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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.16 m
Wingspan
3.16 m
Weight
62.82 kg
Genetics
Buttercup
Wasp
Wasp
Taupe
Bee
Bee
Marigold
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 2 Spiral
EXP: 340 / 641
STR
5
AGI
9
DEF
5
QCK
8
INT
6
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
Probably a small cw/tw for blood, gore.
In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Breathe.
Let the light fill your head, let it settle behind your eyes. Let it see through your eyes because to learn light, to truly understand, you must surrender all of your wills. All thoughts- no, no, not your thoughts because to learn you must have some semblance of control, but surrender everything else. The light sits behind your eyes, and it will take your sight, your body, but not your mind, no. You will learn, won't you?
You cannot see, to welcome the light and let it guide you you must become blind. It gives, but it takes. Yet to reject it, to retake your sight and body- well, then you will no longer have a guide, someone teaching you what to do. You must listen to it, for the light is blinding, and you will wield it. Or will it wield you, just another tool for its a collection? You think hard about this- but in the end, it's brilliance is embedded so far in your lungs that if you retook your body you might forget how to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Do what it tells you. Remember that you are learning how to control the light, bend it to your will. Ignore that it controls your life now. The light is blinding, and you forgot how to see, but it guides your (its) hands to where they need to be. You do not dwell on the fact that if you could see them they would be sticky, covered in sanguine ichor. For it covers your eyes, does not allow you to see the monstrosity it has formed you into. You are a tool. You are learning to wield the light. The light is wielding you as if you were a knife in a drawer, placed in the dark until you're needed again. It gives you what you want, but by now it's glimmering so brightly from within your skull you cannot think as it spills past your mouth and out of your eyes.
"Do not be afraid," you tell everyone in front of you, as your shoulders split at the seams and more eyes come forth- but you cannot see through them, only the glitters can peer out. Your shoulder blades ache. Your body is changing.
"Do not be afraid," you whisper, but it comes out booming as if it were a horn embedded within your lungs, loud, with a soothing, melodic tone. Your shoulder blades ache. Eyes that glow from the sclera to the edge split open your palms, and golden blood flows from them like a river of manipulation. The people in front of you, the ones you cannot see, look at you as if you were a demon, at your glow the comes from behind your eyes, at the horns that interlock upon your head in a circle and blind the world. They pity you, but they fear you.
"Do not be afraid," you tell yourself, when an old friend- a lover, once?- whispers in your ear that you are no longer learning the light. No, no, not your thoughts, those are no longer yours, and you aren't learning. You cannot hear them over the rushing in your ears, the whispers of teachings. But your shoulder blades no longer ache. You cannot see the bloody feathers that sprout from them, a white as pure as bones but mottled with the stains of crimson. They tear from your temples now, to cover your face for the light is too harsh to look into. Your entire body is in flames.
You think Hell won't be so bad, so long as you no longer trumpet to the heavens when you speak, so long as these wings leave your head, so long as the bone wings that tear bloody, golden lacerations into your back heal and disappear. For what is learning, if you cannot think for yourself? This is no knowledge. Has it ever been knowledge?
Your lover comes back now, now that they can whisper truly into your ears when the brilliance is dimmed. "Do not be afraid," they say to you, but it is low, saccharine, a slow and pianissimo bass that croons to your old, new desires. "Open your eyes," they continue, and although you can no longer see- everything is white, golden, holy- you can feel their hands drift to your horns that form a halo above your head, that blinds you. "Open your mind."
When the horns are torn apart, you no longer have a guide, no. But there is a lightness to you you have not felt in hundreds of years. Your wounds, the eyes, shut, fall out, and the skin does not seam together perfectly but they are no longer open and dripping gold to the ground. Your wings are bone now, but they can expand fully, and they no longer dig tallies into your back. The guide is gone, you can no longer see and learn the light.
But you've forgotten everything but that holy white. And seeing colors is so much better now, isn't it? Your lover stares at you, as you trace the lines of their face. "Do not be afraid," you whisper to them, thankful. The words are quiet. You've been abandoned, and your halo stands atop your head torn down at the seams. But you can see. And you can remember how to inhale and exhale on your own. The fear of being abandoned is gone.
In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Breathe. You are free.
does this count as blasphemy.
In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Breathe.
Let the light fill your head, let it settle behind your eyes. Let it see through your eyes because to learn light, to truly understand, you must surrender all of your wills. All thoughts- no, no, not your thoughts because to learn you must have some semblance of control, but surrender everything else. The light sits behind your eyes, and it will take your sight, your body, but not your mind, no. You will learn, won't you?
You cannot see, to welcome the light and let it guide you you must become blind. It gives, but it takes. Yet to reject it, to retake your sight and body- well, then you will no longer have a guide, someone teaching you what to do. You must listen to it, for the light is blinding, and you will wield it. Or will it wield you, just another tool for its a collection? You think hard about this- but in the end, it's brilliance is embedded so far in your lungs that if you retook your body you might forget how to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Do what it tells you. Remember that you are learning how to control the light, bend it to your will. Ignore that it controls your life now. The light is blinding, and you forgot how to see, but it guides your (its) hands to where they need to be. You do not dwell on the fact that if you could see them they would be sticky, covered in sanguine ichor. For it covers your eyes, does not allow you to see the monstrosity it has formed you into. You are a tool. You are learning to wield the light. The light is wielding you as if you were a knife in a drawer, placed in the dark until you're needed again. It gives you what you want, but by now it's glimmering so brightly from within your skull you cannot think as it spills past your mouth and out of your eyes.
"Do not be afraid," you tell everyone in front of you, as your shoulders split at the seams and more eyes come forth- but you cannot see through them, only the glitters can peer out. Your shoulder blades ache. Your body is changing.
"Do not be afraid," you whisper, but it comes out booming as if it were a horn embedded within your lungs, loud, with a soothing, melodic tone. Your shoulder blades ache. Eyes that glow from the sclera to the edge split open your palms, and golden blood flows from them like a river of manipulation. The people in front of you, the ones you cannot see, look at you as if you were a demon, at your glow the comes from behind your eyes, at the horns that interlock upon your head in a circle and blind the world. They pity you, but they fear you.
"Do not be afraid," you tell yourself, when an old friend- a lover, once?- whispers in your ear that you are no longer learning the light. No, no, not your thoughts, those are no longer yours, and you aren't learning. You cannot hear them over the rushing in your ears, the whispers of teachings. But your shoulder blades no longer ache. You cannot see the bloody feathers that sprout from them, a white as pure as bones but mottled with the stains of crimson. They tear from your temples now, to cover your face for the light is too harsh to look into. Your entire body is in flames.
You think Hell won't be so bad, so long as you no longer trumpet to the heavens when you speak, so long as these wings leave your head, so long as the bone wings that tear bloody, golden lacerations into your back heal and disappear. For what is learning, if you cannot think for yourself? This is no knowledge. Has it ever been knowledge?
Your lover comes back now, now that they can whisper truly into your ears when the brilliance is dimmed. "Do not be afraid," they say to you, but it is low, saccharine, a slow and pianissimo bass that croons to your old, new desires. "Open your eyes," they continue, and although you can no longer see- everything is white, golden, holy- you can feel their hands drift to your horns that form a halo above your head, that blinds you. "Open your mind."
When the horns are torn apart, you no longer have a guide, no. But there is a lightness to you you have not felt in hundreds of years. Your wounds, the eyes, shut, fall out, and the skin does not seam together perfectly but they are no longer open and dripping gold to the ground. Your wings are bone now, but they can expand fully, and they no longer dig tallies into your back. The guide is gone, you can no longer see and learn the light.
But you've forgotten everything but that holy white. And seeing colors is so much better now, isn't it? Your lover stares at you, as you trace the lines of their face. "Do not be afraid," you whisper to them, thankful. The words are quiet. You've been abandoned, and your halo stands atop your head torn down at the seams. But you can see. And you can remember how to inhale and exhale on your own. The fear of being abandoned is gone.
In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Breathe. You are free.
does this count as blasphemy.
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This dragon doesn't eat Plants.
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Exalting Arno to the service of the Lightweaver will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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