PM ♕ Prospitian Monarch (promoted_pawn) wrote in marinasylum, @ 2011-05-27 17:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | ibram gaunt, prospitian monarch, terezi pyrope, wayward vagabond |
[Dream Event | Open]
[You are surrounded by the harsh geometry of a ruined kingdom. There is no sign of life--only molten gold, fire, and the dark red of congealing blood. All around lay the corpses of white-shelled men, women, and children, clad in gowns and tunics of beautiful pastel hidden by blood and gore. They’ve been slashed cleanly apart at head or torso by an unthinkably sharp blade. Great idols of frogs have been cleanly beheaded and defaced, and once-proud towers dozens of stories high stand like broken tombstones over the kingdom. Nonsensically, the occasional pile of sand rises up in the middle of a street or the edge of a room.]
[Above, the sky splits in two with a strange juxtaposition of day and night: on one side, an orb of the most gorgeous and perfect blue sky where white puffy clouds drifting along lazily, and the other, a velvet black void streaked with the red trails of an uncomfortably close meteor shower. Several hurtle toward the planet, only for a shifting spirograph portal to appear in time to swallow it up and send it elsewhere.]
[Among the silent and eerie landscape, a woman’s voice pierces the silence with a song. Her voice is thin and weak, but the words come easily, like a well-worn hymn.]
...they wait for she who would thaw solid flesh, and resolve it into dew...
[Perhaps you are standing on a street, or wandering a corridor. Maybe you are in a grand cathedral with defaced religious icons, or in a ruined room that opens up onto a balcony. No matter where you may be, the singer is just out of view.]