Mer au Clair de Lune - Kacziány Ödön

▅ ❝ burdened philosopher.

  a night-ridden forest was no place to wander . something nightmarish lingers in the vestiges of sunlight , in the long shadows still strung by lampposts and the artificial light they shed . by the sea did the long roads take her , where agni dare not venture in the daylight for fear of what could find her , of the forces who wanted her head or blood ; she couldn’t amount to which . with a wavering step does she balk at something chilling the length of her very spine , surging up and shuddering vertebrae that cause prickles of flesh to blossom on her skin … when it wasn’t even frigid . the air was mild , temperate , soothed by an ionized , oceanic breeze . yet , something malefic lingered in her shadow , seeming to deepen it .

 visions of nightmarish happenings traipsed her mind , too real to be figments of an overworked imagination . it is as though a thousand eyes bore through her , cauterizing a fragile mind – one she’d never admit to being so – with an enmity that erratically races it . what was there ? what was so darkly in the shadows she felt queasy enough to wretch , of white-hot fear that trickled to paralysis through her veins ?

  ‘ w-who the hell are you ? ‘ she stutters ; she’s trying to sound brave , defiant even . stiffening , clenching hands ball into fearful fists , hair on her nape prickling whilst her bones want to rattle noisily together . ‘ suddenly know a-a lot about me , huh , wise-g-guy ? ‘ agni tries to sound brave , with steel but it shattered like ice . she has power , she can defend herself but – she’s asphyxiated on her own fear .

          HOW     AMUSING    A     CREATURE.           such      bravery,     such     valor.          a     mortal,     attempting     to     have     the     front     stronger      built     than     that     of     a     kingdom,     with     walls    of     stone     and     metal          ---------------          all     come     to     only     crumble;          CRUMBLE.          each     shatter,     of     every     enforcement,     coming     to    fall      upon      her     voice      that      was      to     sound     a      stance      of      defending      walls.     and     forth,     he     couldn’t      resist,          A     CHUCKLE.          such     enjoyment     he     holds     upon     ruin.     upon     mortals,     that      hold          FEAR.           for     outside     of     the    fortress     walls,     awaits     the     ghastly     thing     of     evil,    quenching     to     invade,     and      bring     it’s     ravage.           forth,     this     presence     swayed,     slowly     in     movement.     carrying     this     eerie,     chilling     fill     with    his     wake,     to     grace     it     upon      her      further.       weighing     it     down,     evermore.     for     there,     he’d     make     her     see     him.          THE     DIABOLICAL,     HAUNTING     THING    OF     EVIL,     MAKING     ITSELF     FURTHER     KNOWN.          ❝    i     know     lots     of      things,     my     dear...          LOTS         of      things.    ❞

          damned     creature     who     has     no     shame.     like     a     serpent     that’d      whisper     to     eat     the     forbidden     fruit,     here     he’d     prod     at     what     resigns    in    this    capable     girl,     to    lure.     ❝    and     might     i     say          --------------          how          UNFAIR          this     life     has     been     to     you.     even    in     the     harshest     of     times,     none     have     truly     come     to     your      aid,     and      lighten     such     callous     load      this      world     has      given     you.     not     even     your     gods,     hm?    ❞

to    give    everyone    a    good    idea     of     his     general     attitude:

          I     AM     THAT     I     AM          ---------------          I     AM    THAT     I     AM.          grim    creature.     corrupted,     in    that    of    which    weighs    down     into    a    realm     of     madness,     and     chaos;     waiting    to    rain     down     among     those    that     will    be     consumed     with     it’s    most     chilling     of      sins,     that     naturally     lie     among    creation;         TO     BE     FORCED     OUT     INTO     HELL.          o     do    try     to     imagine,     gods     of     babylon.          these     creatures     you    look    down    upon          ---------------          these     mortals;    spiraling     down,    helplessly,     without     control,     into     depths     that     not     even     you     dare     to     bare      even     a     glance     upon.          where     down     like     showering     blood,     shall     come     unholy     manifestation     that     purge     the    innocent    with    dark    intentions,     and     show      creation     the     day     of     judgement.

          so     come,     she     who    is     that     of      which     she     rules.     she,     who     is     like     the     waters      among     this     world;     with     a     strength     and     will     that      bests     that     of     clashing     tides.     she,      who    bares     a      cry,     louder     than     the     trembling     roars     of     cyclones.     come     to     he.          he,     the    entity     of     discord.     horror     conduction.     omen     of     demise.     the     ever     fallen.     the     black     devil.          for     he     gives      no     choice.     here,     he     visits     you.     shrouded     in     shadow.     watching.           ❝    good     evening,     my     dear.    ❞ @tiiamate           ❤‘ed

          I’M     DODGER     &&     THIS     IS     JACKASS!     ah,     but     in     all     seriousness,     hello!     so      for      the     longest     time,     i    have      been     wanting     to      join     the     ffxv     fandom!     &&     FINALLY,     i     got     around     to    it,     by     making     my     oc     here;     ramulus.     my     garbage     child.     in     short     of     whom     he     is,     he’s    the     darkness     the     lucian     king     firstly     bestowed     the     ring     came     to     face,     that     we     only     got    to    know…     VERY     briefly     about     from     Cosmogony     chapter     “The     Crystal”.     so!     i     was     hoping     that     if     you     are     interested     in     following,     and     so    that    i     may     build     my     collection     of     amazing    people     in     this     fandom,     please     like/reblog      this     post     if     you’d     like!

Learning to Fly (2015 / Acrylics on canvas) - Miroslav Pecho

from this:

then this:

to     this:

        I’VE     SEEN     YOUR     FACE     BEFORE.          o    to    thee,     LUCIAN      KING.     lost,    in    the     strands     of     history,     to     never     be     remembered,     like     that     of    a    nameless     mortal...    buried,    not     even     by     the     grains     of     soil,     but     unspoken     words.     humanity     knows     he     nevermore.          but     engulfing    unto    he,    with    that     remembrance     of     his     existence,    wast    once    thine    enemy.          LIKE    THE    DEVIL     AND     THE     MESSIAH.          and     ah,     what    more    he    can     recall,     especially     upon     such     messiah’s     great     fall.      for     while     he     resigned     in     darkness,    so    long     ago,    casted    and     left,     by     that     of     which     should    of    loved    him.     when     no    one     else     could,    as     those    once    worshiped     turned     their     backs     and     ignored,     through     the     dark     vale          --------------         HE    COULD    HEAR     HIS     CRIES.          echoing.     through     the     shroud,    of     which    this     foul     creature     takes     to.     a     sound,    so    taken     by     him,     with    a    smirk    of    amusement;      enjoyment,     grazed     his     features.          HE     REMEMBERS     YOU.          and     now    behold;    like     the     very     essence     of          WRATH,         that     bests    that     of     the     gods,          THE     ACCUSED     REIGNS     WITH    UTTER     SPITE.           hailing;    utterly    capable    to    ravage     man,     and     destroy     the     very     essence     of      babylon     upon     will!     HAIL    TO    THE    FALLEN    MESSIAH!          -------------          and     he,     a     presence    of     sin,     wicked     and    vial,     spares     a    chuckle    upon    his     wake     to     be     heard,     out     of     felt     rejoice.     heavy,     and    pleasant,     it     rings.     oh,     what     intentions     he      holds.           ❝    the     accused.    ❞     out     came    the    voice,     an    echo,     breaching     all     around    with     it’s     deep     tone.     and     from     the     corner      of      an      eye,      there     in     the      shadow,      was      a     form.     shifting     of     shape.          watching.          yet     to    of     emerged,     from     that      of      which     it      resigns.       ❝    my    my    my...     such    an    honor,     to     have     your     presence.    ❞     another     chuckle     sounds.          ah,     how     he      can’t     resist     but     to     play. @rotnichor            ❤‘ed

Le Duel (1853) - Antoine Valentin Jumel de Noireterre

[Musée Goya à Castres]

        THINE      DAY     IS     DONE,      AND     NIGHT     HAD     COME          ---------------.           to     the    night,    a     coldness     so     bitter,     as     in     darkness     it     weighs,      without     the     warmth     illuminating     from    that     of     which     is     the     sun.     and     to     the     god’s     say,     it     shall    rise     again.     to     bring     warmth,     and     light     upon     man.          BUT     SAYS     CAN    BE    BROKEN.          gods,    utter     false    words    of    hope.     for     a    shroud,    will    blanket     the     earth     in     shadow.          ah,     this          SHROUD.          corrupted,    and    dark.         how     he     bests     the     coldness,     and      unknown     of     the     night     far      beyond      comprehension.         GRIM,     AND     DIABOLICAL     IS    SUCH     A     THING.          and     it    walks.     walks,    among     mortal     men,     in     form     of     them.     but,     even     then,     how     those      about     him      felt...          TENSION.          as     though     being     watched.     as    though,    a     presence     was     following     them,     with    ill    omen.     ready     to     rise      the      most      inhuman     of     events.     a            MADNESS,          that      would      drive      them      to     being      demented     in     terror.

         HAIL     TO     SHE;     WARRIOR     OF     BRAVE.          for,     as     such     a     darkness     lingers     near,     how    she    wonders     like    the    sun,    with     ever     fires,     striking     and     true.     how     he’d     find     a     delight,     to     tamper     with    such     flames.    or    maybe;          HAVE     THEM     DANCE    TO    HIS    WILL. @sydas           ❤‘ed

to    give    everyone    a    good    idea     of     his     general     attitude:

          alright!     i     wanna     go     ahead,     and     get      the     ball      rolling     with     ramulus,     &&     start     interacting     with     u     extraordinary     people!     so     if     you     want;     like     for     a     starter!

@ lucian kings: >BP

          I’M     DODGER     &&     THIS     IS     JACKASS!     ah,     but     in     all     seriousness,     hello!     so      for      the     longest     time,     i    have      been     wanting     to      join     the     ffxv     fandom!     &&     FINALLY,     i     got     around     to    it,     by     making     my     oc     here;     ramulus.     my     garbage     child.     in     short     of     whom     he     is,     he’s    the     darkness     the     lucian     king     firstly     bestowed     the     ring     came     to     face,     that     we     only     got    to    know…     VERY     briefly     about     from     Cosmogony     chapter     “The     Crystal”.     so!     i     was     hoping     that     if     you     are     interested     in     following,     and     so    that    i     may     build     my     collection     of     amazing    people     in     this     fandom,     please     like/reblog      this     post     if     you’d     like!

Before the Storm: Arrival of Death (1891) - Julius Mařák

Vanitas Still Life (Early 17th Century) - Pieter Steenwyck

          HOW     RIGHTEOUS     IS     MORTAL     WILL.          relentless     creatures.     clinging.     fast,     onto     their     existence      upon      a     natural     instinct     to          SURVIVE.          yet     all     the     same;     how     time     and     time     again,          he      has     seen     it       before.         --------------         THEY     ARE      WEAK.         their     temptations,     taking     them     with      easy.      their      body,     easily     able     to     be      torn.      their     mind,     corruptible.     and     their     soul,    so    easy     to     break.          ALL     IT     NEEDS,     IS     ONE     DARK      TOUCH     OF      WHICH     IS     CORRUPTED.

            but      ah....     he     resists      such     a     bit     of     delectable      amusement,     there     by     his     own      will.     for      here,     he     rests      a      crimson      gaze      upon      a      mortal,     yes.     however,      he     sees           POTENTIAL.          not      of     which     she     could     waver,     in    her     own      willingness     of     way.          BUT     HIS.         this      foul     thing.     creature     of      which     is      evil.           he,     is     haunting.     lingering.     like     that,     of     an     eerie     presence,     hanging     over      a       mortal’s      shoulder;     burrowing     down     their     gaze.     he’s    here...          HE’S     HERE.           ❝    my     dear...     i    see    you    have     a     few     burden     on     your     shoulders.    ❞     the    voice,    came    from    behind     her.   deep...     dark. @sacrivice            ❤‘ed