bruisedswan

[bruisedswan]

everytime i get a sense of longing for my beloveds (cough cough violet and caitlyn cough cough) i have to slap my brain repeatedly and remind myself that i'm literally there rn... (i can't take anymore of this wlw yearning SOMEONE RELEASE ME)

[bruisedswan]

this. is. literal. ART

　　　　　　the picture of valerie gray ´ཀ`

ᝰ.ᐟ vanity self indulgence hedonism depravity

[bruisedswan]

this is SO real, and then at some point it feels like a chore when like no???? saint, you put this on your fucking self??? yes i am deeply ashamed 😔

i hate this annoying ass obsession i have with deleting shit and starting all over because why did i just clear and am now revamping my pinterest boards AND redesigning my script at almost 2am when i have school work to finish by tonight. and why do i love it.

[bruisedswan]

i was compelled to write this—no, i was seized. so here i am telling you that comparison kills joy.

comparison doesn't just kill joy—it is the death of becoming. it picks you apart, thread by thread, until nothing feels real except the idea that you're not enough.

comparing every single milestone of yours to someone else's will help you achieve nothing. thinking about how this person shifted before you, questioning whether the way you're doing it is wrong while they seem to have gotten it all right, analyzing their every step and dissecting the breath in their lungs. you’re trying to match two completely different puzzles—not even that. you're pulling yourself by your own clothes. you're tackling yourself to the ground. you're stealing something so precious from your own drawer.

stop comparing yourself and your journey to anyone else’s. this is YOUR becoming. you’re killing it in its very throat trying to make it rhyme with someone else’s.

[bruisedswan]

EVERYONE SAY CONGRATS CHAAI RN!!!!

gang we’ve reached another angel number ☹️🫶🏽

[bruisedswan]

meet the child who beneath the blanket of stars had once wished to see the world from everyone's eyes. . .

a lover, a poet, a dream recurring . . .

hi hello hola bonjour namaste I am saadgi, my name means simplicity but it has always been a joke around school how my name fits me as a hat does a frog. I am seventeen and i brim with 3 am thoughts, ideas and wonders. I love spending all my time in my room doomscrolling and binge watching my favorite shows (tua, hi) until they do not ever feel the same again but i occasionally also love a good party with free alcohol. I vape like it's lifeline, a habit i must get rid of soon. My favorite colors are purple and pink. my birthday is on 28 December, i am a winter's daughter through and through, i can not stand summers, they drain my energy every time. I live in India (summers are lethal) i love our food, never hearing any criticism. I love the nighttime, i stay up the entire night just to sleep till 2 pm during the day, i love the stillness, the serenity, the soft humming of the moonlit stars in the background of my head. It remains all mine and i can not help but cherish it, i love how i can stare at the wall for an hour and no one would question me. I am an empath, i feel too much and it is a curse as well as a boon. I am the 'too woke' friend, I have had many of my close friendships broken because of the said wokeness. I am a capricorn sun, leo moon and aquarius rising, analyse me through that however you will. I am a sucker for numerology, i am a number 1, ruled by the sun, a leader, a winner. My hobbies include writing first and foremost, i am at my core when all the layers are peeled off, a writer, i sold my short stories to other kids for a sweet treat when i was 10, i wrote my first poem on my 8th mother's day.

she who wished, she who fulfilled . . .

My childhood was spend inside my head. My mind was always scattered in 10 different directions, i have lived different lives since forever, i was always in my palace, always in the beyblade arena, i was a vampire, i was a spy, i was dracula's mortal wife, i was a witch hunter...but i also was a student, i was slow at understand things of this reality, i used to daydream in class all the time, i remember my teacher yelling my ear off once but i couldn't hear her until she threw a chalk at my head because i was too busy being a pink haired vampire. I remember once asking my mom why i couldn't see the world from my best friend's pov....so yeah.

I was a witch and a master manifester even as a child. I remember bringing dirt from the garden and putting on it whatever leaves i could find and chanting a made up spell so rain would fall during hot summers....it always did....you are welcome, my neighbours. I got whatever i wished for, a thought of my favorite movie would pass my mind, it's being telecasted on the television. I think my english teacher is the coolest person on planet earth?? i am her favorite student. I want my favorite chocolate? dad has brought home a bag of it.

It is i believe in my veins to bend the thread of fate with a practiced swish of my fingertip, to whisper to the moon and have it return to me as an echo.

the multiverse left bare . . .

I had always known there was more to life, when i read 'earth is the only planet with life' in my grade 5 science book, i knew there was something unmistakably wrong with that sentence.

I found shifting at the worst time possible, summer 2022, 9th grade. I hated how i looked, i had an ugly haircut, i was in a trio (canon event). The sun blazed above my head everyday, everything was sticky smelly and clammy, i had a crush on a guy who had a crush on another girl, i doubted my competence, i was failing maths and science. I was losing my magic (or i believed i was). I had only recently found subliminals and decided i was not special enough for them to work for me.

Finding shifting then felt more of a burden then one lifted...i feared that i would try and fail, and when you think of failure it takes it's largest form and looms upon your silhouette like a victorian ghost unleashed mistakenly. I gave up on shifting, i decided it was not real, just an internet joke...after 2 years i found @hrrtshape's blog (forever grateful) and the lock on the door that i had been staring at for 2 years vanished, a flower bloomed inside of me, hope ignited like firework within my soul, i found shifting again and in a better place, i believed in it again, this time it felt like a sparkling wrapped present, like something given not taken.

characters across the multiverse who are but a reflection of me. . .౨ৎ

jo march, todd anderson, lexi howard, devi vishwakumar, loki laufeyson, klaus hargreeves, diego hargreeves, edmund pevensie, lucy pevensie, nadine (the edge of seventeen), lady bird, priscilla presley (not a character but...), lucy gray, cecelia lisbon, lux lisbon, celine (before trilogy), lisa swallows, miles teller, cassie ainsworth, tony stonem.....and many more i suppose, might edit later.

heavily heavily and i do mean heavily inspired by the amazing @kerryshifts

[bruisedswan]

loa is your best friend, not your crush

tldr: stop seeking loa’s validation, trust in your friendship and the love you share

so we’re gonna need a bit of backstory for everyone as to how i reached this epiphany which i could only articulate this well thanks to @faeriemarie letting me ramble on discord thnx bby

anyway, backstory :

i have a wonderful best friend from high school and she is someone that i’ve scripted into many realities (she’s one of the members in my kpop girl group dr, i love her sm). but in my cr, as can be expected, life hasn’t been easy and we hadn’t talked for quite a while.

sometimes i’d remember her with so much warmth and fondness and reminisce in the times we’d shared, the love that was so real and so precious to me, the way i’d literally see her five days out of the week and still never feel tired of her presence because at a time where i was struggling (high school) she got me like no one else did

and afterwards, after losing so much time to life and university and careers and new friendships, most of which could never even hope to reach her level, i was pleasantly surprised when she reached out to me.

two text messages later and we’d slipped back into the same energy that we’d always shared, like nothing had changed, because nothing had changed

we very quickly organised a lunch, no fuss no rescheduling, nothing blocking our paths back to each other and right now, as i type this, i’m cuddled under a blanket after a lovely meal with her and a warmth in my soul.

because she single-handedly changed the way i view loa

something about me and her — in my eyes she was always perfection and me being the anxious fool that i am, sometimes i’d spiral and convince myself that i’m not worthy of being her friend

today, at lunch, sitting right across from me, she burned those burdens and alleviated each and every facet of fear i had about it, about us.

she said “you mean so much to me, i value us and our friendship so much. i know that we go a long time without speaking and i really miss you but at the same time, i just know that i can reach out whenever, for anything, and you’ll be there for me. because you’re so genuine and so authentic. this kind of friendship is something i’ll always cherish”.

aside from the fact that i’m getting teary eyed as i remember her words, i have a point with all of this rambling and exposition — as soon as she said this and helped me rid myself of all that stress, it felt like i’d just slipped into my better cr

a reality where i’ve always scripted this kind of energy, this kind of vibe, with her

at that moment, shifting wasn’t on my mind bcs i felt like i’d achieved it ?? i felt like i was there, in my better cr, getting lunch with one of my most cherished friends, just like those scenarios i’ve scripted

and her and i have even planned another meet up pretty soon with our extended group and i cannot explain how refreshing it is to feel zero social anxiety about this plan

usually i’d have inklings of fear and doubt but right now? nothing !! absolutely nothing

i am so at peace and i haven’t felt this way about a friendship in so long ???

having lunch with her and speaking with her affirmed to me that my fears of losing our friendship were unfounded, because how can you lose something so genuine and so real?

i’ve finally learned to trust in our friendship and the love we share and dismiss my irrational fears that are baseless and are a result of my own overthinking

i don’t think you guys understand how incredible this is for me because i am without a doubt one of the most anxious people in existence it is disgustingly debilitating

but i’ve won this battle and there are gonna be more battles that i’m gonna win (anxiety-wise ahdhdhsh)

and i know i’m gonna win those because meeting up with her affirmed me of my own capabilities and my own manifestations

i’ve learned to dismiss unfounded fear and trust in my friendship with this person

why don’t we think the same way about loa???

we need to trust in your friendship with loa, one of the most genuine friendships you can ever have

the universe can throw as much at you as it wants but loa always has your back

we need to stop thinking of loa as this unresponsive crush, always seeking its validation, in need of constant attention and interaction and hoping to “run into them” to “share a moment”

stop. stand up.

loa is not your crush, for fuck’s sake, loa is your life long soulmate friendship

a friend like loa? you don’t need to talk to them 24/7 to know they love you and value you and care about you and will provide for you

that’s what loa should be, a true genuine friend who you can hit up for whatever you want (manifestation) and they’ll follow through (materialisation)

[bruisedswan]

wlw shifters are a precious type of human being i swear

This is how I feel being the self proclaimed head lesbian shifter whilst spreading my wlwness around (I am the first in my generation to string these words together)

Sidenote a post that I privated will be unprivated because it's pride month so why not?!

[bruisedswan]

The most powerful love potion: Amortentia.

It does not scream. It sits quiet in its cauldron like Eros sleeping, waiting to make you weak in the knees. The trick is: you don’t choose what you smell, the potion does. It pulls from the longing in your bones and the prized possessions of your brain—your memory, whether you’ve named it or not. It is not necessarily romantic, it is just whatever pleases you most (and if someone that pleases you most is what you smell… than that is between you and the potion).

Bowie Stark smells three things.

First: the scent of burning logs in the Gryffindor common room. The smell of warmth—dry wood crackling, light licking the stone walls like magic that remembers your name. It isn’t the warmth he grew up with. His childhood was radiators and scratchy wool blankets, modern heat and no soul. But this fire... it is different. It makes his skin tingle, seeps into his ribcage. It curls around his heart like a cat settling in for a nap. It smells like something ancient and forgiving, the kind of warmth that doesn’t just thaw fingers but regrets, too. And it smells like belonging. Like laughter echoing in the stone tower, like tired joy shared with people who know when to be loud and when to be quiet. It is the smell of everything Bowie didn’t know he missed until Hogwarts gave it to him.

Second: heavy chamomile, musk, and soft wood grain—the wretched cologne that lives in the collar of Tom Riddle’s robes. It makes Bowie feel like a moth repeatedly slamming into the same porch light because it is maddening, and it is lovely. He didn’t mean to become addicted to it. He didn’t mean to notice the way Tom smells when he leans too close during whispered debates in the library, or how the scent deepens when Tom is angry, softens when he’s tired. It’s somewhat undetectable when they’re face to face—like the moment itself is too sacred for awareness—but once Tom leaves, the perfume hits like an afterthought that ruins his day. Tom smells like secrets well kept, like quiet storms and badly buried guilt and something barely sweet underneath it all. He smells like a cliff’s edge. Bowie keeps leaning closer.

Third: the ocean. Not the manic, crashing kind poets always write about, but the gentler one—salt air and wind that tugs your sleeves, water so cold it feels like clarity. Bowie loves to stand in the sea as the sky turns lavender and the sand soaks in the light like a mirror. That in-between place where land gives way to water, where the air smells like salt, oxygen, and maybe the divine. And it feels like freedom. He doesn’t know if it’s the water or the way light bends over it, but he always feels like if he shouted into the sea, it might answer. Like the ocean might carry his voice somewhere important.

That is what Bowie smells. Home. Obsession. Freedom. In that order, or no order at all.

And Tom Riddle?

First: eucalyptus. The tree planted for him at the Riddle Estate—his grandfather’s idea, though he denies it. He remembers watering it with a hose he could barely hold in his grubby, toddler hands. The scent is sharp but clean, minty but not really medicinal. There’s a barely noticeable sweetness behind it, like honey diluted in tea. It’s a scent that lives on the back of his hands and behind his teeth. He smells it with every breath in. To others it might smell like a garden. To Tom, it smells like proof. That he is wanted. That something was planted in his name, and it grew. That he is something other than ambition and a perfectly pressed uniform.

Second: citrus. Bowie Stark’s perfume, or maybe his skin, or maybe some strange alchemy between the two. Tom isn’t sure if Bowie wears it or is it. All he knows is that oranges and lime hit him like a slap every time Bowie is in the room. And it's not overpowering—just specific*.* There could be dozens of students at breakfast, but Tom will always know exactly where Bowie is sitting. The scent is maddeningly stubborn, sunlit and cheery. Like something that should live in a summer orchard, not on a snarky half-Veela with a temper and a potion-stained tie. The smell is seared into him now. It smells like curiosity. Like color. But Tom loves it.

Third: books. Not just any books—his books. The restricted ones. The banned ones. The books that whisper when no one’s listening. But also the books in his father’s study, lined up like dominoes, and the ones Bowie gives him on birthdays, and not-so-special other days, scrawled with ridiculous inscriptions. The smell of the old parchment and the ink shaped as prose is more than comfort to Tom. He can navigate it. He speaks it well. When the world is too flesh-and-bone, he turns to the leather bound treasures. And if he imagines Bowie in that scent too—legs folded under him, nose buried in a chapter, his perfume curling into the pages—well. That’s nobody’s business but his own.

These scents don’t lie. That’s the thing. They’re not fantasies. Instead, they are the truest mirror love can offer. The potion reads you cover to cover. And the scent is the one thing you won’t forget, because the important things stay on your skin longer than perfume.

ib: @chaaistained and @kerryshifts <33

[bruisedswan]

𓉳 i think we are like fire and water . . . the revelation came not through confession, but through the walls themselves—a slow seepage of presence like blood through lace, an insistent, whispering truth that could no longer be contained by plaster and time. mary had been three months in the crumbling new orleans townhouse with lestat and louis, three months of their careful tutelage in the vampire arts, their lessons in hunger and restraint, their murmured warnings about the dangers of sunlight and the seduction of mortal hearts, when she first detected the other inhabitant, a shadow that moved just beyond the edges of her perception. not in reflections (though sometimes the mirrors wept tarnished silver, their surfaces rippling as if stirred by unseen hands), not in words (though the house occasionally whispered in a voice too high and sweet to belong to either of her guardians, a voice that curled around her thoughts like smoke), but in the way her own fury began to resonate against unseen surfaces, her rage and confusion striking some hidden chord in the air, reverberating through the halls and returning to her amplified, clarified, as if the very bones of the house were shaping her emotions into something sharper, darker, more deliberate—a language she was only beginning to understand.

she met claudia properly during the first uncontrolled astral projection—an event precipitated by one of those volcanic arguments with lestat that left her throat raw with unshed screams. the moment her spiritual form tore free from flesh, she found herself standing in a nightmare parody of a nursery, where everything—the four-poster bed, the escritoire, even the crystal decanter of blood on the side table—had been shrunk to dollhouse proportions. and at the room's heart, wreathed in the scent of rosewater and old violence, stood the child.

"you smell like them," said claudia without turning. her hands, those terrible adult hands on a teen’s body, were braiding the hair of a porcelain doll. "but you burn differently."

mary understood immediately why lestat and louis had withheld this history. here was their original sin given form—not a ghost, but a reverberation, an eternal echo of the first time they had tried to fashion a companion from mortal clay. claudia's very existence was a mirror held up to mary's own unnatural state, though their reflections differed crucially: where claudia had been trapped forever in the prison of a fourteen-year-old's body, mary had been frozen at the precipice of womanhood; where claudia's makers had acted from selfish whimsy, mary's transformation had been a calculated design.

you can walk on sun? yes, i can. how about you? the sun doesn’t like me.

their communion occurred without the clumsy medium of speech. claudia's mind, when she permitted the touch, was a reliquary of exquisite torment—centuries of rage compressed into diamond-hard facets. mary showed her in return the weight of being a medici vampire, the gilded cage of expectations that came with blood both royal and damned. their mutual recognition was instantaneous: two creatures who should never have been, forged by selfish love into eternal weapons.

"you could stay," claudia murmured once, her small fingers tracing the luminous cord tethering mary to the living world. "the longer you're here, the thinner it grows." there was no malice in the observation, only the clinical curiosity of one who had studied the mechanisms of damnation for two hundred years.

mary watched their reflections warp in the nursery's funhouse mirrors. "and leave them to their guilt? too merciful." she pressed a phantom hand to claudia's chest, where no heartbeat stirred. "besides—someone must remember you properly."

their bond became the secret at the heart of mary's undeath—a pact sealed not in blood but in perfect, furious understanding. when lestat finally spoke of claudia months later (his voice cracking over the name like thin ice), mary merely nodded, her eyes gone strangely bright. that night, in the astral nursery, claudia laughed her broken-music-box laugh.

"now you see," she said, "why they call it the damned life."

mary touched the vampire's cheek. "we'll write our own scripture."

and in the blood-warm dark between worlds, two monsters who should never have been born clasped hands—the gilded and the damned, rewriting their curse by moonlight.

she matches my freak!!! love you my sister my companion my everything.

[bruisedswan]

an icon fr i LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE

GIRL LIKE ME. THE KINDSAIL MULTIVERSE!

LIKE A FAIRY IN A GLASS BOTTLE!

JANE MEDI DOUCEUR, BEATLE GIRL / 60s FAME DR.

SORANA LENORE BLACK, HOGWARTS DR.

INA JUNIE HILL, YOUNG FAME DR.

SONOYA JEAN RIVERS, STRANGER THINGS DR.

[bruisedswan]

ahhhhsisbdbeuehb let me thank mother chaai for the tag <333

welp five things that i love about myself:

i. my brain (bloop) ... ok so when i mean my brain, i'm saying a bunch of things: the way it's wired, my smarts, my personality, my state of mind etc etc. this beautiful organ of mine has gotten me through 18 years in this life and it'll allow me to pass over to the next. it allowed me to perceive different interests, ideas, philosophies, theories and actually compartmentalise them into something that i can resonate with. if it was for this pretty little head of mine and it's accumulated wiring, i wouldn't be as accepting of things and probably would not believe in a lot of things today e.g shifting, loa, spirituality etc etc.

ii. my variety ... help idk if anyone knows this but i am a woman of many talents... and i am dead serious i have way to many hobbies that do not correlate with the other lol. i love the arts (music, art, literature, film, arts), sciences (chemistry and physics, quantum physics, ASTROPHYSICS MY SHAYLA), philosophy (this ones a new one recommend books NEOW), spirituality/esotericism, the study of religion, i could honestly go on a girl's mind is busy busy lmaoooo.

iii. my whimsy ... whimsy is not just a lifestyle. it is a form. a state of being. being odd and erratic and incomprehensible, and always sarcastic while also sounding dead serious and always curious is like my final form. if you were to phase yourself into one of the higher realms beyond understanding; where your name is nothing but a frequency and time is just human shit (because helloooo time doesnt exist???), you'd find my shimmering silver ball of consciousness giggling in some eldritch language deities and entites speak and tbh i'd probably weird them out too.

iv. my love for silver ... i don't care what anyone says silver looks GODLY on brown skin. black people/poc + silver = GOD IDC IDC. silver is so heavenly and disgustingly underrated, especially with poc omgggg when (not if) i get my hands silver maximalist jewelry I WILL BE UNSTOPPABLE TRUST

v. my absolute confidence that i could take over the world ... look idk if it's the dr. doom obsessed 8 year old in me, or my dune, specifically bene gesserit obsessed now year old in me but i KNOW that if i wanted to this world, hell this universe would be mine idc. would it be a long game? yes, but would the people love me as their mighty monarch and her political coven? also yes!!! i would be paul muad'ib before paul muad'ib minus the crazy religious propaganda, mass genocide and more human rights, food, technology (except ai FUCK AI) and freedom. i indeed would be the universe's lisan al gaib who brought paradise to the known universe yuppp

i could probably say i lot more (bc i am god and literally amazing hellooo) but i think this is probably enough

tagging... @evangeliooon @tvangelique @goshiftgrrrl @cowboysmuse @lenorashifts @blingbrat @romeedoused @salemisha

Firstly, when you get this, you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)

Tysm!

Okay, this is gonna be difficult BUT

1) I like my hair

2) I like my eyes

3) I like my writing

4) I like my aesthetic

5) I like the fact I'm a bookworm

Instead of sending asks, I'll just tag my mooties/friends here!! ;

The sweet and coolbeanz you, @izumi-miffy

The one and only @3thereality

The awesomesauce @stareyeofficial @chuchucharlie @itzzkaylaaa @crazed-transbian-lunatic and @saturnidiot

My dear @finnosaurusladiesman217

And the love of my life, @h0neybun-xx

That makes 9 people but I don't have any more moots, so that'll suffice I think!

[bruisedswan]

and if i said you are the ancient god that blessed me with the enlightenment of creativity and inspiration, then what????

𝔒SYTH ARENA 𓍝⃝ THE G𝔒DSEEKER

[ IN ÖLUM, THE MAKER DESTROYS ]

"I am no good nor evil, simply I AM and I have come to take what is mine..." — PTOLEMAEA, ETHEL CAIN

NOTE... something to sit with while i finish the ACTUAL intro (which is totally eating my ass and not even in a good way sigh). ANYWAYS, my last name is pronounced ahr-eh-nah. why did i make that the pronounciantion, you might ask? well cus im dramatic leave me alone. also i love me a good does of religious/spiritual metaphors and animal symbolism (the onkh serves as a symbolism of life & the tiger is a spiritual figure). hehe OK BYE BYEE

[bruisedswan]

(tom watch out im taking sam from you)

𝔒SYTH ARENA 𓍝⃝ THE G𝔒DSEEKER

[ IN ÖLUM, THE MAKER DESTROYS ]

"I am no good nor evil, simply I AM and I have come to take what is mine..." — PTOLEMAEA, ETHEL CAIN

NOTE... something to sit with while i finish the ACTUAL intro (which is totally eating my ass and not even in a good way sigh). ANYWAYS, my last name is pronounced ahr-eh-nah. why did i make that the pronounciantion, you might ask? well cus im dramatic leave me alone. also i love me a good does of religious/spiritual metaphors and animal symbolism (the onkh serves as a symbolism of life & the tiger is a spiritual figure). hehe OK BYE BYEE

[bruisedswan]

𓉳

“𝓵𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠, 𝓲𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢

𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑒𝓯𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑤?

𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑎𝑓𝑎𝓻? ”

𓆣 𝔗HE GATE’𝔖 OF THE 𝔈TERNAL MIN𝕯

the universe inside her mind. eternally etérea.

entry to the soul.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀

[bruisedswan]

i love lesbians

[bruisedswan]

you are literally too kind stop <3333

𝔒SYTH ARENA 𓍝⃝ THE G𝔒DSEEKER

[ IN ÖLUM, THE MAKER DESTROYS ]

"I am no good nor evil, simply I AM and I have come to take what is mine..." — PTOLEMAEA, ETHEL CAIN

NOTE... something to sit with while i finish the ACTUAL intro (which is totally eating my ass and not even in a good way sigh). ANYWAYS, my last name is pronounced ahr-eh-nah. why did i make that the pronounciantion, you might ask? well cus im dramatic leave me alone. also i love me a good does of religious/spiritual metaphors and animal symbolism (the onkh serves as a symbolism of life & the tiger is a spiritual figure). hehe OK BYE BYEE