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Post by Sealla (not so retiredness) on Oct 5, 2005 7:08:22 GMT
One would stop to wonder if this was the last forest on earth, should they not know any better, with its majesty and its magnificent array of creatures that called this place 'home'. Such a large span of trees would make anyone question. But no, it was not the last wood. Sealla definitely knew better. There were other forests greater in capacity, though none so beautiful. And the life it held. Possibly as much as the organisms inside any creature could be compared to the band of trees. So, some could call it a living creature in itself.
Every living thing in the threshold of the wood knew it felt pain, and knew the consequences of causing such a bountiful place pain. But, at one stage or another, everyone knew pain. Everyone experienced it at one point in his or her life. And so did this forest Sealla had also called 'home'. She had seen the scars, and once she had touched it on the bark of a tree, it seared through her, though only faintly. Creatures such as Nymphs and Sprites and Faeries would have felt it much stronger.
But there was one thing this woman, this Lycan, could not understand. How could humans be so immune to feeling the pain of the trees if they touched it like she had done; placed their palm directly on the attacked area and yanked their hand back. How could they not feel it? It was indescribable for Sealla to explain, her confusion, her anger. But, there were creatures that were more human than what their species technically was. A beast, such as a Centaur, would be almost totally immune to such a sensation; feeling human and doing their deeds.
This is what brought her back to the hope she held. The hope that helped her go on each day that told her humans were the only kind like themselves. And, in their ceaseless killing sprees of no content or reason, would-. No. She couldn't think like that. This was her gene pool talking; her own breeding. They had the minds of humans and their lack of understanding and adrenalins. With her hand pressed gently and hesitantly up against the torn and burnt bark of a dying tree, the Lycan shuddered.
For once, she had a white cloak covering her form, flowing from the base of her neck down to the soles of her bare feet. It shone in its pearly glory, reflecting off the sun's broken rays through the canopy of the trees, contrasting against her long black hair which flowed loosely behind her shoulders down to the mid of her back. All night she had spent wandering the amazing forest, exploring not even half of its depths. For an odd reason, Fenris was no where to be found, and his scent, though marked on the trees, was almost gone. He hadn't been around for a while.
The woman removed her searing hand from the tree, and mimiking a human, she let her other hand wrap around the first, rubbing it as she lowered her gaze to the floor. She was tall, just under six feet, but it mattered none at all. But for once, her hair was not tucked behind her ears, shading her torn one from the vision and light of all around.
(Ooc: By all means, this is not invited only. All are welcome.)
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Mikayla (back <3)
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Post by Mikayla (back <3) on Oct 6, 2005 1:26:23 GMT
Could we have known Never would I, helped to nail down With nothing to gain Here's the clincher, this should be you Now saturate, and touch Now saturate, the earth (Chevelle-The Clincher) The soft sound of delicate feet stepping across leaves crackled through the silence of the forest. Perhaps stepping was not the right word for it, possibly falling, tripping, crawling over. Hearts beat in that forest-human hearts, animal hearts, it made no difference. They all beat to the same tune, all beat to the tune of life. And yet one, one heartbeat was a bit too fast, a bit too loud, stumbling over itself and a mind so fragile it was like a thin sheet of glass. This was the clincher, a psychological state so amazingly destroyed it was nearly impossible. Painful. The sun shone into the windows to that breaking mind, those bright blue eyes. How long had she been lost in that lush forest, among those heartbeats, still managing to feel alone even with all that life around her. Was it her heart that was beating too fast, or theirs too slow? Her mind too weak, or theirs too strong? She could not ask, as her body seemed to be stuck in human form from all the pain and suffering. And so she stumbled along a path as twisted as her mind. Soon a clearing found itself occupied by the blue-eyed beauty, her honey curls falling to shapely hips. A black wifebeater let her strong arms show, jeans the color of the sky hugged her hips tightly. The sneakers on her feet were red, a constant reminder of her pain. Her features were so soft, so uncertain, as her bright gaze slid along the clearing. It was then that she noticed another there. Recognition grappled at her mind, slipping away elusively before coming within reaching distance once more. After seconds, minutes, an eternity, the answer slapped Mikayla harder than any hand could hope to. It can't be...the girl...on my birthday... Mikayla's mind was only slipping further, showing through the tears building in her much-too-wide eyes. The other one. We were both new. But no, I must be mistaken. She stepped forward awkwardly, head turning slightly. The other lady seemed deep in her own thoughts. A step further, and the woman's hand, which had rested tentatively on a tree, sprung away as if burnt. The mirror reached up to grab its partner, comfort spreading from one hand to the other by the looks of it. Mikayla's mind continued to slide, running frantically with her body frozen in tow. Should she run before she was seen, or should she stay? Her lips moved entirely unbidden, so it seemed, uttering a slight, "Um...hello." It was barely audible. If the young lady did not hear, Mikayla could pretend it didn't happen, go away in peace, and...shatter her mind once more. "H...Hello," she tried a little louder. "Are...are you lost too?"
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Post by Sealla (not so retiredness) on Oct 6, 2005 1:45:02 GMT
So long she had been lost in her thoughts, eyes locked again tentatively with her hands supporting eachother. Oh, she hoped the thing that did this to the trees did it by means of an accident. How could someone do such pain to something that brought life? Its weaving branches looked like they were growing too heavy for the beautiful tree to hold up. It was dying, now she was sure of it. Could it be Fenris? No, it couldn't have been. There were burn marks, and last time she checked Lycans couldn't bring fire.
But there was a new overpowering scent that dragged her attention away, though her eyes and body remained unmoven. It was a familiar smell, the odour of another Lycaness like herself. Long before the younger Lycan spoke, Sealla had gathered she was near, and had she been a threat, she would have been too near. The other female moved forward, toward the raven-haired woman, and still she did not reveal the knowledge that she was there. Still gazing off into her own dreams, her hands lowered to brush the sides of her white cloak.
After a few moments of her eyes following her hands, once the other had spoken, Sealla's lowered head turned to the side only a little to see the being. This was one of the Lycanessess that was in the tunnels the night Sealla had been cast out. Had she been rejected too? It wasn't a sure matter in her mind. Crystalline tears blurred strikingly blue eyes of the other as she locked her gaze with Sealla. Why was she crying?
It became apparant as she spoke on. The state she was in copied the one Sealla had been in only a few nights before. Lost, shaken, in pain, crying. Broken. The woman averted her eyes once again to the pained tree that she had been facing. "No," was her almost silent reply to her question. How could she be lost? It was her home. "But I assume that you are?" Sealla asked gently, resuming her eyeshot at the other with an unreadable gaze.
It sadened her, though she didn't show it, that the girl could be in such a state. Though only a few years younger by comparison, such beauty should never be treated horribly to push her to the facade she held. The Lycaness looked almost totally broken, though emotionally. Her body was taking the beating from her mind, it was obvious. At least she didn't hold any scars from physical abuse. That was one thing she could never tolerate on another, dispite herself.
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Mikayla (back <3)
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Lycan (Slytherin)
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Post by Mikayla (back <3) on Oct 6, 2005 2:14:41 GMT
Feed the cut and get in line To live and burn is tug-o-war Raped Go back and forth until it's learned To suffer now or nothing's gained Then wake within a freezing sweat Push and pull, collecting doubt (Chevelle-Tug-O-War) A heartbeat. Drum, drum. Drum, drum. Drum, drumming on. How could so much rely on something so small? It was all that held creatures from the greedy hands of death. And yet...sometimes, they wished the beat would stop. Would forget its tune and let them be swept away. So very far away...and who wished for it more than those who had reason to wish. The abused, the confused, the lonely? How was it that those who truly needed comforting were never the ones to recieve it? So went Mikayla's story. Mikayla, who now gasped as eyes only shades darker than her own turned to meet her gaze unerringly. Hair black as night framed those eyes, bringing them out as much as Mikayla's did on their own. She was tall, beautiful in her own right, and so definately the woman she saw at the den that one night. Mikayla tripped over herself to get herself father away. Eyes no longer tearing, now showing a fear so deep it could be of nothing so simple as a mortal. "Lost in more than one sense," Mikayla stated to no one in particular. After all, this must be a phantom before her. Her eyes seemed to show care, but Mikayla knew this story by heart. Acceptance, friendship, always two steps out of reach before smashing into her and leaving her for dead. She shut her eyes tight to keep the vision at bay, barring sight further with shaking hands. "No more, oh Gods, I can take no more of this. Why must you torment me? Why must you bring be PAIN?!" As Sealla had noticed, Mikayla's body, on closer examination, shook from abuse. Her legs barely held her, her stomach was too thin, her arms, although muscular, becoming ever thinner. That body collapsed, breath coming in harsh gasps as tears dropped, just in sight underneath her hands. So strong was the pain, that Mikayla could barely handle it. "You...you were in my nightmare, a figment then and a figment now." Suddenly, raqe washed over her, harming her even more. Her hands ripped from her face as if thrown, her eyes glittering with anger, tears, and sadness as she looked upon Sealla. "Or are you one of them," she spat out. "One of my "family," still haunting me? You would have all rathered I died that day instead of you, wouldn't you have? Well, too bad! I lived, and you cruel, heartless fiends died, falling to hell where you deserved to be. Stay there. Leave me alone! I didn't kill you, and I don't deserve this." She was back to crying, emotions winding through her. "I wanted them to save me," she whispered. "But you took me from them too. You've accomplished what you wished. Please, just leave me alone now."
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Post by Sealla (not so retiredness) on Oct 6, 2005 2:35:19 GMT
How odd. Now, this was something very new. Maybe this Lycaness knew of the old Sealla too. Perhaps she had been tormented by her. But the Sealla she had heard about didn't sound like such a creature. Something was different in those brilliant blue eyes that now shed more pearly tears, some sort of recognition, but of something she had never seen before. Her long honey locks were just as long as Sealla's, but now clouded her face as she fell under her own weight to the ground.
Tormented, that's what she was. Tormented by haunting memories, so much like the raven counterpart who she accepted to be some sort of unearthly being. The sobs and the tears that shook the woman's form were so much like that night Sealla had been shown into the pack territory of the Tunnel Lycans. Through the girl's hands she gazed at Sealla, and staring back just as strongly was the raven-haired woman. She assumed her to be something she wasn't. A common thing.
The woman, still with her unreadable gaze, lifted her right hand from against the side of her pearly white cloak to rest sprawled on her chest. "Dear girl, I'm not who you think I am." If these words were not enough to bring her out of her transe, out of her dream, something else obviously had to be done for the poor thing. She was chased unforgivingly by her deadly memories, just as Sealla had been, though her own had given up as of late (probably to return shortly).
Silently with her left hand, she pulled aside her long locks to tuck behind her one-and-a-half ears out of sheer slight annoyance. Sealla probably did look a little unearthly, but hopefully the unusual gesture for a phantom had helped her realise she wasn't what the flashes in front of the other's eyes showed her as.
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Mikayla (back <3)
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Post by Mikayla (back <3) on Oct 6, 2005 3:12:47 GMT
Say it say it that it's done I want it, want it need it done Still running never waking up To say it Still running never waking up Say it (Chevelle-Still Running) Dear Girl, I am not who you think I am. No. No. It wasn't possible. The phantoms. The spirits. They were lying to her again. Feeding her sweet lies before tearing through her once more. Although...they were usually so red...usually hazed in a way that the woman before her was not. Could it be she was alive? She tucked her hair behind her ears, such a human gesture that Mikayla's mind spiraled. No...it was a lie. The spirits were getting smarter better. They didn't like how close she got to being free of them. Just as the true people had not liked how free she was before. Snow white fangs gleamed. Demonic laughter echoed. Fire raged. Screams pierced. [/center] It was impossible to forget that day. After all, it had occured on her very birthday. They had hated her, all of them. And yet, still they cared for her, perhaps since her parents had been Alphas. Yes, that was it, they did not want the dead Pack Alphas' daughter to die. They deserved that much. But the child was a demon all on its own, so... defiant. They blamed that day on her. Not because she couldn't save them, not because she was late, but because she lived. She who did not deserve to live lived on. They should have killed her in her sleep! Wonderful, however, that she should experience nightmares, mental torment from them. May she suffer it forever more. That's why this was another spirit sent to haunt her. The first time she had seen her was in that red haze. By now she would know how to elude it. Mikayla growled, softly, upturning her eyes to gaze upon Sealla. "Do you take me for a fool?" she asked bitterly. "You may control my mind, you may haunt my very life, but do you really think a lack of mind dwells within this skull?" She stood, hugging herself. It was just another trick. One to add to a long list. "Don't think I can't tell what you are, you were in the red haze before." Mikayla turned slowly, slightly, just barely angling herself away from Sealla. "So which one are you, anyways? Riada? She hated me the most. Little Jaffey? He was always the one trying to trip me. Or were you Antonio. He hated me for who I was, for what he saw in my eyes." And she let her eyes truly, truly rest on Sealla's without any haze to block them. Even through the tears, the pain, the misery, her true nature shown through. Dominance. Defiance. A will of iron. The things that could never be broken. "Or were you one of the others? The nameless? They all hated me. The only reason you all didn't kill me was because of Aridam and Leela. You would have never disgraced your dead Alpha's by laying hand to their daughter."
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Post by Sealla (not so retiredness) on Oct 6, 2005 3:23:06 GMT
This, this defiance was beginning to grow, welling up a ball of anger within the insides of the woman in the startling white cloak. A sound indestinguishably low erupted from deep within her throat at the words of the girl, so blind to what she saw. It was not the best thing to take anger out on her, but it was the only way she could actually wake from her fearful transe. The deep blue eyes of hers begun to pool, erasing the black pupil from sight.
"Yes, my girl, I do take you for a fool. You're so blinded by your own fear that you can't tell which is real and which is not. You're wrong, you can't tell what I am. You know, deep in that mind of yours somewhere, that I am exactly like you. A Lycaness!" Sealla bellowed, not once letting her brows furrow. Expressionless, apart from her yelling, was her slightly olive facade. Domineeringly she stared down at the crouched Lycaness, still not showing anything but blankness.
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Mikayla (back <3)
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Post by Mikayla (back <3) on Oct 6, 2005 6:23:21 GMT
I liked having hurt, So send the pain below where I need it, You used to beg me to take care of things, And smile at the thought of me failing. But long before, having hurt, I'd send the pain below, I'd send the pain below. Much like suffocating. (Chevelle-Send the Pain Below) Yelled at. Mikayla was being yelled at. She looked up, startled out of her pain for a time. Spirits did not yell. They haunted, they taunted, they flaunted, but never did they raise voice to anyone. She tilted her head, looking, really looking at the woman before her. She and Mikayla were a sight to see, both gorgeous women, one dressed casually teenager style, the other in a white cloak. Just the sight of them would drive any man stark raving mad. And now that Mikayla was looking, really looking, she noticed the blank expression on Sealla's face. The carefully neautral set to that tired face. No spirit would pay that much attention to detail. At least no spirit Mikayla had ever known would. She backed her body to a tree, laying her head back against it without shutting her eyes. They stayed forcused upon Sealla's even as she heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I...don't even know your name." Now she did close her eyes, taking another deep fill of forest air. The smell of trees calmed her slightly, and for the first time in days Mikayla thought rationally. "I'm Mikayla. You were there that day, but not part of my waking dreams, I suppose." Just the fact that Sealla was not a spirit and was actually listening steadied Mikayla in her own mind. No longer sliding for control, spinning out of control, she could consider the woman properly. "But you did not return, obviously." Her eyes opened, the blue clearer than before, and even more startling. It was like she had captured the sky itself, just as day fell, and placed it into her own eyes. They were painfully sharp now, like crystals, and they set upon Sealla more lightly than before. More distantly. The Mikayla she would have met if her mind wasn't so fragile. The polite, sincere, stunning Mikayla. "Just wondering, why? I was chased off by that adorable little young one, and I feel no comtempt for her-she was defending her home. But you, they were trying to get you to stay, were they not? You did not like it there? Did not enjoy the opportunity for a home?" Not even bitterness penetrated those pure words, words of thought. The question was, however, how much longer would that clear thought last?
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Post by Sealla (not so retiredness) on Oct 8, 2005 13:04:51 GMT
And then, that utter time that the other's facade accepted being wrong to fall into an expression of regret, it all fell into place. Sealla's yelling and explanations were enough to wake the girl from her horrid dreams. This could have made her own stone-blank face finally break into a releiving smile, but it didn't. The girl had shuffled backward on her limbs to rest her exhausted form up against the trunk of a tree behind her, her eyes still locked up with Sealla's.
This was only to last but a few spiteful seconds as she had given her name in a box of words. Yes, it was that girl from the night she had first gone into the pack territory, and it was that girl who had also been given the cold shoulder by the majority of whom had been there. Of course, Sealla had nothing really to say to her, and by her scent revealed herself to not be of their home. "You're right, I did not return. My home..."
The woman broke off for just a second, reliving the night that she had met Fenris, only few ago. "My home is here. For the moment." Gently lifting from her sides were her hands to reach under her chin to the back of her neck, weaving through her long locks of black hair. Those few moments after she had broken the silence her eyes solidified, like water to ice. "My home is with no real pack. I cannot seem to find..." again, the woman drifted off, finding words to match.
"...a pack that I have felt safe enough with." Safe, what an overstatement of a word. For many years the woman had not felt safety amonxed others of her's and Mikayla's kind, and that one night with the giant mottle-grey wolf had sealed her version of relaxation. Instead of being entirely jumpy and hesitant around others - and even alone - she had gathered herself that night.
That one night had changed her life.
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Mikayla (back <3)
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Lycan (Slytherin)
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Post by Mikayla (back <3) on Oct 9, 2005 5:33:01 GMT
"Home is where the heart is," Mikayla whispered. She understood what Sealla was saying, which scared her more than anything. This woman before her had been through as much, if not more pain that Mikayla. Her eyes closed again, a single tear slipping away. What happened to the days when family meant something? When your house was always your home, when people were friendly? When did they become jealous, spiteful creatures?
"I understand...more than you could ever know." Acceptance. The ruling hand in Mikayla's life. The desire to be among love. And she felt, knew it would never come. "My den...my pack...they-" she trailed off, unable to complete the sentence. She swallowed hard. "It just wasn't a good fit. Then the entire den was burned down by vampires and everyone died except me. I thought that was a good thing." Her laugh was harsh, horrible. "I was wrong. Humans can't haunt. Spirits and memories can."
"That is why I apologize to you...I mistook you for another spirit. Elsewise I would have never yelled those awful things at you." Her head shook slowly from side to side, hair falling over one shoulder. "I would tell you that there is no such thing as home, but there is hope for others yet." And no hope for you. Her mind slid a bit at that thought and her hands clenched so hard half moons of blood welled up and over, dripping to stain the grass.
"You were wrong though, you know. When you were yelling." Her hands gripped themselves tighter. She would not lose herself. "It is not being lycanesses that define us, make us alike. It is being who we are, as we are. Lycaness is just a word, just a power. Mikayla Siarra is just a name. Who I have become. What I am is what makes us alike. Because you-you were struggling too...I remember the flash in your eyes, even through the haze of pain."
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