I redid my theme and I’m quite happy with it. Also!
I have your threads hostage:

I will answer all of these or so help me I will leave this fandom for good. At last I am on spring break (and this freedom won’t last for long) so I will try my best to get something accomplished.

Any new followers who would like a starter, please let me know. In the meantime, these threads are of my most concern.


Now, let the games begin.
(More like tomorrow because it’s two in the morning where I am ack—)



❇ ❦ ❇⇀ ➢

                                     What a spoiled little child, the varying hues that so lightly tainted delicate porcelain while trying so hard to hide her face.

The bloodied handkerchief was in great need of cleaning, perhaps a thorough washing in the crayon pond, should the child ever be brave enough to yield the cherished belonging in order for such a task to be performed. The memory behind such a small gift long since relinquished, hearing the tasteless laughter coming from an unknown source in a hallway far from where the two stood. Jealousy of not being invited to a child’s private event. A hand softly places itself upon the brunette’s head, feeling the soft shiver of her shoulders while the crystalline beads pitter against the marble tiling of the flooring. What an endearing child, a trickster yet so honest in her actions that even if she chose to spoke riddles that the fabrication earnestly discovered tranquility in her presence.

                               You were quite strong, were you not? Have you given way to the trepidation? Or perhaps, you are eased of your apprehension?


                                                                                    Cleanse it of sin. All of it must wash away.
Though water does not exist in this deserted world, it will not matter. She will dye it all under an unfathomable blue, as dark and as deep as the abyss that consumes this entire platform of dream and fragmented memory. These emotions are bothersome— no longer are the remains of a porcelain heart left jabbed into her lungs. Even so, it is a damnable curse that this elusive puppet must still manifest itself in the leftover milk pieces of a child’s puzzling mind. She yearns for that milk puzzle. So clean, so white. Unlike she, who is now dyed in blood.

She weeps, and yet her tears are oddly shaped, like quarts, but transparent. Artificial. Defiantly her head slowly raises to stare into the dark shadow lurking above her. His Highness had made their arrival to her tiny party all on his own. And how soft is his touch! Did she truly deserve it?
Ah, indeed she did. For the sensation in itself merely becomes a way of retribution. Seated at his presence, without once deciding to acknowledge his wrath, what a fine, justified punishment, indeed. Now embrace: the heavy burden of his darkness pulling in fabricated skin and porcelain.

There is a fire that burns brightly within her crimson eyes, revealing warmth, but it is too hot to the touch. Diamond drops do nothing to satisfy the flames that much. Her tears cleanses away the blood of her clutched handkerchief when she wipes away crystal tears from her eyes, and likewise the cloth appeases the river that pours from underneath her lashes.

                                          “Neither holds true. Your presence brings tears
                                                                                  …and I am so thirsty.”

Hide & Seek Mix
201 plays



     Really, all he was doing was blowing some steam.
     Like a kettle that has reached maximum boiling point.
     Finally, he’s silenced.
As if the smack on the cheeks were the lift to the lid.


She does not like it one bit when someone screams as obnoxiously as he! Loud, unnecessary noises are unappreciated under all forms! She pouts with silver tears. nestled within the very corners of her eyes. Her hands are aching! She had done her best to wake the male from his constant blabbering.



{.} Seeing the smiling face of his young friend made his smile seem at peace. After everything they had gone through together, he couldn’t believe it came up to this. This moment of seeing one another couldn’t have come sooner. “I see you’ve been doing well. I wonder… has anything been normal for you when we got back?”

                 An odd question to ponder, is it? Nightmares are merely bad imaginations lying abundant and dormant in the corners of her mind. They creep, they dance, every chance they had whilst the folds of her mind slumbers for rest. Other than that, things have been just about as they have always been. In response, her smile remains at a constant, grinning to let her dear friend know that everything has been swell.

                  Ah! However keen little Ib cannot forget the promise the two of them made back then. She shyly reaches for the male’s hand— most specifically the one he had injured when his flesh had snagged itself on Mary’s broken portrait. Her finger taps his palm lightly. How nostalgic, a very faint scar is still visibly present on his skin. Would he remember the handkerchief she had given him from back then?