[hallowe'en] blood and apples
Oct. 1st, 2017 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lyseandpurge posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
castle_perraultThe fearful mist descends on the garden in the middle of the night, on tireless pink light hidden in the depths of the water. Refracted through the myriad mist droplets the immortal cell is visible, a million brilliant pinpoints, a will-o'-the-wisp glow, stars floating over the fountains, secret no longer.
All at once there is a great inrush of air, a clap of thunder, and the light flares once, screeching static, the earth heaving beneath the mound of glass—and goes out.
= <o> =
This is the sight in the garden in the morning: a creature slumped at the foot of the glass hill. She is covered by a thick layer of downy golden feathers that trail along the ground like a great cloak, like great wings, too heavy to fly. She
is human-shaped, lying still on her side, the thick dark tresses of her hair matted and ragged around her head, her pale palms stained with mud. From her own arms, tearing through the shoulder of her garments and reaching to the ends of her little fingers, grow the feathers, rows and rows of them bursting starkly from her dark skin, so that it swells and bruises around them.
There is only one sight in the gardens, the feathers, bright and beautiful and perfect. There is only one feature of the gardens, the feathers, lovely and precious and worth anyone's fortune. There is only one odour in the gardens, the odour of the feathers, as sweet and as delicious as the best thing you have ever tasted.
This strange bird, flightless, stirs.
She opens her eyes—sclera of molten gold, beautiful, squinting narrow as she rises in the dull grey morning; her feathers are as bright as any firelight. She gasps a shuddering, difficult breath; golden teeth flash in her mouth, precious.
She struggles to her feet: first one knee then the other; first one foot and then the other; first one stumbling and giving way and then the other—she cannot bear the weight of the golden mantle—she falls hard, panting, blood dripping from the bruised pores of her arms: bright, golden, and delicious.
Golden feathers sweep across the ground as she plants her hands in the grass to support herself, and remains there for a while. Then at last she heaves back and falls, almost supine, at the base of the hill, to listlessly watch the sun rise.
ooc. || hey everyone!! here's a little explanation, in case my silly post is too confusing.
i've basically transformed Judgement into a human for the hallowe'en event, with the small change that the feathers she grows from her body (and the other golden parts of her) have magical properties.
the feathers are profoundly alluring, although not irresistibly so: just by looking at them you know that they taste delicious and can fill you up for weeks, that any clothing you sew them into will become beautiful, that if you trim them and set them to paper they will write beautiful poetry and music. they can be powdered and cure any illness, they can be cut and turn into gemstones, they can be melted and forged into magical weapons and tools, they can fletch arrows that fly true and come back, and even just having them with you will bring good luck.
that's not all—basically, they can help you in almost any way you can imagine! and best of all, there's no limit to how many there are! even if you pluck all the feathers, she'll grow more in just the blink of an eye.
so come one and come all! take what you need, what you want, and maybe some spare just in case. you know you want to!
All at once there is a great inrush of air, a clap of thunder, and the light flares once, screeching static, the earth heaving beneath the mound of glass—and goes out.
= <o> =
This is the sight in the garden in the morning: a creature slumped at the foot of the glass hill. She is covered by a thick layer of downy golden feathers that trail along the ground like a great cloak, like great wings, too heavy to fly. She
is human-shaped, lying still on her side, the thick dark tresses of her hair matted and ragged around her head, her pale palms stained with mud. From her own arms, tearing through the shoulder of her garments and reaching to the ends of her little fingers, grow the feathers, rows and rows of them bursting starkly from her dark skin, so that it swells and bruises around them.
There is only one sight in the gardens, the feathers, bright and beautiful and perfect. There is only one feature of the gardens, the feathers, lovely and precious and worth anyone's fortune. There is only one odour in the gardens, the odour of the feathers, as sweet and as delicious as the best thing you have ever tasted.
This strange bird, flightless, stirs.
She opens her eyes—sclera of molten gold, beautiful, squinting narrow as she rises in the dull grey morning; her feathers are as bright as any firelight. She gasps a shuddering, difficult breath; golden teeth flash in her mouth, precious.
She struggles to her feet: first one knee then the other; first one foot and then the other; first one stumbling and giving way and then the other—she cannot bear the weight of the golden mantle—she falls hard, panting, blood dripping from the bruised pores of her arms: bright, golden, and delicious.
Golden feathers sweep across the ground as she plants her hands in the grass to support herself, and remains there for a while. Then at last she heaves back and falls, almost supine, at the base of the hill, to listlessly watch the sun rise.
ooc. || hey everyone!! here's a little explanation, in case my silly post is too confusing.
i've basically transformed Judgement into a human for the hallowe'en event, with the small change that the feathers she grows from her body (and the other golden parts of her) have magical properties.
the feathers are profoundly alluring, although not irresistibly so: just by looking at them you know that they taste delicious and can fill you up for weeks, that any clothing you sew them into will become beautiful, that if you trim them and set them to paper they will write beautiful poetry and music. they can be powdered and cure any illness, they can be cut and turn into gemstones, they can be melted and forged into magical weapons and tools, they can fletch arrows that fly true and come back, and even just having them with you will bring good luck.
that's not all—basically, they can help you in almost any way you can imagine! and best of all, there's no limit to how many there are! even if you pluck all the feathers, she'll grow more in just the blink of an eye.
so come one and come all! take what you need, what you want, and maybe some spare just in case. you know you want to!
(no subject)
Date: 2018-01-10 04:03 am (UTC)"No one is safe until I am dead," she says sharply. "I wasn't made to be safe, I was made to give life. They will use me for it, and turn me into a monster, and then I will kill them, because I will be a monster. That will teach them to create things like me. Afterwards, some one will break me, and free what is inside. That's all. There is no need for calm—I know what's going to happen to me."
She shudders violently, and her left eye, puffy and swollen, leaks molten gold. "My death is the promise of the universe. What are you going to do? You'll have to wait to kill me, but if you want my lifeblood, take it now, now."