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The Beast's CurseHowls echoed down the halls as the Crone walked as fast as her old legs would carry her. She passed stunning carvings, and magnificent paintings, lining the walls off the castle, showing the young lord who lived there to have very good taste. The Crone knew he only wished to surround himself in things of splendor, and those items not at beautiful as he were not welcome within his home. Sobs of pain reached her ears as she managed to guide herself through the keep, reaching finally the wood door that would take her to the Lord Erik’s room. She did not knock, but just entered, finding shards of glass strewn about thThe Beast's Curse
by ~Nishant-Imani
First Monster-s-
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Cry for the sunOf all opposites, one is seen as the light side and the other is the dark side. One is known as 'good', the other must so been known as 'bad'. One is loved. One is hated. But one thing is sure, one side is smiled upon and the other has been turned a blind eye against.Cry for the sun
The sun and the moon are no different, they symbolize the difference of night and day, the sign that time is passing us by.
And so, one of the two must be a favorite of lady luck and the other will never have the luck of the draw.
Which of the two is pitied and despised? Which is loved and admired?
For almost all, th
by ~OneWingedAngel19
for her.it's midnight and I'm writing love letters on my skin to the woman who raised me. it's midnight and every limb has a story. allfor her.
my collarbone remembers is the frantic hurry of your footsteps when it broke under the weight of gravity and mistaken desire to fly and my broken pink umbrella, long-gone, remembers too. my elbows remember the firm pull of your hands in the grocery store. my cheeks remember your makeup and
my clumsy fingers dipping in like paint pots and my neck remembers all your strands of pearls. I remember when you were young again and wearing red and holdi
by ~this-epiphany
How To WriteAbstract: an analytical approach to plotting and writing fiction upwards of 1,000 wordsHow To Write
Acknowledgements: the potentially amazing Rachel (:devifrozenspiriti:) served as guinea pig to this; go and tell her to finish the product of that experiment, because you'll love it. Chris Widdison (:devtearstone:) approached me indecently with the idea of writing a longer essay (which will still happen, and be a lot more purdy than this here thing), which would incorporate this essay in another form, amongst others. He doesn't need to read any of this, because he already knows it all.
Target audience: young, inexpe
by `Bringa
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You fill me up with an everlasting joy.
A joy that calls upon butterflies,
That flutter away with my despair.
Through the window that was once hidden behind curtains,
That now let in the sun~
<3
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let's play a game called you pretend i am an actual poet
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Why did you have to shoot me through the heart?
Where do you think you shot me?
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¥~*I do not like the feeling that I am feeling while I'm feeling it
and when I'm done feeling it for the moment I won't feel wrong for feeling it,but right now I feel it and it feels wrong.*~¥ - (E.Soileau)
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