Red & Green; Madman & Manipulator || Lilith Lumiere {Solo}
Jan 2, 2017 5:59:57 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jan 2, 2017 5:59:57 GMT -5
Lilith
Lumiere
The static-filled screen of the television captured it permanently for eternity. It would be recorded into tapes and stores in records, the dreadful ending of a lunatic. Irises soaked in black tar fixated themselves on the flickering animation of the event, a purposeless luster present in them the moment crimson hues were seeded onto the ground of the arena. Stability was never his strong point; he shattered the moment his hollow vessel collapsed. Silence roared in the crown of her raven head. The spear had pierced through his skin – the tip drowned into scarlet flesh, stripping Asha Lumiere of all his sins. His toxic retorts and violent breakdowns, they instantly twinkle in the projector of her mind. A boy who projected poison when he voiced his atrocious musings, a bloke who was robbed of his sanity and now, lies as a hollow vessel, devoid of everything but scarlet fluid.
She locked the covers of her two orbs and a tide of darkness flooded the realm. Opaque to the images displayed on the television but auricles gave a detailed inspection to each noise and every rustling present in her surroundings. Bones cracked as the mannequin vessel of her blood brother fragmentized and reduced itself to the dirt, a carpet of crimson soaking the numb vessel, the murder armament being retrieved from within lifeless flesh, blood slick against the metal of the spear and an individual’s soul being scythed; the obsidian digits of death had gotten a steel grasp on his body. She brought her muscles up to sandwich her eyelids, tightening them until a cobweb of nerves surfaced on her temples. The whole realm remained black.
The land opened like a weary parchment, a vast covering of brown and solid in touch. Back was pressed against a flat surface, body paralyzed with excruciating agony but mind blind to it. The pain before the ending, the hopefulness for the misery to fade masking the pain. After more concentration was put, the crimson liquid soaking the clothes could be felt – it had a bitter and cold sensation, thick unlike water and radiated a metallic stench. Digits could move and apply pressure on the immense opening on skin but movement was an impossible task to do in this situation. All of the nerves in the vessel were withered and drying briskly, only sight remained. Optics positioned themselves to the fake sky blanketed with artificial twinkles and sheens, a vision so scenic yet so synthetic.
She could bite the rosy hues of his mouth, block the agony with adrenaline and prop herself up. However, she was placing herself in the body of a mad man – one who dreamed of ferocious shades of red instead of bewitching and soothing shades of green. Asha Lumiere was barbaric, not cunning. He was red – representing destructive and battles while she was the embodiment of green – cunning in combat, serpentine in behavior and a manipulator. And, people who were reckless were mostly fallen madmen. Asha Lumiere was thrust the chance to be the wearer of the halo of grandness, reaped amongst thousands yet dematerialized during his last moments, because he was not the perfect career son.
“He’s dead.” Syllables were smoothly said, directed to the woman besides, her idle gaze glued to the replay of the gruesome ending of her son. “At least we don’t have to pay for his therapist anymore. Let me carry these news to him, mother. I would love to make him sob.” A sly smirk danced its way onto porcelain skin, a hiss between teeth signaling her eagerness for the actions she requested to do. “Asha was weak and mad. That’s why I threw that shoe at him the last time, to see if he would shatter so soon. Well, fortunately for him, he lasted a while.” Digits idly occupied themselves with the handle of the duffle bag they were holding.
“Lilith, you have been carrying his belongings in there for three days.” Her mother pointed out.
“Yeah. And, I am glad I won’t have to carry it tomorrow.” She brought out the bag into the air between them. “I vandalized his room, figured out that he won’t be needing it anyway. Dad picked these things out because he remembered him with some of these. Mostly clothes stained with blood. Gross.” Confusion was clear in crystalline manner on her guardian’s visage. The smirk on her pastel lips flourished further as she led him out of the crowd of speculators, waddling amongst the gathering of district 1 occupants rooting for their remaining tribute until they were hidden within deserted residences.
“Go home, mom. You had some ‘love’ for that devil so maybe you wouldn’t permit me to do this.”
Her words seemed to have been injected with persuasion because the gown of her mother faded into the distance, leaving Lilith in solitary with an ignited match in her hand. She stood still, optics in the similar behavior but fixed on the duffle bag on the ground. There is a saying that before doing a ghastly act, reasons to do it cloud your skull. She could hear the hiss of his voice, taunting her, robbing her of her confidence to reach for the crown she so desired. Retorts, taunts, bashes, etc. An arrowhead missing the fake flesh of a target dummy and a jeering noise coming from behind her.
‘Lucky for you, our parents don’t seem to know that you could never shoot straight.’
“Guess who is the one with the bad aim now.” She watched as the match rooted itself in the place she aimed it to be. Red flames licked the fabric of the bag.
“Bye Felicia.”
Lumiere
The static-filled screen of the television captured it permanently for eternity. It would be recorded into tapes and stores in records, the dreadful ending of a lunatic. Irises soaked in black tar fixated themselves on the flickering animation of the event, a purposeless luster present in them the moment crimson hues were seeded onto the ground of the arena. Stability was never his strong point; he shattered the moment his hollow vessel collapsed. Silence roared in the crown of her raven head. The spear had pierced through his skin – the tip drowned into scarlet flesh, stripping Asha Lumiere of all his sins. His toxic retorts and violent breakdowns, they instantly twinkle in the projector of her mind. A boy who projected poison when he voiced his atrocious musings, a bloke who was robbed of his sanity and now, lies as a hollow vessel, devoid of everything but scarlet fluid.
She locked the covers of her two orbs and a tide of darkness flooded the realm. Opaque to the images displayed on the television but auricles gave a detailed inspection to each noise and every rustling present in her surroundings. Bones cracked as the mannequin vessel of her blood brother fragmentized and reduced itself to the dirt, a carpet of crimson soaking the numb vessel, the murder armament being retrieved from within lifeless flesh, blood slick against the metal of the spear and an individual’s soul being scythed; the obsidian digits of death had gotten a steel grasp on his body. She brought her muscles up to sandwich her eyelids, tightening them until a cobweb of nerves surfaced on her temples. The whole realm remained black.
The land opened like a weary parchment, a vast covering of brown and solid in touch. Back was pressed against a flat surface, body paralyzed with excruciating agony but mind blind to it. The pain before the ending, the hopefulness for the misery to fade masking the pain. After more concentration was put, the crimson liquid soaking the clothes could be felt – it had a bitter and cold sensation, thick unlike water and radiated a metallic stench. Digits could move and apply pressure on the immense opening on skin but movement was an impossible task to do in this situation. All of the nerves in the vessel were withered and drying briskly, only sight remained. Optics positioned themselves to the fake sky blanketed with artificial twinkles and sheens, a vision so scenic yet so synthetic.
She could bite the rosy hues of his mouth, block the agony with adrenaline and prop herself up. However, she was placing herself in the body of a mad man – one who dreamed of ferocious shades of red instead of bewitching and soothing shades of green. Asha Lumiere was barbaric, not cunning. He was red – representing destructive and battles while she was the embodiment of green – cunning in combat, serpentine in behavior and a manipulator. And, people who were reckless were mostly fallen madmen. Asha Lumiere was thrust the chance to be the wearer of the halo of grandness, reaped amongst thousands yet dematerialized during his last moments, because he was not the perfect career son.
“He’s dead.” Syllables were smoothly said, directed to the woman besides, her idle gaze glued to the replay of the gruesome ending of her son. “At least we don’t have to pay for his therapist anymore. Let me carry these news to him, mother. I would love to make him sob.” A sly smirk danced its way onto porcelain skin, a hiss between teeth signaling her eagerness for the actions she requested to do. “Asha was weak and mad. That’s why I threw that shoe at him the last time, to see if he would shatter so soon. Well, fortunately for him, he lasted a while.” Digits idly occupied themselves with the handle of the duffle bag they were holding.
“Lilith, you have been carrying his belongings in there for three days.” Her mother pointed out.
“Yeah. And, I am glad I won’t have to carry it tomorrow.” She brought out the bag into the air between them. “I vandalized his room, figured out that he won’t be needing it anyway. Dad picked these things out because he remembered him with some of these. Mostly clothes stained with blood. Gross.” Confusion was clear in crystalline manner on her guardian’s visage. The smirk on her pastel lips flourished further as she led him out of the crowd of speculators, waddling amongst the gathering of district 1 occupants rooting for their remaining tribute until they were hidden within deserted residences.
“Go home, mom. You had some ‘love’ for that devil so maybe you wouldn’t permit me to do this.”
Her words seemed to have been injected with persuasion because the gown of her mother faded into the distance, leaving Lilith in solitary with an ignited match in her hand. She stood still, optics in the similar behavior but fixed on the duffle bag on the ground. There is a saying that before doing a ghastly act, reasons to do it cloud your skull. She could hear the hiss of his voice, taunting her, robbing her of her confidence to reach for the crown she so desired. Retorts, taunts, bashes, etc. An arrowhead missing the fake flesh of a target dummy and a jeering noise coming from behind her.
‘Lucky for you, our parents don’t seem to know that you could never shoot straight.’
“Guess who is the one with the bad aim now.” She watched as the match rooted itself in the place she aimed it to be. Red flames licked the fabric of the bag.
“Bye Felicia.”
BY CHELSEY
Words: 934
Words: 934
