03-11-2016, 12:17 AM
The ashen-haired woman glanced around, her quick eyes darting from point to point in this vast white landscape and observing any and everything that she could take in. She sat oh so quietly on the side of the fountain. It had definitely been quite a bit since she had really cared to interact with another being. In fact, she didn’t know exactly how long it had been since she had dealt with a rather smelly and otherwise offensive man named Cyburn. She remembered having dealt with him, speaking and gathering information on what exactly had caused her to be sucked into another realm of existence, but after that, she hadn’t a clue, only that time had passed in this little bubble of reality. She spoke one moment, and as if with a blink of an eye, they were gone and she was simply here again.
It wasn’t like she was exactly bothering by being alone. She had spent an incomprehensible amount of time locked within a void, chained and punished, tortured until she broke time and time again. This was nothing, time was nothing to her. Just like everything else that one could encounter, she found that time dulled each experience as it began to pass by faster and faster. Years felt like seconds, minutes like a briefest flicker of some forlorn memory smudged and torn by each breath. She held this truth to be so self evident- time twisted and changed everything, stretching and tugging like a temperamental and disobedient child until it got it’s way. It stopped for no one, held no consciousness, and knew no moral code. Time was a true god, one of the only she held with that respect, for it had mastered itself far long ago, at the very first wheezing breath of the universe and before her and her people would have ever existed.
Long ago, this pattern of thought would have upset her and made her feel as if she was under some sort of extremely extenuating situation. It used to present a form of existential crisis and sticken panic that blossomed deep within her soul. Yet time had torn at her and warped her emotions. She was desensitised to this existentialist dilemma that humans liked to wrap themselves up in when they realised that everything, no matter how great and impressive, had a beginning and would eventually have an end. It had actually impressed her whenever humans, in their short and infinitely finite lives, came to a sort of peace with that ever encompassing void that promised eternal sleep as far as they knew it. Death meant so much to humans that they spent their entire life planning on how to carefully avoid this unavoidable event; this is why the realisation that a very few had in their last days bought some sense of pleasant surprise to her weary spirit.
Of course, there was always the argument that before her, humans lead a much simpler life. The voices of those who came before her last sphere would always ring crisply in her mind. From her originated all sin; pride, greed, lust, sloth, wrath, envy, gluttony. If she hadn’t originated them, then she had certainly given humans the means to practice them. She could still think back and recall- no not even recall, she still held the belief that humans were beneath her, created to be her slaves and servants. From her and her people they had been manifested; they were nothing more than toys, a means to an end for her. They had emotions, reactions, souls, they could empathise with each other and even bridge the gap between them and lifeforms even lower than them, she guessed that it was some sort of unexpected byproduct at creating hybrids from her people. Even with this truth, she held those who were once her superiors as responsible for lifting these people into some sort of wicked and coveted enlightenment, giving humans so much advantage but not giving them obstacles to test themselves against and overcome. Humans always lived in a lap of luxury.
They blamed her for everything wrong when they had also created her, but treated her and her fellows like rejects. How could they expect her to react correctly when she had been raised in ways that breed strong resentment for everything. She would always feel completely justified. She was always regarded as very careless and confusing. She was a careless person, she smashed up things and creatures and retreated back into her money, power, her vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept her distant and let other people clean up the mess she had made.
After all, being careless was what she was good for, being a fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool. Be a fool and let things lead you where ever they may. Time is unstoppable, and she couldn’t afford to live in the past, trying to capture dying dreams and crumbling aspirations. Men liked to look to the orgastic future that year by year recedes before everything. It eluded them then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow they will run faster, stretch out their arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning they will hope to reach these goals— So they beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past that they adore so much.
She supposed that men were endearing in that strange and pitiful way. Young and vanishing creatures that acted so rashly, destroying themselves in order to create a future, to gain their goals. She liked to focus on the struggle of human beings trying to achieve their goals by both transcending and re-creating the past. Yet humans prove themselves unable to move beyond this past. And to think that she, she alone and by herself had caused men to evolve like this. It was her intervention that gave her such great fascination and entertainment.
She paused in her meditations and noticed a man dressed in dark, unmistakable thief garb. She had been around long enough and could draw upon her vast memories quickly enough to be able to spot a thief when she saw him, the way he walked, the way he moved spoke of strong but lithe and well trained muscles that flowed with a sort of predatory grace under his clothes. The way a person walked, and held their poise said a lot about their history, something a trained eye could easily pick out. She observed him as he paused and looked in her direction, or rather more so at the amount of others that had recently began gathering in this small white world.
Glancing up and down his form in the quickest of motions, she took in everything about him that she could, from his height to his stockiness to how much he might weigh. She took a brief moment to judge how fast he could likely move, how his body moved ever so slightly with each breath and the slight twitches of his body. She would take each minute detail of him in with each passing moment, trying to judge what his next move would be and be as prepared as possible for any sort of aggression she might face at his hands.
Of course, she could always play the damsel in distress. She had always loved that role. Of course, in the realm she was from, women had next to no rights, not the right to divorce, not the right to vote, own property or even have control over her own body. Everything was controlled by the male counterpart, not that she minded that much. Gender constructs held no importance to someone of her people or her age. She prefered neither gender or sex over the other, as each held its own advantages and disadvantages. If she really felt like having outright power and control, she would let her body morph back into the form of a man.
With a soft sigh, she let herself look at utter ease, complete relaxation as she sat on the side of the fountain and flipped a bit of her long wavy ashen hair over her shoulder. She would allow her full lips to lift into a graceful and carefree smile. She loved the thought of being alluring to people, a carefree smile and thick lashes fluttered, she was certain that she could appeal to any and everyone if she tried. It was one of the reasons she wore the outfit she wore.
Having figured out how this strange liquid like substance worked for the most part, she dematerialised her old clothes and made a new, more captivating and far less conservative outfit than the large hoop dresses that ladies of her standing in the south wore. She let an open chested brown corset grace her form, pushing a distracting amount of cleavage together, thigh high black laced up boots and tan pants, her long sleeves wet down to the middle of her hands, and her collar came almost to her jaw. On her head was a small but exquisite tilted top hat with flowers and feathers decorating this headpiece.
In a single fluid motion, she leaned back and crossed her legs. Waiting to see if this newcomer would do anything to her, or even do anything interesting.
It wasn’t like she was exactly bothering by being alone. She had spent an incomprehensible amount of time locked within a void, chained and punished, tortured until she broke time and time again. This was nothing, time was nothing to her. Just like everything else that one could encounter, she found that time dulled each experience as it began to pass by faster and faster. Years felt like seconds, minutes like a briefest flicker of some forlorn memory smudged and torn by each breath. She held this truth to be so self evident- time twisted and changed everything, stretching and tugging like a temperamental and disobedient child until it got it’s way. It stopped for no one, held no consciousness, and knew no moral code. Time was a true god, one of the only she held with that respect, for it had mastered itself far long ago, at the very first wheezing breath of the universe and before her and her people would have ever existed.
Long ago, this pattern of thought would have upset her and made her feel as if she was under some sort of extremely extenuating situation. It used to present a form of existential crisis and sticken panic that blossomed deep within her soul. Yet time had torn at her and warped her emotions. She was desensitised to this existentialist dilemma that humans liked to wrap themselves up in when they realised that everything, no matter how great and impressive, had a beginning and would eventually have an end. It had actually impressed her whenever humans, in their short and infinitely finite lives, came to a sort of peace with that ever encompassing void that promised eternal sleep as far as they knew it. Death meant so much to humans that they spent their entire life planning on how to carefully avoid this unavoidable event; this is why the realisation that a very few had in their last days bought some sense of pleasant surprise to her weary spirit.
Of course, there was always the argument that before her, humans lead a much simpler life. The voices of those who came before her last sphere would always ring crisply in her mind. From her originated all sin; pride, greed, lust, sloth, wrath, envy, gluttony. If she hadn’t originated them, then she had certainly given humans the means to practice them. She could still think back and recall- no not even recall, she still held the belief that humans were beneath her, created to be her slaves and servants. From her and her people they had been manifested; they were nothing more than toys, a means to an end for her. They had emotions, reactions, souls, they could empathise with each other and even bridge the gap between them and lifeforms even lower than them, she guessed that it was some sort of unexpected byproduct at creating hybrids from her people. Even with this truth, she held those who were once her superiors as responsible for lifting these people into some sort of wicked and coveted enlightenment, giving humans so much advantage but not giving them obstacles to test themselves against and overcome. Humans always lived in a lap of luxury.
They blamed her for everything wrong when they had also created her, but treated her and her fellows like rejects. How could they expect her to react correctly when she had been raised in ways that breed strong resentment for everything. She would always feel completely justified. She was always regarded as very careless and confusing. She was a careless person, she smashed up things and creatures and retreated back into her money, power, her vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept her distant and let other people clean up the mess she had made.
After all, being careless was what she was good for, being a fool. That’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool. Be a fool and let things lead you where ever they may. Time is unstoppable, and she couldn’t afford to live in the past, trying to capture dying dreams and crumbling aspirations. Men liked to look to the orgastic future that year by year recedes before everything. It eluded them then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow they will run faster, stretch out their arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning they will hope to reach these goals— So they beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past that they adore so much.
She supposed that men were endearing in that strange and pitiful way. Young and vanishing creatures that acted so rashly, destroying themselves in order to create a future, to gain their goals. She liked to focus on the struggle of human beings trying to achieve their goals by both transcending and re-creating the past. Yet humans prove themselves unable to move beyond this past. And to think that she, she alone and by herself had caused men to evolve like this. It was her intervention that gave her such great fascination and entertainment.
She paused in her meditations and noticed a man dressed in dark, unmistakable thief garb. She had been around long enough and could draw upon her vast memories quickly enough to be able to spot a thief when she saw him, the way he walked, the way he moved spoke of strong but lithe and well trained muscles that flowed with a sort of predatory grace under his clothes. The way a person walked, and held their poise said a lot about their history, something a trained eye could easily pick out. She observed him as he paused and looked in her direction, or rather more so at the amount of others that had recently began gathering in this small white world.
Glancing up and down his form in the quickest of motions, she took in everything about him that she could, from his height to his stockiness to how much he might weigh. She took a brief moment to judge how fast he could likely move, how his body moved ever so slightly with each breath and the slight twitches of his body. She would take each minute detail of him in with each passing moment, trying to judge what his next move would be and be as prepared as possible for any sort of aggression she might face at his hands.
Of course, she could always play the damsel in distress. She had always loved that role. Of course, in the realm she was from, women had next to no rights, not the right to divorce, not the right to vote, own property or even have control over her own body. Everything was controlled by the male counterpart, not that she minded that much. Gender constructs held no importance to someone of her people or her age. She prefered neither gender or sex over the other, as each held its own advantages and disadvantages. If she really felt like having outright power and control, she would let her body morph back into the form of a man.
With a soft sigh, she let herself look at utter ease, complete relaxation as she sat on the side of the fountain and flipped a bit of her long wavy ashen hair over her shoulder. She would allow her full lips to lift into a graceful and carefree smile. She loved the thought of being alluring to people, a carefree smile and thick lashes fluttered, she was certain that she could appeal to any and everyone if she tried. It was one of the reasons she wore the outfit she wore.
Having figured out how this strange liquid like substance worked for the most part, she dematerialised her old clothes and made a new, more captivating and far less conservative outfit than the large hoop dresses that ladies of her standing in the south wore. She let an open chested brown corset grace her form, pushing a distracting amount of cleavage together, thigh high black laced up boots and tan pants, her long sleeves wet down to the middle of her hands, and her collar came almost to her jaw. On her head was a small but exquisite tilted top hat with flowers and feathers decorating this headpiece.
In a single fluid motion, she leaned back and crossed her legs. Waiting to see if this newcomer would do anything to her, or even do anything interesting.
![[Image: ZBAG8BL.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/ZBAG8BL.gif)
![[Image: 2wp59j8.jpg]](http://i64.tinypic.com/2wp59j8.jpg)