wretchful
(#96178798)
the wretch { she, any }
regret
Tengu Caller
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 49
out of
50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Plague.
Female Pearlcatcher
This dragon is under the permanent effect of a Silhouette Scroll. A toggle on the dragon's profile allows swapping between the artwork poses available for the breed.
This dragon is under the permanent effect of a Reflection Scroll. A toggle in the dragon's customization options enables the owner to flip which direction they are facing.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Effect
Scene
Measurements
Length
7.18 m
Wingspan
4.98 m
Weight
517.11 kg
Genetics
Shamrock
Python
Python
Ice
Sarcophagus
Sarcophagus
Ice
Stained
Stained
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Pearlcatcher
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
8
DEF
6
QCK
8
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
5
Lineage
Parents
- none
Offspring
- none
Biography
| xxxxx |
" |
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxmaricela. ♦️ manic monarch. Carnations rot and still I think that we should be a King and Queen. I'd give it all to have you back... Another chance... My eyes turn black.    ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxbiography. [l] "What is your favorite color?" [ll] When I think of my favorite color, I almost always think of blood. I then think of ichor. Then of plasma, the fourth state of matter. How plasma is blood. [lll] Red is a color that tastes like blood. Like strawberries, watermelon, tomatoes, tuna, cherries and jam. It’s a rather sharp, bitter and sweet, metallic, acidic color that can be in any of my favorite following shades; sanguine, garnet, ruby, crimson, cherry, vermillion, wine and scarlet. Red is the color that has been associated with sacrifice. Red garments may also mean to display one's devotion. It is the first color that babies see after black and white. On the color spectrum, it possesses the longest wavelength. [lV] “Red, like blood.” I eagerly respond to his question. [V] He laughs heartily at me. “Like blood she says!” and chortles more. I feel my cheeks burn with my favorite color. [Vl] I love red stars. Flaming, celestial gas giants that dominate their space within the universe with sheer, searing girth. Heavenly rulers that distantly dot our sky yet are still able to earn fanatic, studious worship despite being reduced to a mere percent of their existence by one's naked, mortal eye. The largest of stars would be incomprehensible in size. [Vll] I once saw the color red within a book described as a noun. Red was written to be ‘a red thing.’. What exactly did the author mean by “a red thing”? If someone truly did not understand, nor see the color red, then how does saying “a red thing” even begin to explain the color to someone blind to it? ...How would I describe the color red to someone who has never seen it? [Vlll] Maybe I’ll tell them this: “When you bleed, you're bleeding red.” [lX] My favorite blanket is a thick black shawl woven with crimson thread. Heavy and durable, it has lasted me years despite fraying in some areas. Its hem is lined with blazing scarlet tassels. In the equally hot summer months, I would watch your small fingers play with the collective threads, cheeks likes strawberries and laugh bubbling forth similarly to the brook we were laying besides. During the winters, it maintains one's warmth very well. I would know. You would, too. [X] Once, I bit into a cherry I had plucked from the tree that was growing right center within our grotto. Out of an unconscious habit, I studied my food, the area I had bitten… And observed as countless little white worms writhed within the bleeding flesh of the fruit. The center had ripened considerably to a wine color and the pests were seen easiest there. Like true parasites, they thrived eagerly within the safe, fleshy confines of their ill-fated host. So many wriggled and pulsated that they appeared like a network of veins within a throbbing heart. The cherry was the color of a heart. The color of blood. [Xl] Within the murals I have glimpsed, the largest star is always depicted as a violently red solid ball of pure flame. I would like to say that it dwarfs our sun, but the ruler of our solar system is not even a mere grain of sand besides this great one's sheer divine might. To the dominating monarch of all known stars, ours is but an aimless mote of near nonexistence. [Xll] When I first laid eyes upon you, you were covered in wine-like jam, one of the many blessings of a birth I suppose. After I had my fill admiring you (honestly, I never have), I gingerly passed you to your eager father. I had never seen him burn so brightly with pride before and I couldn’t help but wonder if the first red you will ever see would be from my eyes. [Xlll] I feel at times that I am blind to my favorite color. It can be seen everywhere, anywhere. Sometimes all at once in a way that makes you instinctively tune it out. Patches of red on the male blackbird’s wing, female black widow and ladybug’s shell. Spots of crimson in wild poppies or roses. In the wild it's a deliberate assault on the senses for a desperate snag of your attention. In the fields, in lit skies, in windows, amongst others, on the very world itself—how can you escape it? The color even runs through your veins like your own personal inkwell. Go ahead and pr!ck your finger. Dip the tip of your fountain pen into your ichor and begin writing with your blood. It has been done before, you wouldn't be the first. I just want to know how long it would take for your ink to fade. [XlV] Sometimes the thoughts of blood are too great to bear that I forget myself. [XV] As a child, you played very happily. You were always cheerful and it was a gratifying sight to see. In the grotto you eagerly expressed yourself through the wooden figurines that had been carved earlier by your father's hand. The sound of wood clunking against wood would sometimes lull my eyes to close. I would hear you giggling amongst the lazy hum of slow, summery insects. Behind my reddish pink lids, memories of you dancing amongst ember flecks of fireflies would frolic through my fading mind. [XVl] I’ve wanted to see a red sun. I’ve wanted to see the red warning light for an oncoming storm that sailors only glimpse while at sea. I’ve wanted to look up and see a twin celestial besides our golden heavenly body that's crimson in color. To be more specific, it would be cherry red, exactly like— [XVll] Once, I had received a bouquet of red carnations from a friend of mine as a going-away gift. That day the carnation became my favorite flower, especially those that were colored like blood. I planted their bouquet within our grotto and watched it merrily bloom. Such a small bush quickly grew into a wild flowerbed that almost seemed to threaten the land... But my husband's warmly wise hands were enough to keep it at bay. [XVlll] A clear onyx lake surface as still as glass perfectly reflects a swirling crimson sunset. The only ripples to exist within this moment of time are from piano-wire legs of invisible water-skippers. [XlX] I would assume that most others associate pain with the color red. Instead, white takes the blame in my mind's eye. Perhaps this is because I have always seen red as blood, and ichor when it is involved does not always spell for a necessarily painful affair. I can still feel the bright milky flashes that would slash across my vision whenever I watched you tumble, fall or sprawl like any normal child would. As your mother I felt the pain you felt, lived the experiences you lived, and could see the futures you couldn't see... Despite my frantic fretting, despite your beet red blisters and fine scarlet scratches, your beaming, aching grin is enough to placate my bloody fears. [XX] I have always wanted to visit the mortals' market, Skalaboosche, just to see all of the red. I want to see the decorations made of red and gold, the bright fluorescent signs made with red letters in ancient characters, the red banners, redbrick buildings and the sky lanterns strung between them made of red paper that have golden threads for tails. I want to see it all like I have within the scenic scrolls that would grace my weary palms. [XXl] The unfurling, rippling scarlet petals of a carnation reminiscently remind me of my own beating heart. Within a singular bud, my mind is thrust into the thoughts of passionate throes, distinct devotion and eternal love. I recall times where you would unfurl from behind your tiny back a beautiful flower crown made of vibrantly blooming carnations. It reflects within your wide, impressionable eyes like a collection of sparkling rubies gripped in your trembling hands. You are trembling because you’re exhausted from the effort. I smile and graciously bow my head as I await to be coronated by your ‘beautiful art piece’. [XXll] Anger, as an emotion, has always been colored red within my mind’s eye. Various shades dictate various levels of anger. Some ire is full of malice and vitriol. That is colored bright, flaming vermillion. Sometimes it’s borne from a hateful desire for vengeance (color of wine), or it’s a quiet, rolling storm taking place distantly… but you don’t know which cold winds will suddenly sweep it your way. A red you cannot recognize as being red. What gets me though, to the very pink marrow of my bones, is the confrontational wrath of another when they believe you have wronged them. In their eyes, your actions deserve forceful correction. It never fails to disturb me. [XXlll] An indignant huff. "It's a crown, mama!" you correct me, rosy cheeks puffed as if you could be a startled cat. When I think of you as a little kitten a small chuckle escapes past my lips, despite my poor attempt to catch it in time with my fingertips. Oops… Too late. "Mama!" you gasp as if wounded. I laugh some more. The world around me blushes pink, but yours is the brightest and sweetest to see. [XXlV] All it takes is one ember to create a raging inferno. [XXV] Not only were you creative, but an artist as well—a Creator just like your father. You love the "slices in life", you say, and how you enjoyed piecing them together to proudly introduce to us your creations. That's what you did. You brought to life new things. You made life anew. [XXVl] The sun was warm that day... But not as warm as the white tablecloth you had draped with your little hands over the metal filigree garden table... Which was nearly not as warm as your rapid breath. Not as warm as the spilled tea that you had brewed yourself for me. Not as warm as the ichor you cough up your little throat. Not as warm as your blood staining my hands as I try—and fail—to oust the toxins from your body. Not as warm as my tears and certainly not as scorching hot as the white slashes that tear through me then and still do now... [XXVll] Your last words to me were an apology. They never should have been. You couldn’t understand the reality of how dangerous certain leaves can be. You did not know any better. I certainly should have. I should've known better the moment I first heard you say you were going to make the tea yourself, ‘just like how mama makes it’... I should have done more to save you beforehand... Before your hands touched that wretched cup... Before I would lose you. [XXVlll] A warm day turned red. A warm day stained by my favorite color. By blood. [XXlX] I look at the carnation bush that has overtaken our grotto with greedy revelry. The cherry tree has long ago died and the worms were quick to go with. His hands have long ago turned cold. I too have long ago turned, and into what, you ask...? I no longer know, my child. I'm sorry. [XXX] Now, I see that I am only bones wrapped within that shawl you had loved oh-so-dearly... Cursed to warmly recall the days when the cloth woven with scarlet threads had been warmed by a red, summer sun and your own lively, reddened cheeks. ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬xxrelations.
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" | xxx |
code by archaic #19153
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Exalting wretchful to the service of the Flamecaller 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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