The Cold comfort of the in between

A little less than a human being

A little less than a happy high

A little less than a suicide

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Blue, historically, tended to be a Casanova amongst nature’s bountiful color spectrum. While red was synonymous with overwhelming destructive energy and green gave way to a natural harmony, blue swayed betwixt the two extremes. The beauty of the destruction it wrought making way for its motherly cradle of evolving life. Humanity was christened from the blue and undone by it as was done before and will be done once more.

Blue, as it may seem, was also the color of a young woman’s eyes.

The earth crumbling betwixt her toes was old but not ancient. Its eternal reformation guaranteeing no fleck may grow stagnant in eternity. The woman, well aware of this fact by now, held only just enough jealousy to take some small pleasure in grinding the ground beneath her in some small show of persistence. As if telling the ground ‘I existed damn it!’ Of course, the ground was indifferent; coldly persistent in its eternal journey that was inevitably imperceptible to the mortal eye.

As it turns out, a certain pair of blue eyes unfortunately evaded the label of mortality. Those eyes, which belonged to a woman, one who was laid upon the apathetic earth, were cursed with a weariness betraying an age far outnumbering her apparent years. The woman, who, as of late, had been known by Felina, was not but an appriser for death, and as such would be denied that sweet release she had tasked to meet others with.

As it stands, there was no beginning for Felina. Rather, none that could be pinned down by historians as the emergence of a deity. The mundane truth was that, given her human form, immortality could not circumvent the capacity of the human brain. Whether she was christened from God, Death, or Blue, their faces were washed away in several lifetimes of bringing misery in one’s wake. There was no history to this land that she may relate. The city visible in the distance was once a farm by name of Ygǎřŵßylåf but now, as related by the passing merchant caravans, is named Farnir.

Still, this unending workload of oncoming entropy could almost make one wish for something more. When you are the cancer of the world, is there anything you deserve?

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Hello dearies, I am looking for someone who would be interested in a romantic role play set in a fantasy world in which my character, an eternal harbinger of death, is romanced by someone who knows she is more than the tragedy in her wake. If you think you have the reflexes to proverbially paint a compelling man or woman or anything else to be paired up with in a number of fun, romantic, philosophical, and spicy engagements then reach out!