds,  but  that  presumes  the  source  of  grief  is  finite.  ’

‘  requited  love  is  nice,  but  it  doesn’t  make  much  of  a  ballad.  ’

‘  i  am  not  the  one  of  us  who  has  no  heart.  ’

‘  i  haven’t  broken  his  heart  at  all.  ’

‘  you  don’t  know  that  there’s  only  oblivion  after  death.  ’

‘  if  you  have  the  soul  of  a  warrior,  you  are  a  warrior.  ’

‘  i  thought  we  could  at  least  talk  about  books.  ’

‘  there’s  plenty  of  sense  in  nonsense  sometimes,  if  you  wish  to  look  for  it.  ’

‘  pointless,  needless  suffering  and  pain  ?  i  don’t  suppose  it  would  help  if  i  told  you  that  was  the  way  life  is.  ’

‘  you  hurt  everyone.  everyone  whose  life  you  touch.  ’

‘  it’s  all  heartbreak,  death,  and  unrequited  love.  ’

‘  such  harsh  truths  so  early  in  the  morning  cannot  be  good  for  the  digestion.  ’

‘  hell  is  cold.  ’

‘  i  seek  scandal  and  low  companionship.  ’

‘  perhaps  we  do  need  a  chaperon.  ’

‘  death  could  be  imminent.  ’

‘  the  handsome  fellow  that’s  trying  to  rescue  you  from  a  hideous  fate  is  never  wrong.  ’

‘  i  have  lost  everything.  ’

‘  who  said  we  were  owed  happiness  ?  what  about  what  we  owe  others  ?  ’

‘  he’s  going  to  kill  someone.  or  get  us  killed.  ’

‘  clearly  the  word  excellent  means  something  else  on  this  side  of  the  atlantic.  ’

‘  you  may  hide  here  with  me,  if  you  wish.  ’

‘  with  god  on  your  side,  what  does  luck  matter  ?  ’

‘  are  you  highly  intoxicated  at  the  moment  ?  ’

‘  you  wish  to  marry  me  now  ?  ’

‘  entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee.  ’

‘  don’t  be  ordinary  like  that.  ’

‘  is  it  because  i’m  better  looking  than  you  ?  ’

‘  dreams  can  be  dangerous  things.  ’

‘  declarations  of  love  amuse  me.  ’

‘  be  prepared  to  swoon  at  my  finery.  ’

‘  i  don’t  believe  you  can  threaten  people  into  goodness.  ’

‘  finally  broke  down  and  admitted  you’re  in  love  with  me,  have  you  ?  ’

‘  i  say  this  out  of  pure  selfishness.  ’

‘  is  loyalty  still  a  commendable  quality  if  it  is  misdirected  ?  ’

‘  you  must  be  terribly  dull  witted.  ’

‘  you  need  not  be  so  careful.  i  will  not  break.  ’

‘  there  is  more  to  living  than  not  dying.  ’

‘  men  may  be  stronger,  but  it  is  women  who  endure.  ’

‘  was  there  ever  a  more  beautiful  sound  than  your  name  ?  ’

‘  we  do  not  have  to  carry  the  burden  of  their  choices  or  sins.  ’

‘  life  is  full  of  risks.  death  is  much  simpler.  ’

‘  you  serve  a  greater  cause.  your  life  is  not  yours  to  throw  away.  ’

‘  there  are  so  many  worse  things  than  death.  not  to  be  loved  or  not  to  be  able  to  love,  that  is  worse.  ’

‘  you  are  human.  never  think  that  you  are  not.  ’

‘  if  you’re  determined  to  follow  me  into  hell,  i  cannot  stop  you.  ’

‘  i’ve  always  wanted  to  see  hell.  doesn’t  everyone  ?  ’

‘  come  back  to  me,  for  i  cannot  bear  to  lose  all  my  heart.  ’

‘  i  am  catastrophically  in  love  with  you.  ’

‘   i  can  offer  you  my  heart,  though  i  have  no  idea  how  many  more  beats  it  shall  sustain.  ’

‘  our  souls  are  knit.  we  are  one  person.  ’

‘  i  do  not  want  to  sit  by  while  tragedy  comes  for  us.  ’

‘  i  am  leaving,  but  i  am  living.  i  will  not  be  gone  from  you  entirely.  ’

‘  they  say  that  you  cannot  love  two  people  at  once.  ’

‘  i  cannot  leave  you  to  face  death  alone.  ’

‘  when  i  breathe,  i  will  think  of  you,  for  without  you  i  would  have  been  dead  years  ago.  ’

‘  the  world  is  a  wheel.  when  we  rise  and  fall,  we  do  it  together.  ’

‘  you  are  the  first  dream  of  my  soul,  the  only  dream  i  was  unable  to  stop  myself  from  dreaming.  ’

‘  when  i  am  in  the  darkness,  i  want  to  think  of  it  in  the  light,  with  you.  ’

‘  heroes  endure  because  we  need  them.  not  for  their  own  sakes.  ’

‘  if  there  is  a  life  after  this  one,  let  me  meet  you  in  it.  ’

‘  life  is  a  book,  and  there  are  a  thousand  pages  i  have  not  yet  read.  ’

‘  words  have  the  power  to  change  us.  ’

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    SEL ACCEPTING .

‘ i seek scandal and low companionship. ’     //    @leadingmcn

𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄’𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐈𝐏 ;    and neither seethed its owner with scornfulness, although this could have been a matter of personal grudge. through wide-open windows leaked nocturnal breeze, beddings all undone and disorderly, pearls and gems scattered across invaded tilings ;  those were witnesses to a criminal scene which succeeded not according to its plunderish schemes.  this lady’s heritage was both sheltered and targeted, her belongings rumoured and sought after, and within merely a question of ' when ' would she fall victim to games to this extend --- this much she could fathom and for this much she prepared. 

one night, to her dismay, she failed to read the warning signs : the silence of owls, the flutter of crows, the peering balcony-glares shadowing behind her tender shoulder before she rested ‘pon her familiar mattress, all that ignored only for them to wake her with a rustling of treasures.  the following miniscule wrestle amounted to a moment ‘twixt oddly opposing personas of parallel nobility, and the grin of yours ; a mischief, socially offensive like any other theatric trickster in tales, pinned against ornamental walls.   “ and you concluded to find those by trespassing my private chamber ?  well, at the very least, you are an intriguing character, albeit a thieving one. ”    cold jest, dry lips, bruised dignity. lungs may be pressed by inconvenience, but her hands, firmly clenched 'round weapon's pole, shan’t afford to waver nor shiver.   

“ you have accomplished the scandal ; now, the latter explains the pitiful deeds. ”

“ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 , 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 ?  are they reveling in bliss, or do they agonize? “ // @asterites

👕   ─  go out wearing matching christmas sweaters ( i dare you )

                                           ↳  from  @moonichor​

                       ❝   C'mon – I think it looks cute! And imagine the look on Noct’s face when he sees this!   ❞   Prompto practically squealed with laughter. The joke was devious, but funny nonetheless. Lady Lunafreya didn’t need much convincing to participate; all the same, he was grateful for her good-spirited comradery.

In their Christmas sweaters, both of them looked festive. The bright red one read ‘I’m with stupid’ and an arrow pointing. On the other, a bright blue background with snowflakes and a captioned picture of Noctis wearing reindeer antlers, which said, 'I’m stupid.’

     ❝   I can’t believe we’re gonna pull this off –  'cause he can’t murder both of us…. One of us is gonna have to take the fall… and I’m sorry to say, Luna, buuut, I think his Majesty is about to save his right-hand man, his best bud, his dashing partner in crime–   ❞    Chuckling as they walked, not realising they were indeed within earshot of the royal they were speaking about.

            ｡:*• ─ IT’S CHRISTMAS TIME !      ›  ( Accepting )

   *  𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒    (  part 2  ).

07 :    versus xiii ; as a tenebraen-born oracle of solheim, lunafreya serves the fal’cie of this world since she was an adolescent girl ;  and by extention, so, too, does she serve the sleeping god of light who aims to find the unseen realm.  with chaos seeping into the realm of the living, the moon grows larger, redder, and ominous in due time, metamorphosing into a gate between dimensions, which the oracle is raised to operate.

08 :    ffx ; an unsent summoner, walking the world, haunting not as a fiend but as a ghost of the past, ever-seeking for the dreaming zanarkand she was never meant to be part of.

09 :    assassin’s creed ; the isu selene, also known by the romans as luna, was part of juno’s sage project and has ever since been spread into the tripple helix dna of the fleuret bloodline.  during the industrial revolution, lunafreya guards the ring of solomon, an eden artifact, which both templar and assassin order hunt for in equal measure and only few were granted to treasure its secrets.  

10 :    draken-nier ;    luna is a divergent type of legion specifically picked by selene, a kin to the watchers and the queen beast, in pursuit for a way to break the imposed ties between humanity and god, even if it takes thousands of years to find the correct singularity.

𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐍.    dawn-gold burned its way into lineage, honey lit in cosmogenic lustre 'pon the fingertips of freyja-women.  gullveig had not borne the first mouthpiece's name, yet they would christen her so, anointed as substitute for two, under the parasite of night and daemonic hunger.  wingless and graceless grandeur but a phantomic mirror    (  crestfallen selene knew only the fall )    their chins yet were situated with proud poise.     " my troubles are that of my people.  how shall i guide them out of the dark alone, when the gods still sleep and our chosen king has left us?  how am i to bear this...?  "

Laments and prayers alike ceased not to reverberate within this fallen seraph’s mind even if her wings were torn away and abandoned to drown in her shame and reduced to a residue bound to be forgotten by time. ❝Speak thy mind. I can sense something troubling thee.❞ Of course, that includes hearing the burdens of the Oracle even though the maiden of light might not believe it to be possible.

@moonichor ⚚

𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓 ?    —    did it hurt to see, to hear, to smell, to taste, to touch ?  did it hurt, to be and not to be ?  yes.  it did, indeed, every day.  she witnessed afflictions of that which she should not have, but a fleuret woman was ordained to stand between the visible and invisible, the confessed and unconfessed, the yoke of human-flow riding through her, the moon, the stars, the sun, trampling o’er them with all their might, all they had in store.  the misery, the revulsion, the ashes of a village or the thunders between gears, putrefaction stuffed into where it should not be, the embers of death beneath her bare heels.  the progression, the regression, the stasis crystalline of encased einherjar.  the undreamed, and the lucid dreams.  all that taken and shaken deep into the bones, the moon so close to bleed it all out / the stars so close to blink out.  was this what mother wished for her daughters, the long-winded thread of barbed wire wrapped around their golden heads ?  the taking of sin, and giving back oblivion ?  was this her doting parenthood ?  “ i hope she did not.  may etro bless her heart to rest peacefully. ”  o etro, o fallen light,  did it hurt to exist ?  did it hurt to give light and receive back every sin committed, every fear felt, every laughter strangled off the throat ?  we all would carry dying inside of us, the way the oxygen shriveled us till all that was left was a little glint, leaving or hiding away from etro’s clay.  “ or have you…. have you seen her ?  out there ? ” // @asterites

𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒. or at least that is what the ancient scriptures had dubbed these augury of souls. the broken fractured of light, unseen by all, existing inside the aortic construct of pulsing organism. t'was the gift of a desperate goddess, an unholy sentiment donned upon the flesh of the first women and her children. how fascinating it was to understand : we are all born rotten before we are made pure. holiness, sacristy, neither would have existed without the beautiful chaos that trifles that of heavenly order. the words of the dead undoubtedly guides the stars more intimately then that of life, for soft-chosen reservation is bereft of conventual guidance. ❝ whether it be regret or fear, the concept of non-existence is still quite terrifying. they cling to the shadows and covet in what is familiar. they reject death as fervently as life had rejected them. it only makes my heart ache more. ❞ in the layers of deep affinity, she unsheds the truth of sacrificial burdens —— it suffocated her. deeply. violently. the horrors that she has seen, the things she dares not repeat, and perhaps even her own glorification of bedlam did nothing but weaken her inner psyche. say selene, was it the same for you too ? when the blood moon rises and sheds its light to the world, when humanity looks to you for answers, do they shed their sins onto you ? did they just expect their pain to just disappear ? to answer your calling : did it hurt to exist ? ❝ when mother departed in this world, do you think she had any regrets ? ❞

👁️👄👁️ excuse me sis, do you have the time to talk about our lord and savior : bhunivelze. 👁️👄👁️

luna vc : why yes sis, i serve him 👁️👄👁️