One would spot Esme, perhaps, elegantly reclined along the cliff side, her fur unruffled in the gentle sea breeze and her green eyes shining in the light of the moon. She stays here, away from the crowds and noise of the world, away from its dirt and ashes, away from the multitudes of dreams torn asunder, from the myriad of hearts crushed and buried. In her own little world, her days stretch out before her - under the beauty of the sky, next to the majesty of the sea.
No one quite knows where she comes from. There are rumors that she is as old as the sea; there are whispers that she possesses eternal youth. Some say she sailed here from a far-off land, others claim she was born of no mortal. But the words that pass through idle lips do not bother her. She cares little for such petty concerns - in the vastness of the sea and sky, such things bear no weight.
Perhaps that is why they seek her. The young and the restless, the old and the weary. They come to her, seeking a respite from the wars and struggles they live out daily. The wars in the world, the violence and the fighting, and - maybe worse - the wars in their own hearts.
They join her, in her meditations and her contemplation. From this height, the world below is made up of swathes of green and rows of tiny houses and unbelievably straight lines of brightly lit roads. Everything appears hazily indistinct and, for a moment, nothing seems to exist - no quarrels with ex-lovers, no worries about bills, no fears for the future.
The sight is so surreal, it looks more like a picture than a landscape.
And Esme sits there, back straight against the wind, perched right at the edge of the cliff. She is as still as her heart, as if she were a part of the picture.
Perhaps, she is.
No one quite knows where she comes from. There are rumors that she is as old as the sea; there are whispers that she possesses eternal youth. Some say she sailed here from a far-off land, others claim she was born of no mortal. But the words that pass through idle lips do not bother her. She cares little for such petty concerns - in the vastness of the sea and sky, such things bear no weight.
Perhaps that is why they seek her. The young and the restless, the old and the weary. They come to her, seeking a respite from the wars and struggles they live out daily. The wars in the world, the violence and the fighting, and - maybe worse - the wars in their own hearts.
They join her, in her meditations and her contemplation. From this height, the world below is made up of swathes of green and rows of tiny houses and unbelievably straight lines of brightly lit roads. Everything appears hazily indistinct and, for a moment, nothing seems to exist - no quarrels with ex-lovers, no worries about bills, no fears for the future.
The sight is so surreal, it looks more like a picture than a landscape.
And Esme sits there, back straight against the wind, perched right at the edge of the cliff. She is as still as her heart, as if she were a part of the picture.
Perhaps, she is.
Written by Tar #1249086
Rules
Reselling: Yes
Trading: Yes
Breeding: Yes
Reselling: Yes
Trading: Yes
Breeding: Yes