Voice
(#84354611)
2; Voice in Headphones...02:27
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Obelisk
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
16.32 m
Wingspan
18.42 m
Weight
7584.09 kg
Genetics
Gloom
Fade
Fade
Gloom
Blend
Blend
Antique
Ringlets
Ringlets
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Obelisk
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
8
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
6
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
VOICE IN HEADPHONES
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Whenever I come to the river I look for a rusted box. It's so well hidden that I wonder how I even found it. It's walls are thin. Sometimes I worry that if I breathe too hard it will fall in on itself. Anonymous letters wait for me inside. Usually, they come five times a week. Sometimes more and sometimes less. Anonymous writes about guilt, about love, about anxiety and things lost. They write about small things, about early mornings and the way their brother cooks. Sometimes the letters are long stories. Sometimes they are short, confused, and angry. Mostly, they are authentic. I know the writer only through their work. I could not point them out if I saw them on the street. I don't know the color of their scales or what diety they pray to. I check the box daily. I replay their stories as I lie down to sleep. At work, I imagine their face, and how gentle it must be even though I have never seen it. In my garden, I see them. I see their fragile wings in my tulip petals. I know they struggle. They write about a sickness that takes them over. I know they spend their days lying down with the deteriorating version of themself. I think the letters are meant to immortalize them. They are writing down their entire life. So that whenever someone misses them, they can open this box and it will be as if they never left. Or maybe, the letters are for themselves. Clawing at their memories, hoping that writing them down will make them last. It's not working though. The letters get more simple as time passes. -- The letters have stopped. I go back to the box and the stack is never higher. They don't need to write anymore. Maybe the sickness has taken them. Maybe they can't find anything to write about. I took them for myself. I hid the box under my wing and walked it down the river back home. I read and reread. Through the night and early in the morning. I drowned myself in the company of my Anonymous. |
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T I E S
T O K E N S
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