This post has the following content warnings:
stuffing fletcher with adjectives until it needs a vomitorium
Permalink

Astride the very air as spring's hopeful promise gives way to the intolerable long defeat of scalding summer months, the ordinarily lively witch abides in a moment of quiet introspection, her fathomless eyes gazing as though through the ephemerality of time itself from beneath the sheltering brim of her sagacious cornuthaum, scholarly hands delicate except at the well-seasoned fingertips grasping as though it were a concession to the material her wondrous yet disarmingly mundane conveyance, a ligneous limb in a sense untimely yet in a truer sense inevitably ripped from the autumn forest's pallid bounty (for what is an autumn, to a wood, if not a solemn preparation for a death?), wondrous enchantments whispering seductively to those inflexible laws which are at once the stern guardians and tireless demiurges of that peculiar ineffable public order on which the world itself relies, cajoling with self-serving theorems and cosseting with energy of clouded provenance.

"Forsooth," utters the honey-pated magus to the silent azure sky, "I, uh, remembereth not whence I hath bequenched the inferno of flames that feedeth mine cauldron afore the hour of mine departure from warm hearth into wild yonder. Forsooth."

Total: 3
Posts Per Page:
Permalink

The azure sky pales into turquoise and, with dawn's first fledgling rays rosying the tranquil clouds from beneath, platinum. Yet Kirisame Marisa's conveyance continues unabated through an atmosphere grown steadily more infernal, the insufferable sol accusing all beneath its baleful gaze. The forest canopy, though leafy, affords scant shelter; those scattered glades appearing as mirages yield not a whisper of the breeze that might relieve the sticky humidity. And still her cauldron, though bereft now of flame to feed it, continues in obliging silence to waft up fumes acrid enough to sting the eyes and assault the nose, clinging to skin with the tenacity of burdock's burrs.

Permalink

"Verily," pronounces the sagacious witch, "I shouldst returneth to mine abode and satisfy this consuming doubt, forasmuch as a blaze unforeseen might essay to consume that dwelling-place where I rest mine head, and wherein lie a goodly number of worldly possessions alongside much flammable wealth. But alas! mine appointment-time approacheth with alacrity, and were I to increase the span of the journey to the meeting-place, I wouldst arrive tardily. Forsooth!"

Ruefully, the sorcerous one impels her conveyance through the sweltering sky, a war of hope and fear welling in her breast. Truly, she attempts to convince herself, as would a diver before an icy lake, all shall be well, for a winding and unlikely path of probability must be fulfilled ere her beloved cottage burn in a conflagration of woeful forgetfulness.

Permalink

The azure sky pales into turquoise and, with dawn's first fledgling rays rosying the tranquil clouds from beneath, platinum. Yet Kirisame Marisa's conveyance continues unabated through an atmosphere grown steadily more infernal, the insufferable sol accusing all beneath its baleful gaze. The forest canopy, though leafy, affords scant shelter; those scattered glades appearing as mirages yield not a whisper of the breeze that might relieve the sticky humidity. And still her cauldron, though bereft now of flame to feed it, continues in obliging silence to waft up fumes acrid enough to sting the eyes and assault the nose, clinging to skin with the tenacity of burdock's burrs.

This Thread Is On Hiatus
Total: 3
Posts Per Page: