Shade

CHAPTER 1

◀️ CHAPTER 1 ▶️
Out

"Connection is a need indeed."

📖

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Scribble. Scribble. Scribble.

SHADE HAS always been fascinated by arts and music. They resemble the chant of the ancient Nords, as if narrated by Hypnos, that lulls the insomniac to slumber.

They keep the maiden's ever-fleeting self intact as she daydreams and voyages through time and space. They are her heroine and tranquilizer.

Shade stopped sketching and sang to Taylor Swift's Lover  which echoed in the background. She even used her digital pen as a pretend microphone. It was as if she was some lovesick teenager who was jamming with the theme song of her and the object of her affection. She looked carefree and blissed.

The song was like a fine wine. The older it gets, the better it becomes. It was intoxicating and addictive that she gladly permits herself to be vulnerable as it conquers her artistic soul yet again. It was the only susceptibility that she would ever allow herself to experience. The sole defenselessness that she considers safe.

The world is both a celestial and an open hunting place. An abode flooded with surprises and fluctuations. It is a paradise where anguish resides. A haven of deceit.

It is where to live is to suffer. Where delusion is reality, and the simple is made problematic.

The demand for Pyrrhonism is extreme in this land; reliability ever becoming deficient. However, there is one thing that is among the certain, humans truly are difficult beings.

🔖

The melody from Shade's smartphone drowned in the background as she returned to drawing.

She is a comic artist and an author who works despite being on hiatus. Is she a workaholic? Absolutely not. She is anything but that.

The lady only has ten days before she is back on track. Hence why she is drawing in advance so she can laze around again to her heart's content. It's not like she has anything better to do, anyway. She was just hibernating.

It has been quite some time now since Shade commenced with her duty. But as much as she should care about the passage of time, she does not.

Her upper body remained perfectly arched over the ten and a half inches iPad Air, fourth generation, as though she had just committed treason and was begging before the King's feet in hope for forgiveness. Just that she was sitting Indian-style rather than kneeling.

Gravity appeared to have had enough of the maiden's unhealthy posture that she suddenly felt lightheaded despite her seemingly numbed senses.

'Fuck!'  She spat under her breath upon feeling a vein twitched somewhere around her head. It was as though her entire blood got absorbed by her brain and a frying pan slapped her hard on the face.

She pressed her temples with her left hand's thumb and ring finger for a minute. Thereafter, she slowly and carefully straightened her back. Her vision was kept in the dark behind her eyelids until the magnitude of the biological quake she had become bearable.