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@seuIuvr / based  

@vrnovas / honestly ! If we take the root of the problem out (me) and dissect it maybe we’ll come to the conclusion that I suck and none of my concepts are cool and funky fresh 

/ absolutely and to combat misogynistic totally uncool vibes i’ll just stop making girl characters it’s the only logical way to move forward .. doing the bare minimum of making a totally never before seen great value concepts is difficult but we’re in this together!! 

@vrnovas / thank you, ur condolences really means a lot to me. I just don’t understand? I do the bare minimum of making a really cool—never before seen— character and it’s like? People would rather interact with something so??? high maintenance and totally try hard vibe when I’m here? It’s misogynistic if you ask me. 

❝ I feel you. . .❞  eyes divert, flicking like the burning candle light she left behind, ❝ Threaded into my spine, clinging to me like some pathogenic cannibal eating away at whatever it is that you wa. . . .❞ worlds deteriorate from tongue , lost to ringing sounding through her head, A PAIN SO SHARP SHE FEELS AS IF SHE SPINNING. HAND RAISES, palm digging into her temple to release the phantom from inside her mind, and it subsides, slowly, retuning to the show drop meant to be forgotten. ❝ In the quiet . . ❞  SPACE BECOMES ABSOLUTE AS QUEEN STANDS BEFORE QUEEN, NO LESS THAN A MERE BREATH AWAY. ❝ in the disruption I feel you there l tormenting me . . . Always tormenting me. . . ❞ HEAD SHAKES AS BROWS DIP, hand raising to ghost the sculpt of cheek, trembling in air—SHE DARES REACH FORWARD, DARES PLACE THAT FREEZING PALM AGAINST ITS SURFACE. ❝ Do you understand / that / ? ❞

[ @vrnovas ]
            
            IT REMAINS, THE DAMNED SIGHT BEHIND CLOSED EYES. A CLAWED HAND REACHING UP FROM THE STRENUOUS WAVES TO GRASP AT THE FLEETING AIR UNTIL A TREMOR IS FELT IN PROXIMITY—A PALM OUTSTRETCHED, A GREAT FORCE TO BREAK THE TIDE AND FREE HER FROM THE DEEP. BUT. .. THE FACE IS FLEETING NOW, SLIDING AWAY BACK INTO THE RAIN. A GHOST PERHAPS, A SAVIOR IN THE FORM OF MISTY MEMORY—A DREAM THAT PLAGUES THE BEAST EVERY NIGHT; A LURE, MAYBE.  
            
            Silence lay steady against the bones of unholy defiance, against the walls of 
            beating despair and upmost distain. HER CONSCIOUSNESS LEADS HER INTO THE DARKNESS, INTO THE BELLY OF THE BEAST WHERE FEAR HOLDS NO MORE, INSTEAD RUINER FINDS THE SMALLEST OUNCE OF CONTEMPT, AS IF THIS CHAPTER IS SLOWLY UNFOLDING AND PERHAPS AN END IS NOWHERE NEAR. 
            
            [. . .]
            
            ❝ What have I done ? ❞  a mere whisper and yet it echoes through the dark , past the bending shadows that flicker from the corner of queens mind. FROM OWN FLICKER OF FACE, A PALENESS OF CURIOSITY, THE DECAY OF WEATHERED LIFE. she appears taken aback, confused even. WHAT HAD SHE DONE? As if this was all any of her choice—THIS HELL, this damned place and it’s filth and it’s shadows.  She approaches slow, a glistening of salted tears daring at the corner of frost bitten eyes, a TREMOR IN LIP, IN HANDS, IN BREATH . . { WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME! } 
            

@goddessofrot / TYSM BUT YOURS??? OMG 

[II] ❝ Evangeline please  . . .   ❞ NOT QUITE FROZEN AND YET SHE STILLS BENEATH TOUCH, FEELS AS IT BURNS THE FLESH—PICTURES THE BLOSSOMS OF PURPLE SPROUTING UPON CONTACT, BEGGING FOR MORE AND MORE AND MORE AND MORE.   ❝ please I— ❞ a breath rattles from trembling lips, FLINCHES AS HER HAND IS FORCED UPON FLESH.   QUEENS whisper morphs to scream, but her silent cries fall upon deaf ears, BUT CERTAINLY NOT THE WAY HER EYES WIDDEN IN THEIR SOCKETS, AND PERHAPS SHE IS TERRIFIED NOW, NOT FOR HERSELF BUT RATHER FOR WHAT IS TO COME NOW THAT THE SLEEPING GIANT HAS STIRRED WITHIN THE DEPTHS OF HER MIND. [ I DO NOT WANT TO HURT YOU.] 
            
            IT BEGUN LONG BEFORE SHE FELT THE FINGERS HOOK WITHIN HER RIBS, THE CHILL THAT PRESENTS NOW WITHIN THE GLOW OF PALE EYES—SHARPER, BRIGHTER NOW. She refrains for the begging flex that wishes to tear flesh, FIGHTS INSTINCT THAT BECKONS HER TO RIP THE DELICACY AND FEAST UPON THE CURE FOR WELLNESS. IT PAINS HER, THE URGE, A TERRIBLE WHITE HOTNESS, A NERVE ON FIRE BENEATH HER OWN SKIN. THE REFUSAL MIGHT KILL HER, BUT THE RISE WOULD TASTE MUCH SWEETER, AND IF IT MAY, SHE’D FALL AGAIN. 
            
            ❝ release me. . . . please.  ❞ { WE MUSTN’T WAIT MUCH LONGER, MY LOVE. } 

@vrnovas [I] OUR AUDIENCE AWAITS, HUNG UPON NAIL AND FRAME A MOMENT ENCASED IN SILVER AND TARNISHED GOLD WEATHERED BY TIME AND  MEMORY.   THE PORTRAITS HAUNT THIS HALL AND THEY SEE US NOW, SEE HOW YOU FORCE MY HAND. DO YOU FEEL THEIR EYES ON US? HOW THEY WATCH? HOW THEY ARE WAITING TO SEE THE CATASTROPHE OF OUR MAKING? ONE DAY, I TOO, WILL BECOME OIL ON THE WALL, MELTING WITH THE HOURS AND DROWNING IN DUST. I SHALL HANG FROM MY TRHEAD AND NAIL AND WATCH THE ROT OF MY SUCCESSOR.  BUT WILL YOU, MOTHER OF THE VOID, BLACKHOLE OF DECAY, BE AROUND TO WITNESS THE FINAL STROKE? WILL YOU STARE IN AWE AS I AM ENTRAPPED IN INK AND CANVAS OR SHALL YOU TEAR MY FACE IN TWO AND DEVOUR MY MEMORY INCH BY INCH? 
            
            . . . . THE MIRROR OF DECAY PRESENTS ITSELF IN FEROCITY, AN IMAGE OF DISTORTION AND 	DISBELIEF. BUT EVEN IN THE FACE OF DEMOLITION THERE IS SELF WITHIN THE EXHIBIT--BENEATH THE BEAST, INSIDE THE BELLY OF THE MONSTER, SHE REMAINS. [ I SEE MYSELF WITHIN YOUR TORMENT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? ]
            
            ❝ I . .  ❞ a gentle outreach, a preserve in the pitch blackness surrounding them now. DO YOU SEE THE TREMBLE WITHIN THE JOINTS, PALM OUTRIGHT AND BEGGING FOR THE WEIGHT OF ANOTHER—OPEN AND BEGGING— WEIGHTLESS.  Terror does not take form, but there is grief in the irises of winters shell and after all, doesn’t it present the same? They’re familiarity in the way it creeps up her spine, coiling around each vertebre slithering between the gaps of bone until it finds the steady beat in the centre, THE CAUSE FOR THIS MESS NOW, AND HER UNDOING SOON ENOUGH.

“BECOME MY END. FOR WHAT MORE AM I BUT A BACTERIUM THAT FEASTS UPON THE FLESH, BUT THE ROT HIDING WITHIN THE BONE GNAWING AT THE MARROW. TELL-ME-MY-QUEEN DO NOT /MAKE/ ME WAIT.” the wrist is snatched by her grasp and raised to her throat, where false veins run black from the gushing maw to the saturated neck, draining the stream into the jugular’s notch. IT NEVER RUNS DRY, FOR I TOO AM THE OVERFLOW, THE ABUNDANCE OF DECAY. I LOOK INTO YOUR EYES WITH EXCRUCIATING INQUIRY: CAN YOUR REFLECTION BE FOUND STUCK IN MY IRISES? 
            
            LOOK ME IN THE EYES AS YOU LEAVE ME FOR THE CROWS, QUEEN OF THE NORTH. 
            
            “WHAT MORE AM I… BUT FILTH?”

@tmpests / SHUT UP SHUT UP NOW

@vrnovas / WHOS HERD? Not mine ! 

/ human beings in a mob…. LET ME STOPPPPPP it’s getting weird. lmao. control your herd 

@vrnovas / like damn the holy Trinity has already risen no need for all this foolishness