Her domains' eeriness and hostility prove to be a useful tool, keeping most of the wanders and explorers of the Horizon out. What point is there to visit this otherworldly surreal space? Those that do venture forward seem uncomfortable. Unsettled. A dissonance hangs heavily in the air, the idea of who the creator should be and the reality of this place twisting the strings that bind them into irreconcilable knots.
She does not invite others into it when it is far easier to visit others in their lush and verdant spaces, calm and peaceful rather than roiling and chaotic. Life-giving rather than taking, where she can wearily play the role and pretend like she belongs. It is easier for her to carry the discomfort of knowing that she is the piece that doesn't fit, hide it in a way she is so aptly practiced in. To be a saint is to sacrifice, after all.
But her odd domain offers a strange sense of peace in her chosen exile, comforting enough that she can ignore the void-black crystal that sits like an infected wound on the landscape, she might forget that this place still puts fetters around her wrist.
So, it is with genuine surprise and a purely youthful annoyance that she finds someone has made their way not only into her domain but apparently found themselves setting up camp to make themselves perfectly comfortable. Her nose wrinkling in apparent distaste, easily betraying any grace and mystique she might have carried before. She sweeps the fabric flap of the entrance out of the way without hesitation. ]
comes in late with starbucks
Her domains' eeriness and hostility prove to be a useful tool, keeping most of the wanders and explorers of the Horizon out. What point is there to visit this otherworldly surreal space? Those that do venture forward seem uncomfortable. Unsettled. A dissonance hangs heavily in the air, the idea of who the creator should be and the reality of this place twisting the strings that bind them into irreconcilable knots.
She does not invite others into it when it is far easier to visit others in their lush and verdant spaces, calm and peaceful rather than roiling and chaotic. Life-giving rather than taking, where she can wearily play the role and pretend like she belongs. It is easier for her to carry the discomfort of knowing that she is the piece that doesn't fit, hide it in a way she is so aptly practiced in. To be a saint is to sacrifice, after all.
But her odd domain offers a strange sense of peace in her chosen exile, comforting enough that she can ignore the void-black crystal that sits like an infected wound on the landscape, she might forget that this place still puts fetters around her wrist.
So, it is with genuine surprise and a purely youthful annoyance that she finds someone has made their way not only into her domain but apparently found themselves setting up camp to make themselves perfectly comfortable. Her nose wrinkling in apparent distaste, easily betraying any grace and mystique she might have carried before. She sweeps the fabric flap of the entrance out of the way without hesitation. ]
You don't belong here.