The Lost Islands
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Meadow

Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.

the bones of hellhounds tremble



it spoke to her. brontide, the thickened sound rife with equal parts anguish and promise. the tide drifted against dark sands, and the whispers of each ebb and flow joined together in a cacophonous symphony of cruel freedom.

it called her name. the hidden one. the ocean, it spoke with all of it's beautiful chaos: amunet.

and the omen, the dark one made of aphotic dreams and starless night went to it. her strides fierce and deliberate, without a second thought of the voice carried on a thin breeze. the froth and fray took her. her dayglow eyes were swept beneath the undulating waves, pulled into the deepest swells and across the vein slicing the isles from continent. amunet thought there would be no awakening from that briny prison. there would be no reprieve save for it snuffing out the candle of her heart.

and yet, by divine hands she found herself upon a giving shoreline. her steps met the soft cradling of sand and surf. like venus, she was gifted to the sunlight, loosened from the swaddling of neptune's bounty and left there anew. her limbs shuddered as weight collected on her unsteady footing. she stood upon that naked shoreline for moments, moments that bled into hours. she allowed the summery rays and warmth lay against her obsidian black and took in the glory of what must be a new eden; a fresh plane of existence. untouched, not reviled or ruined by the heat of zealous tongues and brimstone wrath. she stood, for as long as she could bear it, and with the chill of twilight drifting from across the cool ocean waters, amunet-the-shadow began her trek inland.

hunger crawled along her stomach, and fitted itself at her teeth. she was in want of nothing, in coming upon the meadow: a place that reminded her too much of youth. she was cautious then, happening upon that place: a place filled with traces of many others. others, she promptly then assumed, that may bring her harm. standing at the fringe of comfort, all she could do then, was stand, and wait. at the very least, thought the shadow, she had a place to rest.

amunet
three year old marwari mare, SISTER OF AMDUAT

HTML BY DANNIE ; REFERENCE BY KAI.


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