animaterrena

[animaterrena]

[animaterrena]

THE WIND SURGES THROUGH THE ENCLOSURE, singing through the tropical trees, rustling through the ferns and tall grass. There is a presence within it --- a primordial force incomprehensibly ancient, tied to the planet's bones, singing in the blood of all life. For a time, it simply observes, and the young Tyrannosaurus may feel eyes at the back of her neck as it does. It watches, and waits, and ruminates on what it is witnessing. A life form, indeed. A dinosaur, if one stretches the definition. But a Tyrannosaurus? No, not really. This man-made science project, haphazardly put together from different parts, is not quite the same. But oh! Oh, a part of it FEELS the same. A spark long thought gone, a genus long extinct, it is still there in her sinew. Will she know her? Will she recognize her original creator, her true mother? Or have humans taken that out, too? Gaia knows she should leave well enough alone. Not retread old memories, old pain, and not dwell on this affront to her work any longer. But she wants to know. Has to know. The winds settle and turn to fog, then coalesce into a material form of a tall woman robed in storms of black hair and verdant skirts. She doesn't move from where she first materialized, chin held high and hands clasped behind her back. She takes a deep breath, then another; that last exhale comes heavier than she willed it. Almost like she's nervous. ❝ Come here, @cleverxgirl, ❞ Gaia whispers, ancient voice carried through the paddock, seeping deep into the dinosaur's bones. It is a language ALL life understands--- and thus, one she should understand. ❝ Come, young one. Let me look at you. Let me see if you know me. ❞

[animaterrena]

THE ENTIRE TIME the other speaks ( or croaks, or squeaks, trying to control a voice used only for screaming; much like her own ), she just stares, bloodshot eyes wide and stained lips slightly open. Logic and reason say this should not be possible. This visual and auditory hallucination, this visage of a girl both so like herself and yet not --- it should not be here. This fragile wall separating their suddenly shared prisons, flickering from fading out to being solid once more, should not be here either. The sound comes in crackling and distorted, sometimes clear and crisp, and sometimes muffled as if underwater. She extends a shaky hand forward, bloodied fingers trembling as they try to touch what both is and isn't there. They pass through it like smoke, tingling from fingertips down to the forearms. Something IS there -- something is tangible. Hallucinations don't do that. Magic tricks don't do that. ❝ ...mama... had a face like... like... like an owl's. ❞

Voice hoarse as she responds, still pawing at the barely visible barrier separating her from the mirrored apparition. The answer to her question was given, and it was correct--- SOMEHOW. That almost frightened her. Even the fact that her ( their? ) mother's name was a fading memory of a child that'd only ever known her as "mama" frightened her. She, of a quicksilver mind and brilliant memory, was already forgetting her mother! One who bore her, who named her, who d---who died for--- ❝ Large eyes. Striking green. Small nose. Full mouth. Strong jaw. Hair--- ❞ Seraphina gulps, free hand moving to snake into HER hair--- tangled, matted, covered with dust, ash, and specks of molten gold. ❝ Thick. Wavy. Black. Like mine. ❞ Pause. ❝ Like ours. ❞ She wonders if it's true--- if she remembered correctly. She's always had a good visual memory. She cannot, must not lose this. Not if she can remember her father clear as glass, for his face is what she sees in her own reflection. Emily Jane Seraphina makes another tentative movement toward the barrier, curiosity and desperation overriding her natural caution. If the other is truly there, if this other Emily Jane, this other SERAPHINA is there, then she wants to confirm it. To PROVE it. The star prison tumbles with her duplicate's angry outburst, and Seraphina falls forward, crumpling onto the rough metal floor with a grunt. She hoists herself up on trembling arms, tipping her chin with a flip of tangled raven hair, and hisses in pain. Her whole body feels RAW like one giant sore, not enough to kill yet never healing. She breathes in, then out. In and out.

❝ A... great-aunt or something, yes?.. I, I think--- mama'd say sometimes how she'd gotten into a fight with her... and they had to compromise. Because of the rules of nobility. Because of customs. ❞ She sniffs, wiping her face with a fist. Her large eyes are desperate, now, gold flecks against tornado-green dull and lacklustre. There is no rage in her right now. It ebbed away briefly, giving way to all-encompassing FATIGUE. Her low voice comes as a monotone. ❝ He's gone too. He swore. He swore on his soul, but he never came back. ❞

A FAIR QUESTION. emily jane would have asked the same were she in the other's position ... and is she not that? in the other's position? she swallows against a throat that feels like one large bruise, and sways a little as she reaches into her prison-addled memories.

"my mother," she blurts, her eyes now glazed with distance. "her name is ... i don't-- i don't remember her name, her face, i--"

a voice already made quiet by overuse fades to just barely audible cracks and squeaks. if her too-long limbs and too-large eyes already did not give away her youth, this voice would. how it trembles! and younger still had seraphina been when her mother was lost to her forever. just a tender babe at the age of six, what else does she know her mother as but mama?

her features snap up suddenly, crazed with desperation. cruel vision or not, it is the first contact she has had since imprisonment, and she will indulge it if it means no longer bearing this pain alone. "i promise you, i-- she was ... i treated her so cruelly, i was so ... ungrateful, i never ... i never listened, i always wanted ... "

my father. and for what? the mere thought of the father that abandoned his wife and daughter sets her teeth in a vicious, animal-like snarl, and without warning, she slams her hand against the nearest wall as she leans closer to this strange, mirror-like tear in reality. with the building momentum of her vitriol, her own star begins to move, blundering its way through the sky like a rabid animal finding its way in the dark.

"that spineless coward wanted to please a relative when named me. even then, he thought only for himself."

[animaterrena]

THE ANCIENT MELODY IS EVER LOUDER HERE, its echoes refined against the pristine ice. The chromatic messenger lingering by Elsa continues its course down the twisting caverns. Sometimes it flickers and pulses, waiting for her to catch up with impatient twirls; sometimes it urgently pushes onward, painting the glowing walls with every color on the spectrum. It should be dark here, it should be COLD; it looks and feels like a sacred sanctum that no life has dared tread, that no mortal eyes have seen in centuries. There is a distinct feeling that to another soul, it would be not just forbidden, but hostile. A frozen trap that claws, that stings, that suffocates. Yet the young queen who now treads its ancient halls is welcomed with a parade of dancing lights, with a triumphant choir of harmonizing distant voices, with air that feels light and almost WARM. Strangely warm, like a friendly presence that is both uplifting and soothing. The cold never bothered Elsa, for she was one with winter and snow; one with the primordial magic of slumber, of preservation, of healing. It called her here, and it welcomed her home. Back to the cradle of creation. The glacier's tunnels eventually WIDEN, revealing tall walls and endless ceilings, collapsed columns, pillars, and obelisks; if this was once a true temple, it has long since been abandoned. Carved from ancient ice, it is pliable to her magic, to the call of the wayward daughter returning to the place where she belongs. Her glowing companion, that joyful colorful SPRITE, jumps from one column to the other. It leaves a trail of soft light, a scattering of hints should she need them. Keep going! Move! Push, push onward, and it will listen! It will open! And beyond the blocked path, beyond the collapsed rubble and closed doors begging to be pried open, lies the main chamber. For now, it is incomprehensibly dark, no reflections in its countless mirrors, no light seeping through the cracks. A scheme or a puzzle, perhaps, waiting to be solved with the arrival of the final piece. While dark, it sings louder than any other, continuing the lullaby that first led Elsa here. Borrowing the voice she knows so well, but may not yet fully recognize, or yet hear over the racing beat of her heart. Come, my darling! Idunna, oh Idunna! Nature-favored, nature-blessed, accidentally lost. See your child now, see her on the way to her destiny. See now that her magic was never a curse. Some flicker of her lingers here, called back one last time, to get that last look at her child and what she is becoming. A last favor granted. Come, my darling, HOMEWARD BOUND.

Elsa approached the glacier with a steady grace, her heart thrumming in quiet anticipation, in sync with the deep, ancient pulse that reverberated through the very air. The rumbling in the sky, a roar of something primordial, was not a threat but a soft whisper, a beckoning that reached into her soul, urging her to listen, to understand. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the winds chant in harmony with the spirit of the water, guiding her as the storm swelled and then dissipated in an instant. The clouds parted like curtains drawn back to reveal the endless sky, and the sea, once turbulent and wild, now lay still, like the breath of a sleeping giant.

The clarity of what she saw around her was impossible to ignore. The stars above, the glassy surface of the water, and the quiet that permeated everything. It was all a sign, a beacon that she had come to the right place. A place where knowledge was held in the depths of time, untouched by the decay of eons, where the answers she sought waited patiently beneath the surface.

Her breath hitched as she gazed at the glacier, untouched by humanity, its icy ridges glowing in the starlight, a living, breathing thing, a heart of ice pulsing with secrets she'd yearned to know. It was a silent guardian of truths that few would ever understand. A flicker of light, vibrant and ever-changing, danced at the cavern’s entrance. The same light, the same song that had called her here.

Elsa moved forward, drawn to the entrance, her steps deliberate yet tentative. The pulse of the glacier resonated with her own, the rhythmic thrum of something familiar, something... hers. She had come to find what was hidden in its depths, but she could not forget the warning, the somber tone of the lullaby that echoed in her mind. Not too deep, or you will drown.

But she was ready. She had to be. The calmness, the stillness, all pointed to one inevitable truth —she was about to embark on a journey that would forever change her. With one final glance at the starlit sky, Elsa stepped into the cavern, the light shifting with her every move, as the sound of ancient songs swelled in the air.

[animaterrena]

WHAT ARE YOU THE PATRON SAINT OF?

the patron saint of relics.

patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

tagged by: @motherednature tagging: @fatherxfear @cliippedwiings @wintersovereign @ YOU!!

[animaterrena]

Peter Birkhäuser, Moira, 1965

[animaterrena]

Patagosaurus fariasi and friends being very much Beach in the Early Jurassic of Argentina 🦕🏄‍♂️🌊

[animaterrena]

“This is gonna seem like a, well, a weird question. But. What does it feel like when you make a tree? Are you connected only with the seed, then you let it grow to its own potential? Or do you sense every moment of its progress?” /Dad is legit curious and trying to connect to Grown Up Daughter

❝ ... what does it FEEL like? ❞ OH, HOW HARD HE TRIES. Whether discussing his six-year-old's art project ( usually made from sticks, mud, paper, glue, bright paints and colorful sand ) or trying to bridge the billions-year-old gap with his now adult daughter and her works--- he always tries. At his very core, Kozmotis has and always will be a dad. Even when possessed by the worst creatures in the universe, even that simply twisted his paternal nature into its worst possible expression. And she can't fault him that, or truly deny him. So she inclines her head, juts her jaw and clicks her tongue, thinking. Some obscure, unidentifiable organic mass held within her palm is gently set down.

❝ 'tis a loaded question, so I'm afraid the answer will be much of the same. I do FEEL every natural process of the planet, organic and not, but it's... it's in a way I can scarcely put into words. Just that if I were to focus on feeling every single life and death to its fullest, to let the trillions of them overtake my senses, I'd surely go mad. ❞ A small smile sneaks a gentle curve onto her lips. ❝ More mad. Hence, most of life's natural processes are very much automated, and follow their programming without any handholding unless I deem it necessary. So I assume you mean when I specifically hand-craft a new tree from scratch and purposefully mature it in seconds?.. ❞

[animaterrena]

Will you listen Just as my form starts to fission Losing this war of attrition Just as I drift away Will you halt this eclipse in me? x4 With the shadows Longer to me than a light-year Moving so slow I could die here Say you can hear me say Will you halt this eclipse in me? x4

Now I know why I woke up here on the shoreline Coughing up blood in the twilight Everything looks the same Will you halt this eclipse in me? x6 I've got eyelids heavy enough to break diamonds You pray for sound and I pray for silence Damn right faithless, I can't deny you'll Find me with half a mind to get violent You know it isn't over till I say it's over No more little angels sitting on my shoulder So give me the edge of a blade and a time and a place And I'll leave them cold and pushing up boulders Am I walking with gods or merely stumbling forth Until there's fire at the gates, until I fall to the floor? You know I live by the feather and die by the sword And I will sunder the earth only to burn the reward Even in this garden of gardens I am the god of the gaps I am the demon of Sodom I am the blood of an angel, the fate of the fallen Nobody knows where I came from, even I have forgotten How could I already lose my way like this? Drowning in burning bright abyss Even at stratospheric depths This vertigo of bliss Oh and I I used to know myself Oh and you You used to know me well Oh and I I wish that I could leave myself alone Oh and you You wish that you could make me whole Will you halt this eclipse in me? x7

[animaterrena]

ooc. yknow--there's only so many variations of "mother nature got curious by something you did for some nebulous reason" I can do unprompted so, instead of a starter call... LIKE this if you're interested in plotting something.

[animaterrena]

AS RIO'S CLOAK GROWS GREENER AND HER LIPS PINKER, Seraphina's visage gets darker, her cheeks gaunter and her eyes more sunken. As inky vines encase Death like an outer ribcage, Gaia's gown gets more vibrant, flowers sprouting in raven hair, eyes the color of new leaves rather than of twisters. This has long been their dance. A stubborn lifebringer, her seeds of creation torn down by the inevitability of death. A fickle destroyer, the embers of her wrath a cradle for new life. There's familiarity there, balance, and understanding. Yet words hitch in Seraphina's throat and she clenches her jaw until it trembles. She cannot fix this. She cannot return Agatha to her, cannot force her rebellious spirit back into Death's waiting embrace. Her body, sure -- resurrecting a physical vessel is first-grade necromancy. It is NOTHING to Mother Nature, she who made humanity and thus Agatha to begin with. She could rebuild her right now, atom by atom, sinew by sinew. But that is all it would be: a vessel. An empty shell of blood and bones, a brain without a soul.

❝ I would never wish the helplessness I knew upon you, ❞ she finally mutters. ❝ No amount of power or bending of the rules can return something that doesn't WISH to be found. An absence like this, it--it cannot be filled. ❞ Please do not ask me this. If I could do it, if I could cleave an unwilling spirit back to body, I would. For you, I would. To ease your pain, I would do it a hundred more times. But I cannot. ❝ There's a certain irony to feeling so useless despite one's omnipotence. To have everything and yet nothing. To control it all, yet also be controlled by it. So, yeah, Rio--yeah, it fucking SUCKS. ❞ A slender hand extends towards Death, yet doesn't quite close the gap. She knows little about comforting others--even less about the unique affliction that is twisting Rio's insides like so. She who has hardwired the capacity for romantic love, for devotion, for YEARNING into living beings; she's never known it herself. To Mother Nature, this has always felt very methodical, theoretical, coldly scientific. ❝ What do you want to do? Or, rather--what do you hope for? ❞ Though the voice is carefully neutral, her eyes are soft. Solid and unchanging, prepared for the potential lashout, for venom spat from grieving lips. 

It's so quiet.

The silence that accompanies Death is hardly unique. But her speechlessness forebodes dangers that will touch all life.

"I finally caught her."

This after...moments? Hours? Weeks? Moss gathers softly, slowly, steadily on the hem of both their grreen gowns by the time the words slip through unusually pink lips.

It's as if Rio is trying to emit so much fertility and abundance that somehow it could bring back the one person beyond her reach.

"And she still found a way to avoid me. To avoid our Nicky."

Our

c h i l d ....!

The crust of the earth trembles.

"You can get her back....girl, I'll do anything you want--"

Lips bleed black and the whole of Rio's soft slender body is twined inside a prison of black vines that vaguely resemble a gown.

"No you can't....! What'm I saying? You can't even bring back your own fucking...family....god, does it suck to feel so helpless, Mama Nature? Cause I think it does. I THINK IT DOES."

A laugh, a sound of shrill, shredded agony. Not once has the Green Witch, steward of earth's life cycles, given in to the cardinal error of personal feelings.

Until today.

Stop me...I'm gonna do something bad. Stop me from chasing a ghost!

[animaterrena]

THE WINDS WHISTLE IN TANDEM WITH THE AZHDARCHID'S DESPERATE CRIES, carrying them up toward the impassive grey skies. Hear her, Earth. Hear your returned daughter's pleas, hear her sorrow, her dwindling hopes! You a mother yourself, one who has lost so much, who has seen this happen before time and time again -- will you simply watch? She should. She REALLY should. Nature is neither gentle nor kind. The eternal cycle of life and death does not make exceptions. She does not, cannot, must not play favorites. She should just leave it there. Make no deviations to account for the return of what was once long-lost. For what should not be able to survive -- let alone THRIVE -- in the modern world. Yet it does. Despite all odds, despite all her calculations, it does! And surely, she can justify this slip in judgement to see how far it can go? To indulge a scientist's curiosity, not a mother's nurturing instinct? A single CAW rings above the Quetzalcoatlus as a pitch-black shape descends to the ground beside her, like a stormcloud itself coalescing into an avian shape. A crow of iridescent-black feathers and clever green eyes lands beside the pterosaur, shaking out and folding its wings. It inclines its head toward the unmoving hatchling; moving not to harm it, not to steal it from the mother, but simply watching. It chirps and coos, clacking its beak at the mother, speaking in the primordial language all life knows. My sweet--may I approach?

@animaterrena liked for a starter

a low honk, like a foghorn in the night. massive wings stretched out, seeming to dwarf the moon overhead as membranes blocked out its faint light.

this was not a normal sound. this was a sound of despair.

a female quetzalcoatlus was mourning. she sat atop her nest, her wings spread out around her as she frantically nudged her unmoving chick with her beak. it had been the only egg she laid this year, for this world was different and not as accommodating to sky titans like it used to be.

and her chick wasn't moving. wasn't breathing.

she honked again, as if begging someone to aid her.

[animaterrena]

the feminine urge to be ethereal and hauntingly beautiful

[animaterrena]

"we must do what it takes to survive."

Scylla inspired by the song from the thunder saga! Epic the musical my beloved how I love you

[animaterrena]

Cover art by @animaterrena

The (almost) quintessential Kozmotis Pitchiner/Pitch the Nightmare King and his daughter Emily Jane/Seraphina/Mother Nature playlist.

[animaterrena]

ooc. yknow--there's only so many variations of "mother nature got curious by something you did for some nebulous reason" I can do unprompted so, instead of a starter call... LIKE this if you're interested in plotting something.

[animaterrena]