u/KurayamiWN

The monster flapped its obsidian wings. The magical breeze created a ruffling, echoing a chorus for the attached little pieces. With another flap, one was sent away.

Darker than night and jagged at the edges, the feather began its descent. It swayed to and fro with currents which lifted it from under. It glided down slowly. Softly, it landed on the edge of a branch.

The small piece of crow sat there. And, the feather could not know of the tree, but the tree knew of the feather, for the tree belonged to the dryads. A flash of green tried to cleanse, but it accomplished nothing—nothing aside from pushing the tiny fleck further.

On the ground beneath it, a striped bear caught the thing on its snout. The bear gave a huff and a sneeze, the feather blowing further still.

A blade of grass caught it for but a moment. A moment after, it was blown once more, sent tumbling from a cliff’s edge, almost falling into a pit of honey. The bee prevented it. The bee knew of the feather, but the feather could not know of the buzzer. The yellow and black monster gave a loud hum, attempting to smite it with yellow arcs of lighting.

But the feather was ever resilient. It did not shatter to the electric pulse. Still, it was sent even further beyond its lord, beyond the domain of the skies above.

It touched a river below, a gentle rippling in the swift current. The dark appendage still resisted the touch of cold water. The make-up of the feather did not allow passage into its core. But the stream sent it even further.

The current inevitably slowed down to a crawl. Something wicker caught the feather. A basket was plunged into the shallow depths. The black appendage became a prisoner.

A human plucked it, examining it, turning it over and over. The feather could not know of people, but people knew of the feather.

Gently, it sat on the mantle of a fireplace. The hut surrounding it became the feather’s home. Even if the feather could not know, could not feel, This was a home. A home that was real.

However, good homes are homes that last. They disappear, and they disappear fast. Not even a century had passed. When the village felt the blast.

A quake of pure fire sent the place into embers, but the feather lived through the cinders.

The crimson-eyed witch plucked it and gazed at it over and over. She grinned with a toothy smile like she had found a four-leaf clover. She knew what the feather was, but the feather could not know her. Yet, within its being, it knew. It knew that its journey was over.

Their woes tell a story in the abyss,
Hollows reaching out in silence,
And crows screeching in the distance.

This place was filled with their sadness,
Anguishing inside of endless flat lands,
For their dying embrace was a bad remembrance.

It was here that ashes spread across,
Sticking to the ground like wet moss,
And their throats were parched from what they'd lost.

Their dying embers filled the land,
Trickling flames of lifeless hands,
And it was not a scorch within the sands.

Their cries would not move a hill,
Let alone a mountain,
For their quiet was deafening in this deadly fountain.

'Twas the result of their own killing,
Hands red from the blood of their spilling,
And that is why they'd received this fate most chilling.

Haunted are they now as each remembers a deed,
A vase from within themselves where they planted the seed,
But they couldn't outrun the reaper's greed.

"Lay here and receive the fate in death's grove,
Repent and pay with your suffering treasure trove,
For your sins are plenty and come in a drove."

I started writing web serials about 6 years ago, and I am a writing addict. I have never posted to this site before, so this is my first time.

I write fiction books, mainly with yuri in them. My stories often have vampire protagonists.

I love poetry as well and have created poems for even longer than I have been writing novels. A poem that I wrote 4 years ago:

Torn Asunder
Torn asunder, divided by hatred once more.
A blunder of our species, animosity to the core.
We look on to our loved ones and our brethren,
But with such abhorrence, how do we reach heaven?

Torn asunder, by the way of insults and curses.
This is the result of our betters who coerce us.
Wrapped around a spindle, so we are led.
Flames of revolution dwindle by the lies we are fed.

Torn asunder, we look on at the chaos of inaction.
Like a can of sardines we are all packed in.
This system we call “humanity’s nature”.
This is all a prelude, or so I’d wager.

Torn asunder, we reach the great divide.
Ideologies that do not fit, and so they collide.
Torn asunder, as they are pulled apart.
This is the blunder of the human heart.

---

And a poem that I wrote recently:

(Um, there is no name for it yet.)

Forsaken eyes wander across a canvas,
Mistaking horror for grandness.
Beholden they watch something shallow,
But it's not much more than hollow.

Querying, they ask the name of the painter,
Pondering many meanings held fainter.
However, there was nothing deeper there,
Only meaningless lines everywhere.

Why did they always ask with their voices,
Wondering the hidden choices?
It was like when their gaze glanced at pages,
And they wrote each of the mental stages.

They missed a major point, I digress,
But it is something, nonetheless.
You can't know the mind of a dreamer you are not,
Creating things that are easier to be forgot.

---

What else? I love vampires (obviously), mangoes, and a good tiramisu cake.