Art : My own version of Lina Inverse Dota 2

Poetry : The Man that I love

The Man I go back to

The husband I love

The father of my children

The soul of my life

The only

Poetry : Letter to Aurora

Aurora,

I am pleased to tell you that the Dark Orb that you are looking for is in my possession.

The Desolation.

Dear Aurora,

Care to tell me what are you going to do with it?

From what that I have understood,

the Orb that you are longing for holds the future of Melenia, your world?

I am, as the inhabitant of The Wood do not understand why a great power like yours would want to possess such knowledge?

It would not be a great assistance to your kingdom of Melenia,

even though you would know what has Melenia for a few thousand years.

Aurora,

Immortality do not take place in your race.

The Woods have bespoken about this inept ability of yours.

And we have a good sport of your incapabilities,

yet Melenians feel that they are superior of our kind.

A total disgrace!

Aurora,

I am, shall have the Dark Orb to myself yet I am to loyal to you.

I have befallen from the grace of Woods themselves.

The Orb does not mean anything to us, Woods.

Why I am, having a hard odd in a quest of this unworthy?

Obsidian, not another.

Onyx, not another.

I could shed my wings and destroy the Desolation Stone, whenever I wish to.

Else, the mortal enemies of yours wish for it too and here,

For I,

could not fathom the reasons.

Aurora,

Aurora,

Tch.

Forever, I am chained to my promises.

Forever, I am caged in your desire.

I have no power to release myself from your hands.

Hope seems too far from me.

Destiny, I could not predict.

The Dark Orb, I shall place it in my heart.

Desolate, as mine.

Black, as mine.

and bloody beaten for yours.

Aurora,

I want to be yours.

Enslaved.

Excruciated.

Poetry : Surreptitious.

O ye Measter of Sonne of the Wood.

The Measter of light.

I shall be pleased.

Ye have obtained the Dark Orb,

fearlessly to your hand,

undoubtedly with your might.

I,

Shall seek to answer to your predicament.

The Dark Orb, the sweet desolation.

Melenia is in my hand as ye my dear, is on my feet! (laughs)

Dark Orb.

Such prize I long for years.

Such misery it caused to my Melenia.

And such desolation it brought as its name.

I ought to destroy it!

As I ought to destroy my mortal enemies,

It leaves me unshaken.

But with it in my possession, o ye.

All ruins,

Are mine for taken!

The darkest desire that it holds,

Unspoken strength that it omits,

The secret that it tells,

Immortal will perish.

Woods in filth.

Even ye, will die.

(Do not fear, ye will be spared).

I will flourish.

And soon I,

Will become the truest.

The strongest.

O ye Maester,

Come,

Give me the desolation in your heart.

Together we will build the empire.

Though chained ye are,

pleased,

In satisfaction.

Poetry : Scream!

I want to scream with all my might!

I want to scream til my throat hurts!

I want to scream! Help me, God!

I want to scream and make your ears bleed!

I want to scream that bad so things would get better!

I want to scream til you hear me out!

I want to scream til you hate me!

I want to scream so that I will be free!

I want to scream so I wont be emotionally scarred!

The most thing I want to do now is scream.

So I wont cry.

I cannot cry.

Poetry : A shameless woman

A woman with endless need of dark desire.

She cannot be sated.

She wants more of everything, indeed.

Regrets fill her heart, nonetheless.

It ties her hands, her legs.

And shuts her thoughts.

Questions left to be answered play in her head.

She is a shameless woman.

Wakes up in the midst of twilight,

and sleeps in the brink of dawn.

She wears a thin layer of lush satin.

As she walks down to her prey,

spreading her soft legs.

And speaks of hush and hiss.

Men, foolish creature of all crave for her touch.

Such a shameless woman, they all say.

Down and deep, she cries for a light she would never see.

Short Stories : Schizophrenic Spell

She does not know her name, or she refuses to remember her own name. It is not that as if she hates the name that her mother gave her, but she rather not remember the name because it would remind her of the sadness and agony from her childhood. Do you want to know her name?

Let I introduce her as Hannah. Well, she tells people whom she met that her name is Hannah. It sounds so pure, so demure yet it is far from it. At least Hannah was called 'a pretty little thing' when she was a child.

Hannah walks around with her neon red heels and bleached hair which does not match with her ivory skin. Her green eyes clash with blue mascara, and her cheeks are blotched with pinkish-tone blusher. She always dabs her favorite plum-wine colored lipstick on her lips, giving no hint of the natural color. She wears a tight satin purple tank top and black latex mini skirt. Her body smells like cheap perfume. And she bats her eyelashes to men who come to her place. 

And Hannah does not mind of what people say to her. She is happy with her life, naturally. This is what she is best at and she knows nothing about other things.

Ah. Hannah. Sad, pretty little thing Hannah. What has become you? What happened to you my dear, I could not tell.

"Hey you, here." 

I looked at her as she calls me. Did she? I look around looking for a sign.

"Yes you are silly, come here." She laughed. 

I walk to her side and put my hand at her right hip. She squeals with excitement. 

"Hannah," I whispered to her ear. 

Suddenly, Hannah stopped smiling. She pushed away my hand from her hips. 

"Who are you? Why did you know my name?"

I smiled. Oh, dear Hannah. Don't you remember? 

"Don't fret, my dear. I am always watching you from afar. That is how I know your name," I said.

"Don't dare to dear me! I don't know you, and I would like you to go away from here, please." she asked me. Her eyes glinted in fear.

And suddenly I realized.

This is not the Hannah that I used to know. This is not her. Where is she?

"You are not Hannah." Said I.

"What are you talking about? I don't understand you. Please, let me go!" She struggled to get her wrist away from my grip.

I looked at my hand. When did I do that? 

"Where is Hannah? Where is the love of my life? TELL ME!" I barked at her pitiful face. She backed away, struggling herself.

"I am! Please sir! I don't know you! Somebody, please help me!" Screamed she.

'And do you think all these people would want to help you? They loath your presence. Mothers drag their children away at your sight. Honorable men avert their eyes from yours;.' 

Why did I think of this? I don't understand myself.

'Darling, don't you remember me? You always kiss me senselessly with that plump lips. You speak of nothing but heaven. And you cried hard when I was away.'

"I am under your spell."

Yes Hannah, I am.

'And I shall send you to heaven, my love.'