She lives in a fairytale too far for us to find


POSTED: Sun Jul 08, 2018 7:02 pm




She stood on the Northe Bridge, arms folded along the stony edge, head nestled in the fur of her arms. If Mystery moved her head too much, the more barren parts where pink flesh resided over fur met her cheek, and she was brought back to the terrible fall, of stones cutting flesh. But then she remembered Lukos...and Pita. Both of them, or just him but different and she felt a slight tug in her stomach, something that made her feel an inch bigger in a very big and bad world.

‘Feeling blue boy’

Mystery looked off and down the bridge lazily, eyes endless as they blinked slow and languid. A tuft of her hair waved gently in the corner of her vision. “I'm a girl today,” she told him softly.

‘That matters’

A few moments as she shifted uncomfortably. ‘What's wrong’

“N-nothing,” the coydog sighed, looking down into the cold black river that slogged along at an ever present pace. “Just feeling l-lonely today.” Earlier that morning the clouds had peppered the lands with soft rains, rendering the world damp and the clouds lingered still to cast it all in gray.

‘Rude rude’

‘What have you done to make yourself feel better’

“I jogged h-here, th-thought looking down th-the r-river might clear…” then she stopped, irony festering like blood on her tongue. “m-my head," Mystery finished, the air a bit heavier somehow at the mention of her mind. The smallest of packages that housed an unlimited field of connotations she could not understand. The great divide. A house of wolves where the demons slept. ‘You—’ “should sing, I kn-know…” she searched the railing, cold and gray like the world with a splash of green, and that was just like the world too. ‘Just like I taught you’ Crowley said, voice a calm sifting breeze. Water under the bridge. “Y-you didn't teach m-me.” And the world went darker as a cloud passed over, and in her mouth the taste of blood, and at her back the subtle heat of flames.

“The loudest silence,
I can't take,
she paused, waited for the words to talk back so she can feel their weight, and they did, and she did.

“While the world turns
Takes the floor”
she sang, watching the water go and go.

“I'm getting tired,
Of briar on this vine—”
‘Purdy singing voice’

“You wonder” ‘I do, do I’
“And we say” ‘boring boring boring boring’
I'll be fine.” She thought the rain was coming again, as ripples fanned out down below and a dot stained the stone ledge. But it was her and she sniffled, raises an arm to wipe it away and opens her mouth again. This time she pushed the words harder, because this is the bridge. She was singing a bridge on a bridge. A box inside a box.

“How long will I be here?
How long will I
Be this way?
If nights are days
Where the sun doesn't set
Does that make it all
She slowed down, there, and with sharp eyes fueled with passion she glared down the St. John's and sang the first line of her chorus, and it all just followed after like the river.

“Will I be home then??
Safe and warm
Out here
In harm's
Funny way
And when
I leave
I wonder...
Will I be okay?”

It carried out down and across the water, her small and smooth voice and she listened, watched as it floated away.

‘Yes’ ‘Hah no’

"Will I be…” and that was it as ears fell and she bit down teeth on teeth hard enough to hurt, burying a two-sided face in the fur of her arms. Or what fur was still there, tail stiff as if caught in a stale breeze enough to make the blood run cold.

Mistfell Vale
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POSTED: Mon Jul 09, 2018 1:37 pm

A soft voice drifted out over the river. Posey, slaking her thirst, listened – and lifted her head as the chorus died away. Water droplets glistened on crooked old whiskers, and she licked these as she turned her head to study the grand stone bridge, as if waiting for the music to return. When it did not, she backed away from the water and climbed the slope where stone met earth, setting her feet on the cracked path.

The senior saw the singer – a waifish girl mottled in shades of snow and slate and shadow – and approached with a faint smile on your lips.

“Hello there dearie,” Posey began, then saw how the coydog pressed her face into her folded arms. Her gnarled ears twitched back, and she cleared her throat lightly, shuffling closer. She sat down some distance away, glancing at the cloudy sky.

“You got such a lovely voice. Reminds me of my Hattie, don’tcha know.”
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POSTED: Tue Jul 10, 2018 6:40 pm




She'd left a song unfinished, and those left alone words haunted the insides of her ears soft yet somehow sharp. But then, an almost welcome reprieve from the whispering , tilting ghost of her own voice completing what the real counterpart could not. Mystery snapped a glance to the side to see a white figure breeze into view of blurry eyes. She tried to blink away the watery fog that welled there, and when it became clear it wasn't clear; you cannot blink off confusion, or the grotesque, the kafkaesque. The daily doings and not doings that had no simple explanation. Then, face buried once again, as if to only surface for air. But more shallow this time in the deep dark of fur and flesh. What smelled of damp pine and cut ice.

Mismatch ears pricked at the words, and especially at the use of ‘dearie'. Mystery could taste the faintest touch of blood again, along her teeth, winding through her nose. Crowley scoffed haughtily, ‘Rude of her to come. She should be departing soon.’

The old wolf's coat was rather haggard looking, what was considered the opposite of fresh. She'd made herself a seat on the bridge's cobblestone then, a now planted thing that would continue to stay. A bloom or a bother, undetermined. And for a moment Mystery had thought the woman would be on and off again like a specter.

She brought up her voice, which seemed to loosen the stone bricking beneath her feet all at once. ‘She complimented your singing thank her, sweetie.’ And Mystery's ears twisted, turned as if tugged by twine, and she felt wrapped from two sides. But whoever it was, was worth a chance. The coydog’s face lifted up from its hiding place again, and stole another nervous glance toward Posey. White fur, old, eyes a golden shade. Then Mystery saw the bluish haze, and was almost pulled too far in to gaze—a crooked angler leaning greedily over the sea—but a quick pull-snap back forward, to the river, to non-living things that looked alive but weren't. To watching, not doing, and all was calm and fine again as it should be. “Th-thanks…” she said, batted her eyes, searched the river just for the sake of looking away from the wolf who was there at her side. “M-my—” and a sharp smashing that sent her ear into a blistering numbness. She balked, air caught somewhere in her throat, and she searched the damp cobblestone with flashing eyes. For the item, the object, the stone glistening with her blood. That someone had thrown. The bird that was now twitching and flittering limply after crashing into her skull. But nothing, and nothing. And there had been nothing, so she touched her perfectly normal, trembling ear, her trembling breaths saying what she could not, and tried to pick up the composure she'd had before, but it was nothing, too. Look back forward, toward the pretty water and pretend. Blood settling in the cracks between the stones under her feet. Ah the flowers at the edge, the sun's glow bouncing up after coming down all that way. Pretty, push, pretend. Kerplunk. The words clicked back into place slowly, from behind half-lidded eyes that sat still. “My…” ‘Me’ “m-my ah,” ‘Crowley Crowley Crowley,’ and Mystery fell a long ways back into silence, and like falling off a bridge, it stung.

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POSTED: Tue Jul 17, 2018 10:23 am

Though she was hardly a magisterial presence, the patched coydog seemed almost intimidated by the old she-wolf. She had glanced up then pressed her face to her scarred arms again, and only after a few moments – Posey waited very patiently – nervously glanced at her again. Staring at the river, she voiced hesitant thanks, and another word tumbled from her indecisive jaws before her gaze dropped to the cobblestones.

A few times she tried, my my my, and the elder Elkenfrey picked up those dropped syllables and carried on along with them effortlessly. My name's Posey. She glanced toward the shining river that the newcomer seemed oh so interested in, and reared up on her hind legs with a grunt to place her forepaws on the stone rail. She looked out at the shimmering water as it flowed past, parts of it deep and black under the bridge, others green with algae-slicked rocks. She sighed.

When my Hattie sang, for our puppies, I reckon she sounded like a bird. And sometimes a very sad one, y'know, like a robin caught in the rain. I said, 'Hattie honey, don't sing such sad ol' songs front of the babies,' and well she said, 'They don't understand the words yet, they don't mind long as it sounds pretty enough.'

She turned to stare at the girl.

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Mistfell Vale