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Gardenia (ch 3)The sky was blue, warm, and inviting. Only the fluffiest of white clouds were allowed to play. A soft breeze rolled through the garden, brushing against emerald grass. Flower heads bobbed to the beat of a song unheard by normal ears. Aerith sat on a stone bench, humming the Earth’s song. Her voice carried a short distance, muffled out by the greenery surrounding her. Nimble fingers tied strands of green together, forming a circlet of white.
A second wind blew, stronger than the first. Gasping, the flower girl held tightly to her flower circlet, her hair twisting in the air and pink skirt ruffling weightlessly. Only when it rested did she raise her free hand and fix chestnut tendrils. Letting out a sigh, she smiled.
“The wind’s playful today, is it not?” The silky tone called to her. Mateus approached her, holding the same obtrusive manner she had come to know so well.
“It is.” The brunette looked to him for a long moment before, eventually, lettin
Gardenia (ch 2)Fire ignited, the force causing the floor to rumble and creak. Aerith turned just in time to watch the ground beneath her break. She gasped sharply, gravity tugging her downward. Her eyes shut tightly, preparing for the landing when a strong arm wrapped around her and altered the destination.
“You alright?” A warm, though concerned, voice called.
Aerith stepped down onto firm ground and smiled up at her hero. She certainly hadn’t been expecting Firion, of all people, to swoop in during a battle to rescue her. “Yep! Thanks.” She smiled brightly.
A crackle of electricity coerced through the stagnant air with a haughty, childish cackle. “Oh ho ho ho! How cute! Sorry, but I don’t ship it!” Lightning was unleashed, snapping at the two.
Aerith quickly held up her staff, a golden light flashing just as Thundaga smashed, breaking up the hard cement beneath and around them. The force was strong enough to knock them both back, but no damage was tak
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More