It's been months and have a thing that makes no sense because feelings.
---
1. He runs his fingers over the spines of books, as if this will tell him anything more than long titles and longer names. He is picky about these sorts of things in the same way that a child is about the contents of her dinner plate.
2. Her body has been poisoned exhaustively by hatred, pooling in her lungs and dripping off her eyelashes. She is regarded by experts as a toxic individual with the capability to cause significant harm to others.
3. Most of his flaws are endearing: the inherited weakness in his vision, how he makes strange comparisons to express his feelings, his reclusive paranoia when it comes to insignificant details.
4. Fingertips and bright lights are a poor substitute for therapy. She self-medicates because no one has the time for her. He begs her to quit.
5. There are jars of beetles and butterflies on his desk at work. They put their legs up to the glass and scream every time she walks past.
6. She fills her ears with sad singer-songwriters who hold long notes and make violins cry for him.
7. His history of violence silently terrifies her.
8. The padding over her body is wearing out from the inside. His mouth is full of gauze and blood.
9. He deludes himself into jumping.
10. Her arms have shattered.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Friday, May 4, 2012
Lily Thompson
Look you guys, this one has a shirt.
My newest character in the Call of Cthulhu game Welcome to Silent Hill.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Purple People Eater Defense Force
I had a sudden urge to draw a purple-haired girl. So I did. (click it for full size)
She is also rather green. I wanted to stick to a color scheme.
Tried to put more expression in this time. Didn't really work.
One of these days, I will draw a girl with a shirt. That'll really be branching out.
Tried to put more expression in this time. Didn't really work.
One of these days, I will draw a girl with a shirt. That'll really be branching out.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Blue Eye
I should branch out, but this was fun.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Desire
This is the final version of my entry into the Dragon Age: Asunder writing contest. Congratulations to the winners.
I don't regret a thing.
---
The ache began in the Harrowing Chamber. I stood next to the Knight-Commander, fingers brushing the hilt of my sword. Vigilant, and apprehensive.
There was lyrium, all light and dust, in the center of the room. It kept me strong; allowed me to nullify the powers of a dangerous mage. But it was also her gateway into the Fade.
She was an apprentice, but I was not much older. I had been chosen to kill her if she failed. It would have been my first.
Fear enveloped her like a funeral shroud. Her small fingers trembled; I longed to hold them. She held on to either side of the pedestal while the First Enchanter offered words of encouragement.
I was transfixed as she dipped her head and breathed. She glanced upwards, eyes locked with mine for a mere second, carving a hollow in my chest. Her eyes were bright, beautiful blue. So was the lyrium.
Then her spirit left. Her body crumpled to the floor in sleep. Traces of lyrium dust shimmered on her skin. Wisps of red hair had come undone from her braid. And beneath her eyelids, there was the slightest of movements as she dreamed.
Her name was Kyrie.
I waited beside her, one hand on my sword, one at the base of her neck. Behind me, I heard the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter in hushed conversation.
At last, she returned with fire in her eyes. There was power in the way she stood, now; her fear was gone. She was a full-fledged mage, and my sword remained in its sheath.
I still remember her smile: enthralling.
I was a guard and a prisoner. The Chantry fed me the dust in the name of the Maker, and in return, I watched. I watched her for hours, in silence, and she boldly returned my gaze. I only dropped my guard when she kissed me.
Then she took me by the hand and led me to the storerooms. She was ethereal in the pale light.
Perhaps that was the first time I noticed the scars. Tiny white scratches raised on her skin. When I asked, she silenced me with her mouth while she dressed.
Templars don't have families. We don't have children, or lovers, or homes. The Tower was my cage as much as it was hers. And we longed to be free.
Freedom was fleeting moments in each other's arms. Freedom was the way she'd whisper my name. Freedom was when the lyrium was short and the only thing I could hear was her voice.
But as long as the Tower held us, we couldn't last. We were careless - gazes held too long, conspicuous brushes of the hand, hiding in dark corners until footsteps receded. Too many times, I heard murmurs of suspicion among my fellow templars, only for them to cease when I made my presence known.
The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter both seemed to turn on us, asking question after question. I answered in half-truths and utter lies until the interrogations came to a stop.
If they thought anything, they thought it was harmless. There were always more pressing matters than fraternization.
"We should run away," she told me one night.
"We wouldn't get far," I said.
Even as I spoke those words, the ache grew stronger. As she slept, I stared at the Tower's stone walls, knowing they weren't the things keeping us in. The smell of rust hung heavy in the air.
Kyrie's powers grew ever stronger as she practiced her art. She bent the forces of the world to her will, able to create and destroy when she wished. And though her body grew pale and weak from the effort, her spirit seemed to thrive on magic alone.
"Do you know the most powerful force in the universe?" she asked, voice echoing in the storerooms. They were infested with rats; I could hear them scurrying around in the walls.
Without waiting for an answer, she raised her hands and breathed, deeply. Then, the sound of a thousand lives being snuffed out, a splash of liquid on stone. From all directions, ribbons of blood joined together in a congealing mass, suspended in thin air above her palms.
"Life."
The walls were silent as she bathed them in blood. Slowly, red changed into green, and the storeroom was covered in vines from ceiling to floor. Thorns and white flowers were scattered across them.
With a wave of her hand, the vines disappeared - save for one star-shaped blossom, which she handed to me.
She was maleficar. But she was my love, beautiful and terrible. And when she looked into my eyes, I felt her hold on me.
The Litany of Adralla halts the mental domination of blood magic, but only if it is used at the moment the spell is cast. But by the time I felt the fingers of her mind creeping inside my own, it was too late, and I submitted willingly - or it felt as though I did.
"Isn't it what you want?" she asked later, while she ran the rusted blade along my arm. Blood bubbled in the shallow cut, and the pain came a second later. "We'll be together forever, free of the Chantry's laws."
Her fingers twirled, and the blood rose up to become light. "There's nothing for us here. I could learn so much more."
"I need the lyrium."
"All we need is each other."
After that, I began to find the glittering dust in the joints of my armor. In my bedclothes. In my glass at supper. Everything I touched left lyrium on my fingers. No one else could see it. No one else but Kyrie, and her eyes sparkled when I asked her.
"We'll go to Denerim and destroy my phylactery."
"They'll find us."
That night, the lyrium dust was stained with red. It smelled like rust. The emptiness was all-consuming. Every time I fell asleep, Kyrie was in my dreams, asking the same question again and again:
"Isn't it what you want?"
On the last morning, I heard screams, and flames licking at walls. Lyrium spilled from my armor while I dressed. The dust had eaten away at my sword.
I threw the door open, and rushed into a cloud of smoke and blood. Fires had swallowed the corridor around me, but when I walked, they parted before my feet.
The Tower had been brought to its knees. I watched mages and templars alike perish in the red flames. When I reached out to help them, they crumbled into ash.
I recognized the Knight-Commander's sword, abandoned on the floor. My hand closed around its hilt, and I traced the carving of Andraste's sword of mercy in the pommel.
When I found her, I found the Knight-Commander with her, bleeding and broken. She turned her lyrium-blue eyes on me, and smiled.
Not all abominations are grotesque horrors, or sickening mockeries of the person they once were. Some are beautiful and tempting creatures, who pull you in like a moth to candlelight - and you burn for it.
Her feet hovered a few inches above solid ground. Her hair was unbound, an intense scarlet, moving like the flames around her. Curved horns had sprouted from her temples, and a thin tail lashed behind her.
She was a demon of desire, beautiful and terrible, present ever since Kyrie had failed her Harrowing.
"We're free." She floated towards me, twisting the knife of my hunger. "No one can hold us back now."
"I did all of this for you, so we can be happy. Isn't it what you want?"
The Knight-Commander mustered the strength to speak one last time. He looked at me, disappointment and disgust contorting his face. "You knew."
I could not find the will to deny it.
She touched my face. Her fingertips had become claws, tracing cuts down my cheeks like tears. I wanted her, and everything she promised. Freedom. Love. Happiness. The lust nearly swallowed me.
And when she embraced me, I felt the weight of the Knight-Commander's sword in my hand - the weight of my oath.
I heard her scream as she died. Her voice was faint, but there, beyond the demon's howl. She was asking me why.
A templar's duty is to slay maleficarum, mages who have dealt with demons and practiced forbidden magic. I chose duty over desire too late, and for this, they sent me to the mage's prison. Aeonar.
Here, there is no daylight, no timepiece, no one to tell us how long we've been here. Demons come through tears in the Fade and whisper to us. Even now, I hear the screams of abominations. Every one of them has Kyrie's voice, though I cannot make out the words.
The lyrium is gone now. I fade in and out of awareness. Most days, I escape into memories. The only thing that remains clear is the demon.
She still tells me things. She is here, inside my mind, tempting me with visions of the world outside. Greagoir is Knight-Commander now. A blood mage has escaped. The Circle was nearly annulled.
I am no longer a guard. I am a prisoner, a thrall, a pawn of Desire.
But Kyrie, the woman who looked into my eyes, is free from her.
I don't regret a thing.
---
The ache began in the Harrowing Chamber. I stood next to the Knight-Commander, fingers brushing the hilt of my sword. Vigilant, and apprehensive.
There was lyrium, all light and dust, in the center of the room. It kept me strong; allowed me to nullify the powers of a dangerous mage. But it was also her gateway into the Fade.
She was an apprentice, but I was not much older. I had been chosen to kill her if she failed. It would have been my first.
Fear enveloped her like a funeral shroud. Her small fingers trembled; I longed to hold them. She held on to either side of the pedestal while the First Enchanter offered words of encouragement.
I was transfixed as she dipped her head and breathed. She glanced upwards, eyes locked with mine for a mere second, carving a hollow in my chest. Her eyes were bright, beautiful blue. So was the lyrium.
Then her spirit left. Her body crumpled to the floor in sleep. Traces of lyrium dust shimmered on her skin. Wisps of red hair had come undone from her braid. And beneath her eyelids, there was the slightest of movements as she dreamed.
Her name was Kyrie.
I waited beside her, one hand on my sword, one at the base of her neck. Behind me, I heard the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter in hushed conversation.
At last, she returned with fire in her eyes. There was power in the way she stood, now; her fear was gone. She was a full-fledged mage, and my sword remained in its sheath.
I still remember her smile: enthralling.
I was a guard and a prisoner. The Chantry fed me the dust in the name of the Maker, and in return, I watched. I watched her for hours, in silence, and she boldly returned my gaze. I only dropped my guard when she kissed me.
Then she took me by the hand and led me to the storerooms. She was ethereal in the pale light.
Perhaps that was the first time I noticed the scars. Tiny white scratches raised on her skin. When I asked, she silenced me with her mouth while she dressed.
Templars don't have families. We don't have children, or lovers, or homes. The Tower was my cage as much as it was hers. And we longed to be free.
Freedom was fleeting moments in each other's arms. Freedom was the way she'd whisper my name. Freedom was when the lyrium was short and the only thing I could hear was her voice.
But as long as the Tower held us, we couldn't last. We were careless - gazes held too long, conspicuous brushes of the hand, hiding in dark corners until footsteps receded. Too many times, I heard murmurs of suspicion among my fellow templars, only for them to cease when I made my presence known.
The Knight-Commander and First Enchanter both seemed to turn on us, asking question after question. I answered in half-truths and utter lies until the interrogations came to a stop.
If they thought anything, they thought it was harmless. There were always more pressing matters than fraternization.
"We should run away," she told me one night.
"We wouldn't get far," I said.
Even as I spoke those words, the ache grew stronger. As she slept, I stared at the Tower's stone walls, knowing they weren't the things keeping us in. The smell of rust hung heavy in the air.
Kyrie's powers grew ever stronger as she practiced her art. She bent the forces of the world to her will, able to create and destroy when she wished. And though her body grew pale and weak from the effort, her spirit seemed to thrive on magic alone.
"Do you know the most powerful force in the universe?" she asked, voice echoing in the storerooms. They were infested with rats; I could hear them scurrying around in the walls.
Without waiting for an answer, she raised her hands and breathed, deeply. Then, the sound of a thousand lives being snuffed out, a splash of liquid on stone. From all directions, ribbons of blood joined together in a congealing mass, suspended in thin air above her palms.
"Life."
The walls were silent as she bathed them in blood. Slowly, red changed into green, and the storeroom was covered in vines from ceiling to floor. Thorns and white flowers were scattered across them.
With a wave of her hand, the vines disappeared - save for one star-shaped blossom, which she handed to me.
She was maleficar. But she was my love, beautiful and terrible. And when she looked into my eyes, I felt her hold on me.
The Litany of Adralla halts the mental domination of blood magic, but only if it is used at the moment the spell is cast. But by the time I felt the fingers of her mind creeping inside my own, it was too late, and I submitted willingly - or it felt as though I did.
"Isn't it what you want?" she asked later, while she ran the rusted blade along my arm. Blood bubbled in the shallow cut, and the pain came a second later. "We'll be together forever, free of the Chantry's laws."
Her fingers twirled, and the blood rose up to become light. "There's nothing for us here. I could learn so much more."
"I need the lyrium."
"All we need is each other."
After that, I began to find the glittering dust in the joints of my armor. In my bedclothes. In my glass at supper. Everything I touched left lyrium on my fingers. No one else could see it. No one else but Kyrie, and her eyes sparkled when I asked her.
"We'll go to Denerim and destroy my phylactery."
"They'll find us."
That night, the lyrium dust was stained with red. It smelled like rust. The emptiness was all-consuming. Every time I fell asleep, Kyrie was in my dreams, asking the same question again and again:
"Isn't it what you want?"
On the last morning, I heard screams, and flames licking at walls. Lyrium spilled from my armor while I dressed. The dust had eaten away at my sword.
I threw the door open, and rushed into a cloud of smoke and blood. Fires had swallowed the corridor around me, but when I walked, they parted before my feet.
The Tower had been brought to its knees. I watched mages and templars alike perish in the red flames. When I reached out to help them, they crumbled into ash.
I recognized the Knight-Commander's sword, abandoned on the floor. My hand closed around its hilt, and I traced the carving of Andraste's sword of mercy in the pommel.
When I found her, I found the Knight-Commander with her, bleeding and broken. She turned her lyrium-blue eyes on me, and smiled.
Not all abominations are grotesque horrors, or sickening mockeries of the person they once were. Some are beautiful and tempting creatures, who pull you in like a moth to candlelight - and you burn for it.
Her feet hovered a few inches above solid ground. Her hair was unbound, an intense scarlet, moving like the flames around her. Curved horns had sprouted from her temples, and a thin tail lashed behind her.
She was a demon of desire, beautiful and terrible, present ever since Kyrie had failed her Harrowing.
"We're free." She floated towards me, twisting the knife of my hunger. "No one can hold us back now."
"I did all of this for you, so we can be happy. Isn't it what you want?"
The Knight-Commander mustered the strength to speak one last time. He looked at me, disappointment and disgust contorting his face. "You knew."
I could not find the will to deny it.
She touched my face. Her fingertips had become claws, tracing cuts down my cheeks like tears. I wanted her, and everything she promised. Freedom. Love. Happiness. The lust nearly swallowed me.
And when she embraced me, I felt the weight of the Knight-Commander's sword in my hand - the weight of my oath.
I heard her scream as she died. Her voice was faint, but there, beyond the demon's howl. She was asking me why.
A templar's duty is to slay maleficarum, mages who have dealt with demons and practiced forbidden magic. I chose duty over desire too late, and for this, they sent me to the mage's prison. Aeonar.
Here, there is no daylight, no timepiece, no one to tell us how long we've been here. Demons come through tears in the Fade and whisper to us. Even now, I hear the screams of abominations. Every one of them has Kyrie's voice, though I cannot make out the words.
The lyrium is gone now. I fade in and out of awareness. Most days, I escape into memories. The only thing that remains clear is the demon.
She still tells me things. She is here, inside my mind, tempting me with visions of the world outside. Greagoir is Knight-Commander now. A blood mage has escaped. The Circle was nearly annulled.
I am no longer a guard. I am a prisoner, a thrall, a pawn of Desire.
But Kyrie, the woman who looked into my eyes, is free from her.
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