Streets underlit with a safe, warm, 'soft glow', unyielding with the inviting want of vulnerability that we all seem to share, this that paves the path of truth, of who we really are, rather than what we proclaim to be. These, the underlying facts and rigidity of an outward image encasing deafness that sometimes denies a fluidity of the soft and strong unbounded spirit that is so human, perhaps silly that we think this is protected from without. We, who are almost desperate to connect, and sometimes terrified of what we see in the mirror because our complacency in this comfortable narrative might be shattered and the facts spelled out to be something even more painful. Out of pain comes life, out of death comes rebirth, remembrance of our humanity and inherent need to enmesh with the other, all this encompassed in a soothing cocoon of emotionally silky spiderwebs, we find out the intricacies that detail our personalities. And in this, we sit with conflict until it becomes
Darkest Dungeon - Helion by The-Anariarch, literature
Literature
Darkest Dungeon - Helion
They encroached on our lands. Bearing their obscene banners and clanking in their metal armor. A stronger people they deemed themselves, if only by sheer virtue of the craftsmanship of others. None will deny amongst us. They’re Plated nature allowed them to suffer Blow and Scale at much the doom of us, their assailants. Yet no mere brigands are we. We roamed these woods long before such Iron hazards. And roamed it with Speed, Grace, and a quick florescent strike. And here again, I, a small daughter of my tribe, lie in wait with great Hunters beneath the steps of these ‘Ironclad’. Our virtue of observation enabled us to favor the Long Axe, a Halbred. Where we might, at range, spy our target, gaze with strength of arm and fashioned Sight; to deliver a critical blow. Which would render Great Plate to simple Flesh. Untested I was, but full of Fervor. Uninitiated in Trial, yet at the ready I stood. A slight tremble in my chest, yet as I stood before Father and Tribe, a soft whisper that
And your visage is Cassiopeia a time and again I strike my eyes upwards a ceilingless house. Your body glides limbs and rings as if -- Saturn's prima ballerina -- soothing his volatile kisses. I, a sky-sailor in a singing ship discarding a star and another and one more -- scouring a sea of pebbles for a pearl. Your mind a time machine fueled by an inexorable sun-soul -- it hurls us into the universe of before. At the moment of creation, whispers enmagick the stellar nurseries (arms caressing the ensuing chaos).