Moon Snakes, Tongues Of The Dark Speak Like Bones Unlocking, Leaves Falling Of A Future You Won’t Believe

— Mary Oliver

*  𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 // 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐈 : 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂 . 

i.    latin is the most common language eosian nobility and royalty have derived their names from.  nonetheless, the fleuret line, at times, does also use a variety of freyja’s names for their daughters.  the norse goddess freyja had gone by several identities during her voyage in search for her lost husband, as well as those that she assumed as she was impaled and burned three times by the aesir and then happens to be reborn each instance.  

this includes names such as :    gef / gefn  ( the giver ) ,  hörn  ( flaxen ) ,  mardöll  ( sea brightener, or the one who makes the sea swell ) ,  skjálf  ( shaker ) ,  vanadis ( the dis / fate spirit of the vanir ) ,  gullveig  ( gold-thread ) ,  and heidr ( bright, clear ).

not every child would have been bestowed a name that referenced freyja, however, here could be examples of this practice :

gullveig was the first healer-oracle after aera and ardyn’s demise, and built the fleuret royalty.

lunafreya may be partly named after her maternal grandmother freyja.  an oracle who could have immensely committed to the purification of the dead, and was therefore occasionally nicknamed valfreyja  ( the lady of the slain ).  she had two daughters :  sylva and hnoss. 

the mysterious oracle whose temporary successor was a lucian king could have had one of frejya's names, like mardöll.

ii.    the standard arm of the oracles is a trident, the symbolism of which is found in lunafreya’s name entirely.  it primarily comes from the connection between freyja’s father being the sea god njördr and the greco-roman equivalent of the oceanic god poseidon / neptune whose iconic weapon is the trident, in addition with the fact that the moon has magnetic control over the tides.  

iii.    the trident is not the only tie to water that is evident for the fleuret house. the sylleblossom as a native flower to tenebrae, en masse, resembles a whole sea in the clouds.  this opens the door for the assumption that societies and cultures in the tenebraen lands used to have a deep spiritual connection with water and the seas, as opposed to the ancient peoples of solheim, who worshipped the fire ; and the earlier oracles, perchance, still were tethered too those beliefs to praise water’s purifying qualities that would cleanse the souls of those that perished of the still wide-spread disease. water is both purifying and symbolized death for the ancients, which is visually portrayed within luna's death sequence.

iv. those of fleuret blood are semi-immune to the flames of the lucii ring.  while the ring drains slowly the vitality of the king who wears it, the holy fire is a defense mechanism for those unworthy and would claim their life either instantly, or as a price for the temporary use of its power.  there are two instances of exceptions that were spared from this.  ravus nox fleuret, who was of fleuret blood and unworthy, would be branded but not wholly engulfed.  and ignis, who was of no particular blood, but was given the power as a necessity to protect its true bearer, and was as reward excused with the price of his sight.

Giulio Aristide Sartorio - Isaotta nel bosco/Fata Morgana, c. 1895

* 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍 .

what’s your phone wallpaper :   one of monet's waterlily paintings. last song you listened to :   playthings for the breeze by freesscape. currently reading :   nothing right now. last movie :   princess mononoke. last show :   slowly catching up with ygo gx. what are you wearing right now :   i'm a boring individual with a black shirt and grey pants. piercings / tattoos? :   got pierced earlobes but i never wear jewelry. glasses ? contacts? :   nope. last thing you ate? :  i love my hearty oatmeal. favorite color(s) :   i can appreciate all colors to some degree. current obsession :  ff16 and i make it everyone's problem. do you have a crush right now? :  i have no feelings ever. favorite fictional character(s) :  aqua, xehanort, lunafreya nox fleuret, nyx ulric, zack fair jesus christ, kainé, lara croft ( classic up to legend trilogy to be specific, i'm not into the reboot trilogy ), and many more.

tagged by : @oniriqe tagging : i have no clue who did this already aha

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍  ;  x.

𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄.    indeed, to wrestle fate ferociously, with denial riddled by intensity ;  to belabor, and repeat, and reiterate the possibilities  —  what else was more human, so brazenly natural, than this ?  within such matters she only could but come to the conclusion that : while you gained in humanity, wayward angel that you were, she must have lost her own on the way, somewhere at the wake of forlorn sites and behind the morning fog which hovered each collapsed civilization.  that, or she was driven by naught more than cowardice, feigning conviction.  and what conviction had any meaning within a firmly clenched, divine fist, if that same hand could soften within another’s grasp ?  the aether of creation touching the moon.  she has been situated into the hollows of memory like this before. a blend of almosts, the nevers and desires, all the same.  few centuries ago, beneath the khaenri’ahn vault.    “ as always so humble, aren’t you ?  if i am to permit myself to indulge in nostalgia, so should you allow yourself a little more self-recognition.  would that not sound like an agreeable deal ?  ”    a justified validation.  sincere, too, certainly.  but with a smile, and a response via a most tender tug of your hands, she shaped a distraction.  a distraction from marred lands, from cold dull sands, from selenic caters unbeknownst to the average beholder.  face to face, she’d drawn you closer for a sweet peck against the cheek.   “  though you faltered, you survived all of it.  many a man would not emerge from despair again. underestimate yourself not. ” // @reginrokkr

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐊 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇 ;   neither sincere enough to show teeth or gums, nor sharp enough to paint a scoffing picture, although she did manifest scoff in the one-second frown pinching between her flaxen brows, for between humility and glorification would doubt cast its long shadow.  regrettably, oracles observed the shadows too intimately for comfort, the silhouette of vedrfolnir stretching distortedly wide it became its own line, the line that warned of what happened when you overstepped.  the foreboding signs of degradation, of grace melting off the halo, of aether dripping out of the pores.  it was a sight incomprehensible and eldritch, a premonition so terrible it may as well be sacrilege to spell it out, and each coming day announcing its own uncertainty brought along the crumbling of her own self-control to hold her tongue.

“ and if nothing lasts forever, soon then, i hope, what comes to an end, too, is your bad habit of praising your brother too much, and you, yourself, not enough.  a man can lose grasp of his own humanness if he indulges the spiritual pursuit for too long, and i much prefer an anchor to stay grounded. ”  because the call of the sky for me, my body’s festering desire growing like a tumor, it scares me and no one wants to be scared.  no one wants to be scared of touching something as romanticized as the stars.  “ well, then, if i am not to worry about the subjects i pick for our exchanges, let me ask this :  why are you here, dáinsleif ?  i do not mean here, in this moment, next to me, nevermind that i do enjoy your presence.  i mean why are you in the position you are in, where all you do is look up to someone or something, but not meet them eye to eye ? “  have you not been more than this, once ?

Indeed, what she says is cryptic— ominous even, as it speaks volumes of the knowledge she professes through what couldn't be considered less than an universal truth. For the long living such as them, this may look like the same sights as any other year's whenever the inteyvats bloom for two weeks before they find repose in the abode that is the stellar graveyard at their roots. Dáinsleif shakes his head slightly, meant to reassure and put the oracle's mind at ease. ◜Worry not. I may not be as profound as my brother is in the realm of spirituality, but I find truth in your words, nonetheless.◞ That's right, for he is far more detached than Vedrfolnir would be as the Visionary. Being a vessel for visions of the future to come to the present can do as much to a man, he can only hope that the sights he has of times to come aren't horrifying nor paralyzing enough to interfere in his daily life now. Only realizing now that he was back at admiring his older brother's prodigy and the traits he had gained from it thereafter, Twilight Sword proceeds to clear his throat awkwardly. ◜When you talked about the unchanging nature of a scenery for the long living, I mean. The ephemerality of these moments serve as a reminder that all must come to an end one day.◞

  *  //  𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐊𝐑​ .

Melancholia has cruel tendencies of engendering grief at its worst. While Dáinsleif insists that too much time has past for him to remember his youngest years, he is no stranger of that sentiment. Of times when he did not know any better and this world wasn’t as grotesque. Of times where fantasies of the acceptance of a romance long gone that do not pertain to him— alas, they still seeped through his senses as if they were his own. If only he reminisced any at all. ❝I would not.❞ The pain that emanates from the lunar sacredness before him failed to go unperceived by him. Though his soul would say otherwise, there is naught but sorrow all that comes from reliving the past— the memories. For better or for worse, Dáinsleif is an expert of reliving until shattering himself whole. ❝It is human to desire for something that was better in one’s life.❞ Ah, but the duality that is so palpable in her words pains him to the very core. Pray tell, child of the moon. Were you given a chance to choose, what would it be? Your past of that whom you are meant to be? ❝…Tell me. Would you find any solace if you could pursue any of that which you seek from your past?❞

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘.    it waited patiently to cleave apart those dimensions and detach her from impossibilities.  yet, the waking dreams were unrestrained, and the wish as endless as the slumber of the cold aria moon.  lofty, and mystical, and strange.  she presumed it came with age, old and weathered as she was, a forsaken temple of paled limestone.  while, yes, we can call it all ‘human desire’, which at first it was — regardless, she must have been transcending such, if personal longings and conceptualizations of a wistful god fashioned her to a woman-clutter of contradictions.    “ solace ?  that’s very uncertain.  perchance, it could temporarily numb the sorrow with ‘what if’s’, but are such things not prone to repetition ?  do they not worsen it all ?  you know this better than any other. “    how long did it haunt her to intermingle and blend with other losses ?  where did they end and she begin ?  for how long would she wander both asleep and awake like an avatar, intoxicated by too much lunacy to bear ?    “ whether that which was lost could return to us, or we return to it, eventually we would lose it again.  i might not be strong enough to endure it many more times after piecing myself together.  i am... not like you, dáinsleif. ”

Send ‘K’ for a kiss from my muse.

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓 ,  𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐄𝐓 , 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓.    endurance.  to not scratch, or rub, or break the stitches, to not tear the wound all open once more.  to let it be, and let it settle, and let it become part of a body.  the body which cradled the memory.  the memory that ought not be removed. and herein :  the nudge, her test, the voice, clear as crystal.  a refusal, on her part, to be silenced or to accept silence. “ now now, it is rather impolite to let a lady be left with crumbs and assume the rest of your train of thought.  go ahead.  speak your mind. ”

healing  and  enduring   .   .   .   to  him  ,  two  totally  different  concepts  . 

❛ still  .  i  just   -   ❜   [   .   .   .   ]   ❛  never  mind  .  ❜

Detail: Matlock Tor by Moonlight, 1777-80, by Joseph Wright of Derby.