—— 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑪𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑰𝑺𝑻. retweeted
“They have dreams, too,” the tip of her staff tilts towards a fallen soul——asleep, breathing stilted, shuddering in the wake of gentle violence. Crimson ruin seeps from bruises pried apart into open flesh, fresh air licking away at the wet. Gloom sinks into the loveliness *cont.
Bristles 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒗𝒆 into lovely locks—curling into shoulders, into a skull. A tongue presses to the roof of her mouth, song trilled && hummed; an old Prehevil lullaby. A mother is well missed. She is a mosaic of her love, fabric of who she is meant to be, 𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑬𝑫.
𝑨 𝒌𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒆 twists between the legs of * 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘞𝘖𝘖𝘋𝘚𝘔𝘈𝘕——cleaving at what pulsates; her gaze is cold, weaving between violence’s wind; ax falling heavy, but never making its mark.
—— 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑪𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑰𝑺𝑻. retweeted
I've been playing Fear and Hunger with my friends ^_^ MariLevi makes me crazy
