by MillietheWarrior » 12/29/2008 9:05 PM
The light that seemed to filter from an invisible hole in the caverns danced across the crystals, illuminating Angela in the vast darkness. Aristotle marveled at how Angela moved. He noted the way her skin glowed when the light hit her, and she seemed even to have a glow all her own. Her wings seemed like a cascade of emerald, light dancing across the tips and shining like the brightest of diamonds. Her golden eyes were so vibrant, so full of life and youth and fire. He marveled at her, at everything about her. And she was kind, and beautiful. He wondered what good wind of fortune had blown her to him. Perhaps his luck had changed, or perhaps it was another cruel trick played on him by the fates. He followed her out as she moved, his chains clanking ominously against the caverns floor. He winced as they scraped along, hating the sound of his burden and his pain.
His feeble, skeletal wings were folded at his side, and his head was held not high, but low, as though some great shame kept him from walking as proudly as he should have been. The caverns were vast, but the way to the surface was short. Soon enough, both found themselves out in the cool night air. The wind whistled and danced across his scaly skin. He lifted his head, the feathers on his crest ruffed by a passing breeze. "I have been living in the dark for so very long...I had almost forgotten how beautiful the night truly was," he murmured softly to her. The stars glittered like tiny beacons in the dark sky above, and the moon hung sweet and full in the clutter of smaller lights, shining down on them and bathing them in liquid silver. He seemed to shimmer for a moment, and his eyes closed. His Paragon form fell away, and in his place, stood a man.
He was tall, nearly bordering on six and a half feet. His hair curled in tiny ringlets, and fell down to the middle of his back, held in check by a neat black tie at the back of his neck, though many small ringlets seemed to dance free of their own accord. He wore dark clothes, seemingly many, many years old in their design, and his skin was a faint pale color. His eyes glowed an eerie red when he opened them, and he leaned back to gaze at the sky, and then at Angela. "I have not used this form in a long, long time," he mused with a quiet, dark smile; it revealed small pointed fangs, but what they were for could be anyone's guess. There was no sign of his Paragon heritage, and he looked, for all the world, like a true human. He brushed a stray ebony curl of hair from his forehead, his long hair picked up by the breeze, though it did little good; it was tightly bound, and stayed firmly in place no matter where the wind took it. "Tell me, Angela, do you have such a form as well?" he asked quietly, gazing up at her from the cold, moonlit ground.
I love adventurous tales like that. That uplifting feeling that comes from seeing unknown lands and the knowledge that you came across—nothing can replace it! It opens a path from which self-confidence, experience, and important friendships—from the sharing of life or death situations—are born! But hearing it just isn’t the same. I want to create my own magnificent story!
A great adventure! +Imp. Documents+ +Menagerie+ +Wishlist+ +Journal+
