#Symphonies of Sickness era

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

[cripplecharacters]

This might not be relevant to this blog, but I kinda want a second opinion in case it might hurt people. I'm making a webcomic and when I introduce new characters I like to share playlists that represent them with the audience. One of my characters is a burn survivor with scars (resulting in limb and facial differences). I have the song Burn Alive by The Last Dinner Party on her playlist because I feel like the lyrics and theme really represent her character arc, but now I'm concerned that the imagery of "burn me alive" that occurs in the song might be upsetting, especially in relation to a character who is a burn survivor. Should I take it off, or make a note to go with it, or just leave as is?

Hello lovely asker!

I think this is okay even if it is in relation to their disability because they're is a lot of music that does talk about disability.

The Glass Passenger (Album) by Jack's Mannequin - About his cancer and treatment

I can't feel by Yours Truly - written about POTS

Moulty by The Barbarians - written about his hand amputation

I'm not gonna miss you by Glen Campbell - about Alzheimer's

Hospice (album) by The Antlers

Pain by Of Mice and Men - Marfans syndrome

There's even a lot of music that a lot of people with disabilities relate to also (I found and went through my old angsty early 2010's playlist to find these so excuse the selection 😅)

Runs in the family by Amanda Palmer

Medicine by Hollywood Undead

I'm so sick by flyleaf

Migraine by Twenty One Pilots

And probably so many others. This extends to even classical music as well

String quartet no.8 by Shostakovich

Symphony no.8 by Alfred Schnittke

Requiem in D Minor by Mozart

Other composers like Shumann and Ravel all have works that they wrote when they were Ill as well. A lot of surviving compositions during WWII era are also regarded as an example of the trauma/PTSD/anxiety/depression that was not uncommon during the time.

The whole point in music is expression, connection, and relation. The music says what you want it to say about your character, and there is that association. Disability has long been used in a metaphorical stance in poems and songs and even in our everyday language. I think if the song portrays it at something negative like using slurs or saying that the aftermath is something "Ugly", using the metaphor as something harmful or any other sorta negative language, then yeah it might be best to leave it out.

If there isn't any then it seems fine. If you're worried you can always remove it or maybe put those little note by each song and why you choose them and how they relate to the character! Even look up and see if you can find music made by other burn survivors and if any songs fit into the playlist for your character!

Hopefully this is helpful!

~ Mod Virus 🌸

[classpectpokerap]

Pesterquest Rewritten - Intermission 1 Act 1 Complete!

Pleased to say that the first 6 volumes of PQR -- including the Prologue, the four Beta Kids, and the first part of the intermission, are all COMPLETE! (With the exception of a few WIP sprites for Damara, drawn up by the AMAZING BUGFlower413.) 

Going to give credit and shoutouts to just a few of the MANY people who helped make PQR a reality:

ash taylor?!, for composing the LOHAC and Prospit themes while i was LITERALLY ASLEEP and nailing them basically first try,

Hydro-City-Zone, for helping edit some of the John backgrounds, and for spriting, composing, and writing for their secret route basically entirely on their own,

My lovely lovely friends/beta readers, including but not limited to Ocean Man, Symphony, Luke, and terminalTermagant, for making PQR half as coherent as it is,

and nearly most of all -- YOU!!! You in the PQR comments section, for being the nicest fucking people on the planet.

I say "nearly" most of all because the biggest thanks has to go to my INCREDIBLE partner FlaringK. They not only helped me get the initial programming done back when I was deliriously sick with COVID in September, not only have been my best and strongest cheerleader, playing and reviewing every new update diligently, not only are responsible for doing ALL OF THE ENDCARD ART, as well as the insert art during Jade's route and the intermission, not ONLY created the tool Homestuck5Plus, which I used to format the transcripts AS WELL AS the memolog sections in-game -- 

But have just been a star player. Thank you so much a for to playing my game. >:3 

She's watching me type this and cringing. Get owned loser

LMFAO

:D

The newest route is about Beta Roxy Lalonde in the Hiveswap era. HOPE YOU ENJOY!!!!!!!!!! AND HAPPY BIRTHDAY LALONDES

[sibyl-of-space]

been thinking a lot about the "im joining the war on pretentiousness on the side of the pretentious" and how it is affirming my elitist need to be Specific And Pedantic about the term "Classical Music"

i used to think people who were pedantic about that were pretentious assholes, and that's probably true, but the more i have learned about 20th century western music history the more i think being specific about that shit matters. i don't expect everyone on planet Earth who wants to talk about dead guy music to know exactly which period every piece of music ever was written in, and i think the term is used to describe a category of music that is useful to discuss because it IS treated as a category, but i also think the category sucks.

when people use "classical music" to refer to basically the Generally Agreed Upon White People Canon Of Dead Guy Western European Composers, i want to emphasize that they include works that span about 4 actual centuries of lived human experience and shove them all together completely devoid of context.

There are two equally sucky reasons for why I hate it.

Composers who were writing music that was intended to be uncomfortable, fucked up, experimental, specifically a reaction to previous ""classical"" music categories.... just get lumped in with them because in hindsight it was "decided" that their music is also Qualified to be Elevated to the same Standard TM.

The circumstances in which some 20th century compositions were deemed Good Enough to be Elevated to ""classical"" are SO FUCKING POLITICAL.

On point 1:

Basically everything written in the early 20th century was a response to how sick everyone was of the Romantic era. Mahler and Debussy were parts of very different reaction movements (maximalism and symbolism respectively) but both of them intentionally broke Romantic-era rules because they were sick of them. The shit Debussy did to harmony was BONKERS by the standard of the turn of the century.

(He also totally appropriated scales and motifs from gamelan, which is both an interesting historical result of the World Fair and a newly globalizing world, and also still kind of shitty and worth acknowledging that orientalist exoticism was a huge part of his clout. I'm not about to start a debate on influence vs appropriation here, but regardless it's worth knowing about.)

It's honestly kind of a disservice to the radical innovation of some of these composers to lump them with the exact kind of music they were explicitly being a distinct reaction to. This isn't just for 20th century composers; it's true for just about every movement encapsulated in the ""classical"" umbrella. Romantic music broke the rules of the Classical era the same way Classical music broke the rules of the Baroque era. All of them have deep relationships to emerging technologies and the geopolitical circumstances in which they emerged, but I am a nerd for the early 20th century specifically so I know way more about that than the other ones, sorry. I WILL say that I am practiced in Baroque cello though, and at its heart BAROQUE MUSIC HAS MORE IN COMMON WITH JAZZ THAN ROMANTIC ERA MUSIC. I AM DEAD SERIOUS ABOUT THIS. The emphasis on improvisation, no conductors, listening and handing off solos, using figured bass/lead sheets, I could go on!

And while this is obviously focused on Western Europe, what exactly ""counts"" as Western Europe is ALSO insanely political - but that's its own post.

((i am resisting the urge to write 43892048 paragraphs about the Ballets Russes here.))

On point 2:

Do you know that one of Shostakovich's most-played symphonies even today is his fifth? "why do i care about that" because his early career was defined by writing supercool weird modernist shit and also drew from what the weird modernist composers in Western Europe were doing, and then when Stalin came into power, Shostakovich was basically met with "stop doing that disgusting degenerate shit or you are dead," and his fifth symphony was written out of fear for his fucking life to an "acceptable" standard of "innovative, but not TOO innovative. if it doesn't sound good your ass is dead. you need to write us Good Russian Music or else."

so his fifth symphony is Good Russian Music that was acceptable to those in power, unlike his degenerate weirdcool stuff from earlier.

and it is THAT symphony that is his lasting legacy to the world, divorced of context and just presented as "this sounds good, doesn't it? :)" almost a century later.

DO YOU SEE WHY IT MATTERS TO BE SPECIFIC ABOUT THIS STUFF?

"i dont like weird modern art/music that looks/sounds bad" thats cool! i respect that! but you should probably also know that in the 20th century a lot of nasty people used "music should sound good" to invent ahistorical bleached national identities and often killed people making music that DIDN'T sound good, so the right of musicians to make weird horseshit is really important. the end

(also any time some nazi douchebag tries to talk about music they are spouting wrong ahistorical horseshit 10000% of the time and you should bludgeon them with european music history textbooks.)

[ofmiceandwomen]

Today I decided it will be a good day to talk about a private RP project I’m a part of in one secret TMA server which I share with @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown, @envisionedeternity and @thistlesandstories from our irl friend group and @mersilisk as the guest star and amazing antagonist.

I don’t post much and especially not for The Magnus Archives but I admit the podcast is very important to me. My favourite thing about it is the Regency Harem™️ and the historical episodes. Intertwining the lore with the actual historical events and characters is just amazing.

My irl friends know that I have certain level of interest in military history, and therefore I decided to make a use of it and suggested a plot line for a private RP - a short prequel story for Robert Smirke and young Jonah Magnus meeting. Also, we wanted a Slaughter story because there’s way too little of those in the podcast.

And the background is… The Napoleonic Wars. My beloved @thistlesandstories is a reenactor from that era and therefore they got very excited about the project. The excitement grew contagious and turned @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown into a proper horror DM.

The plot line so far:

Europe, 1811. Napoléon Bonaparte decided to be the problem. Given his notable military accomplishments, the Slaughter just couldn’t leave him unnoticed. After all, the concept of the Total War is born. One day, the Slaughter had came to the young Napoléon and offered him that he would become the greatest warrior of all time. The First Consul of France has agreed.

The Slaughter is rising, therefore it is convinced that the time has come to attempt a ritual. But for a war ritual you sorta need to have two sides, right. There are plenty of “other sides” - and there is one talented general, very dedicated to defending his country. Honourable and skilled man - Viscount Arthur Wellesley, soon to be the Duke of Wellington. Wellington was not having a great time in the Portuguese campaign as his forces were being pushed out by the French, when the Slaughter called to him - offering a victory in exchange for his service. Wellington considered, out of loyalty, he agreed with the nightmarish pact.

The situation improved as now the British and Portuguese army set up an attrition trap with the French falling in. Then guess what - the Slaughter calls again. (The attrition war is usually not exactly Slaughter aligned thing. The soldiers die of starvation, freezing, sickness, which is inherently a corruption thing - The Slaughter wants the bloodbath). Now, the Slaughter has called for a French man again - Marshal Michel Ney, said the Bravest of the Brave, known for his extremely risky approach to the war. An ideal candidate, so it seems . When the French finally retreated and Ney successfully bought their exhausted troops some time by his rearguard actions, the Piper showed up to him, offering him the victory. However, the French marshal has none of that shit and literally tells the War itself to shut the f**k up. Obviously, the Slaughter hates him now.

But now it’s May 1811. Now, time for some historical liberties, yay! Ney lost his command after he disrespected his commanding officer, and his wife convinced him to take a break - therefore they ended up chilling in a little German spa town with their children. The resort happens to be the favourite place of one of the Würtemberger aristocrat Albrecht von Closen. This young man decided it would be nice to invite his British friend Jonah Magnus.

Jonah is very young, he just turned 18, he inherited notable amount of money from his deceased uncle and he has many admirers for his intellect and general charms. However, even now, Jonah is more of a cold academic, a silent observer, with little interest in changing the world. He only wants to know and to understand. And he is just as cold to his companion, sir Barnabas Bennet, who is not really financially stable, but somehow he managed to incite himself to go with Jonah. Barnabas is like a pure opposite of Jonah - hot headed, adventurous and painfully irresponsible.

The last guest to arrive is… nobody else than Viscount Wellesley himself. He has earned a short period of leave and he just picked the same recreational spot as his enemy, Ney. It’s not a coincidence however, the Slaughter is still feeling petty and it wants to ruin Ney for his insolence. The future victor of Waterloo seems to be a good tool for ruining the Marshal’s involuntary holiday.

Oh well. He might not be the last to arrive. There is one more man, who will go down the TMA history - a certain gifted character in his early thirties, working hard on something barely connected to the architecture. Maybe it has something to do with his paranormal obsession. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome sir Robert Smirke!

So yes. The scene is all set. So far it goes very well. Except… it is not.

The disasters are here!

Jonah Magnus seems more interested in Wellesley than in his travel mate Barnabas. Out of desperation, Barnabas decides to finally confess his feelings for Jonah. It went well in his head. He approached the armchair in the lounge, seeing those rich copper curls. He took a deep breath and finally kissed him… Only to realise that Jonah Magnus is not the only one to sport this hairstyle. Red-haired marshal Ney is not amused and his first instinct was hitting the perpetrator right in the face and showering him with list of French profanities.

Albrecht von Closen has really bad feeling about Arthur Wellesley. He is himself a very sensitive and observant man and he disapproves of Jonah’s interest in the famous British commander. It is not the first gut feeling of this kind Albrecht had and he is not exactly sure what to do with that. He meets an unlikely ally - very angry Marshal Ney who is certainly not happy about Wellesley’s presence either.

Robert Smirke found what he was looking for- the presumed Slaughter avatar, aka the Napoleon’s bravest Marshal (please consider that Smirke is a Brit and therefore the idea of future Duke of Wellington as the avatar of the Slaughter is just unimaginable to him). The architect is not exactly a good candidate for a spy and therefore he gets noticed by Ney’s children who decide to take the situation in their hands and reveal the man who keeps stalking their father.

This happened so far. But the plot shall go on because… Enter The Stranger!

The Stranger is still obviously pissed after the Slaughter’s agents ruined their ritual in 1787. So it wants a revenge. And the ideal idea of their revenge is taking the Slaughter avatars one by one and turning them into waxworks. And obviously, their victim is the Napoleons’s marshal Ney.

Jonah Magnus is getting bored of relaxing and he is ready to meet a new friend: the famous Robert Smirke. The man, who will unknowingly bring the Apocalypse two centuries later.

The reasons for posting this is the following:

It’s 255th birthday of Michel Ney! He was originally meant to be a background character, but he sort of stole the show. I might or might not be responsible since I’m the one playing the gingers.

Also, this post might or might not work as a peer pressure for @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown to turn it into a fic 👀

The special acknowledgment goes to @thistlesandstories because we have discovered that somehow we really enjoy fighting with each other after six years of being together. The prequel for Ney and Wellington in Portugal was the best part of this year’s Christmas. I’m still crying for the French officer taken by the Piper though I also love the amount of research it goes into this activity. We ended up with new books on Ney and Wellington.

Credits:

Albrecht von Closen, Aloys Ney: @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown

Robert Smirke: @envisionedeternity

Arthur Wellesley, Barnabas Bennett, Eugène Ney: @thistlesandstories

The Stranger Danger, Léon Ney: @mersilisk

Jonah Magnus, Michel Ney: Me, because I’m all the gingers

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

GUSHERING IN THE GENRE THAT KILLED THRASH METAL IN ITS SLEEP -- ETERNAL HARBINGERS OF HARDGORE.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on English musician/ vocalist/bassist/lyricist Jeff Walker (possibly still a teenager!), founder of then goregrind/death metal/grindcore band, CARCASS, c. late '80s.

Interview from an unnamed zine, issue #4 (1990):

Q: "What’s the reaction of your parents in front of the band?"

JEFF: "Well, mine know what we’re up to, but have never heard the band, and have never seen the records, so they keep a discreet distance I suppose. We practise at Bill’s parents house and Ken’s dad’s helped us out getting slides processed (the use of his word processor) so even if they don’t approve at least they don’t hinder us. But we don’t need our parents consent or whatever, we’re all a bit old to be bothered about that!"

PIC #2: Spotlight on the original photo, during the band's still prominent goregrind years, the "Symphonies of Sickness" era, featuring Bill Steer, Jeff Walker, & Ken Owen, c. late 1980s.

Sources: www.picuki.com/media/3432347448700974992 (Picuki 2x).

[crabs-with-sticks]

Jacs Reviews: The Spirit Bares Its Teeth

Genres: horror, historical fantasy

Themes: trans issues, misogyny, medical trauma, medical/body horror

“I want to peel off all my skin, if only so I could be anything other than a naked body, something horrifying instead of vulnerable. Nobody looks at a pig corpse and thinks it could be made beautiful.”

Honestly not quite sure how to review this one, how to sum up all my many, many thoughts on it. Because I really loved this book and it was an amazing own voices story of autistic and trans experiences.

It's visceral, it's gory, it's emotional, it's painful, it's cathartic, it's horrific, it's tender. This book is full of these seemingly contradictory emotions, and the author pulls them altogether into a symphony.

The protagonist, Silas, is a trans autistic man in the Victorian era and has violet eyes which lets him see hauntings and spirits. However because its Victorian times everybody is very sexist, and women (which is what he is perceived as by the status quo) who use their powers are either executed or sent to asylums with 'veil sickness'. All the different parts of Silas' identity were really well represented and integrated into the story.

Going in I was a bit worried about anachronisms (as a licensed history nerd) but it all slotted in very well! Certain elements, such as horrific public executions, are certainly exaggerated from history, but it never feels out of place. The author uses the exaggerations to emphasise the themes of the story, rather than in an endevour to make it more relatable to a modern audience. (There is nothing wrong with the later, it is just not my cup of tea).

I was also really impressed with the nuances and aspects of intersectionality that this book touches on. It deals a lot with women's issues and depicts a broad range of female characters within misogynistic systems in a very believable way. The way that Silas' identity weaves through these issues is also very well handling- that push and pull between his trans identity and the perception of him as a cis woman. Reading this book has given me a lot to think about

Finally, shout out to the narrator of the audiobook. Raphael Corkhill had a phenomenal performance on such a challenging book to narrate.

This all being said CHECK THE CONTENT WARNINGS before reading this book. The warnings are no joke. Trust me. There's no shame in putting down the book for a bit- I had to a few times. If you want a more extensive list, check on its storygraph page.

CW: gore, medical trauma/horror (think graphic descriptions of surgery), self harm, transphobia, sexual assault/rape, disassociation, forced institutionalisation, emotional flashbacks

[beevean]

I finally beat Castlevania: Symphony of the Night!

The boss battles were fairly simple (though I regret not giving myself more of a challenge with Dracula; I used the Alucard Shield spell, and he died in the blink of an eye). Shaft was an interesting fight! Too bad I wiped out Drac before he could do anything. I should come back sometime and actually fight him, so I can actually have an opinion on the fight. His demonic form has a sick design, though! The Xenomorph-esque heads were cool!

The credits song sounds really sentimental; I ought to look up the lyrics.

The only hard part was 200.6%-ing the map. Towards the end, it felt like a game of Spot the Difference from hell. At least I’m playing this in an era where the internet is ubiquitous!

The only question I have is why Castlevania Requiem wasn’t ported to Xbox One and Switch. It’s Konami that has the rights to SotN and RoB, not Sony (unless I’m missing something)! Did Sony cut a console-exclusivity deal with Konami regarding those games or something?

Also, what’s the level cap for Alucard? I was at Level 46 when I beat the game.

Congrats! Now Maria is impressed with your map-filling skills and will chase Alucard <3 jokes about Maria's tastes aside, I find interesting that this game establishes that map percentage in CV is more important than completion time, unlike Metroid.

His cap is 99. It's very much not worth reaching it, because by level 80 all enemies give you 1 EXP. The game is more than beatable at lv 50.

Yeah, the Alucard Shield spell is beyond broken. I usually enjoy game breakers à la Super Sonic, but this one actively drains enjoyment from the game. The Crissaegrim is a better game breaker because at least you have to put in the effort to obtain it. But yes, Dracula's form is very cool!

It's hard to notice, but Dracula didn't turn into a monster: his cape/throne did! He's still chilling there, legs crossed and all! Talk about flexing.

If you're asking "why don't Konami do this thing that will obviously drown them in money?", don't even bother with an answer. They could do so much to revive the series, but they don't, aside from the occasional collection. Not even the sheer success of the show motivated them to actually capitalize on it lmao.

[luigis-favorite-cookies]

Tickle concept: Scarecrow

So imagine this right? We're at the big house of some Victorian-era gentlemen. They have this really fine flower garden, and they want to keep it well protected. Normally a regular scarecrow or something would be fine, but there's a problem with that.

For some unknown reason, these birds that are terrorizing the plants don't seem to be scared of a regular ol' fake human standing in the garden. What really seems to make them want to stay away is the sound of human voices.

So after a little while of the master of the house occasionally running out to scare away the birds themselves, they start to get sick of this. What do they do? They just hire someone else to fix the problem for them.

That's where you, the reader come in. You are a disparaged Victorian-era child, and want to earn yourself a living. Well it just so happens there's a unique job that seems a lot better than going into a textile factory.

You're job is to watch over the garden. You'll sit in a special little raised chair that lets you see everything down below. It gets a little hot out though, so you may want to take your shirt off. They also probably want to make sure you don't just wander off while you're on the job, so your arms will be secured above your head.

Beyond just keeping an eye on things, your most important job is to keep the birds away. How will you do that? Well built into your special chair is a set of bicycle pedals, and whenever you pedal on them, a pair of special feather dusters will spin themselves over your tummy and your armpits. The sound of your laughter should be well enough to keep the birds out. Oh sure, you could probably just shout at them, but that would cause such a ruckus, and we can't have that at such a well-mannered place.

Despite being tied to your chair for most of the day, the master of the house is not cruel, do not be mistaken. They've given you the ability to control the speed of the tickling for a reason. They just as easily could have built some steam powered tickling machine that went all day and night, but that's not fitting of such a well-mannered place either.

No their seems to be a little twinkle in their eye whenever they walk past you on their stroll through the gardens, enjoying the sounds of your sweet laughter. You might intentionally speed up the tickling, just so you can laugh more for them, and you'll smile so wide to feel them reach up to pat you on the back, reminding you of what a good job you're doing.

You're such a good little scarecrow, and they treat you quite well. In return, you're sure to always give 100% at your job. Even during the approach of winter, where there isn't a bird in the sky, you wake up eagerly awaiting another day of tickling. You tickle yourself with reckless abandon, all on the off chance you have a visitor, sure that a symphony of laughter is awaiting them.

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Carcass ,1989

[senuassaga]

Exploring the Terrifying Realities of Senua's Saga Hellblade II

If you were worried that Ninja Theory would lose its touch under Microsoft’s new ownership, think again. With gore-soaked scenes in village huts and creepy creatures lurking in dark caves, Hellblade II’s intense violence shows that the bigger budget only amps up the brutality, making it clear where to buy Xbox games for the best experience. Just like the first game, you gotta have headphones for the full experience. After Senua’s lover gets killed in the 2017 Hellblade, a grief-stricken Senua sees her resulting psychosis as an ancient curse, calling her inner voices "the furies". Hellblade II uses the same binaural audio tech to make Senua’s madness feel real, surrounding you with eerie whispers that get louder and scarier. Melina Juergens nails it as Senua, with Helen Goalen and Abbi Greenland giving life to the voices in her head. But Hellblade II isn’t just about her inner demons. As you explore Iceland’s beautifully crafted Norse landscapes, from plains to snowy peaks, you realize reality can be as terrifying as Senua’s visions. Ninja Theory’s game echoes the unsettling mix of folklore and history found in Robert Eggers’ 2022 Viking flick The Northman.

Exploring Haunting Realms in Hellblade II

Senua’s journey isn’t a solo gig anymore; with a crew of seriously messed-up characters adding weight to this epic tale, you'll want to buy PS5 games. Battling Vikings, giants, and the undead blurs the line between reality and Senua’s twisted mind. A freaky cave part cranks up the psychological horror to unbearable levels. Like Death Stranding, Hellblade II rocks Iceland’s surreal cliffs to bring its crazy story alive. It mixes photorealistic tech with widescreen style and film vibes, making it the slickest game of this console era. Normally I skip photo modes (basically Instagram for games), but I had to stop mid-action to snap some sick horizon shots, like some messed-up art project. The mind-bending puzzles from the first game are back, yanking poor Senua into nightmares between all the epic scenes. Environments twist and warp like a trippy 00s music video, with voices adding stress like a creepy symphony. Hellblade II keeps you in the movie with no hints, health bars, or meters – just a battered, slow-moving Senua dodging demons and swords.

Embracing Empathy: Hellblade II's Message in a Risk-Averse Industry

Video games have always been praised for letting you step into a character’s shoes, and Hellblade II takes that to the next level, creating real, challenging empathy. Dealing with anxiety means dealing with voices that can’t be trusted, but it’s rare in games to feel that constant misdirection so intentionally. While I don’t have psychosis, there’s something strangely healing about hearing this character’s deepest fears and self-doubt unfold in real time. As a high-budget sequel to an indie game about PTSD, Hellblade II is the unexpected hit of 2024. From its heart-pounding start to its intense, bloody finale, it’s a gripping, scary success. It’s short and tightly scripted, not like your usual games focused on loot and leveling. Instead, Hellblade II delivers a profound, gut-wrenching experience. There’s a layer of compassion even amid the brutality, reminding us that even the worst monsters were once human. In today’s divided world, this message of choosing empathy over hate hits hard. As big corporations shut down award-winning studios, games like Hellblade II deserve to be cherished. Who knows how many more bold epics like this we’ll get in an industry that’s often afraid to take risks.

[xasha777]

In the midst of the cosmos, amidst swirling galaxies and nebulous clouds, stood a figure cloaked in light, an ethereal being known across the stars as The Celestial. In the darkness of space, she was the beacon, the guide for all who journeyed through the void. Her robes, white as the core of the brightest star, flowed about her like the arms of nebulae. In her wake, particles of stardust shimmered, and celestial bodies aligned to her will.

One could not gaze upon The Celestial without feeling the immense power she wielded—power she had obtained from the convergence of countless worlds, the knowledge of a thousand civilizations, and the essence of the universe itself. Her presence was an ancient one, as old as time, known to the few who had dared to venture into the unknown reaches of space.

Among these few was Gaius Julius Avitus Alexianus, a starfarer from a distant planet, whose ship, the "Aeternitas," had seen more galaxies than most could name. Gaius, with eyes like the endless void, had sought The Celestial, guided by prophecies etched in the ruins of a long-forgotten race. It was said that The Celestial held the key to understanding the fabric of existence and that she alone could grant the wisdom to harness the energy of the cosmos.

His journey was arduous, taking him across black holes and supernovas, through the whispers of cosmic winds, and alongside the silent songs of comets. But Gaius was determined, for his planet was dying—a slow, withering death caused by a sickness no science could cure.

When he finally found her, The Celestial knew of his quest without words. She, who had seen civilizations rise and fall, who had watched the birth and death of stars, recognized the noble heart of Gaius Julius Avitus Alexianus.

With a gesture, she summoned a disk of pure light that spun with the symphony of the universe. From this disk, a fragment detached, descending toward Gaius like a falling star. It was a crystal imbued with the essence of life itself, the heart of a star long extinct, its energy pristine and raw.

The Celestial spoke then, her voice echoing like a choir of light, "Gaius Julius Avitus Alexianus, you have traversed the dark sea of the cosmos to find hope for your people. Take this star-heart to your world. Let it be the beacon that cures the sickness, that brings life where there was decay. But know this—its power is boundless, and with it, you must shape a future not just for your own, but for all life that dances in the vastness of space."

Gaius bowed deeply, a mix of reverence and awe written upon his face. "I am but a starfarer, Celestial," he replied, his voice firm yet humbled. "But I will carry your gift with honor, and I vow to use it wisely, for the betterment of all."

And with that, Gaius Julius Avitus Alexianus, the humble starfarer, turned his ship homeward, the star-heart secured within the "Aeternitas," its light a symbol of the new era that was to come—an era of healing, of unity, and of a journey shared amongst the myriad forms of life that the universe nurtured in its boundless embrace.

[janejensengriesemer]

Discover a Harmony of Empathy in the Community of Christian Spirituality

Discover a Harmony of Empathy in the Community of Christian Spirituality

The realm of community outreach is rich with individuals who bring their unique talents and abilities, fostering positive change and impact on people's lives. For centuries, institutions such as churches have been a cornerstone of social assistance, embodying the spirit of charity and compassion. In the early centuries of Christianity, with the teachings of Jesus as a guide, churches served as sanctuaries for the poor and destitute, offering shelter, food, and care to those in need - a tradition that continues to this day.

Throughout history, during times of socio-economic turmoil and instability, the Church often stepped up to fill the gap left by the state. During the Middle Ages, monasteries and convents were known to provide food, shelter, and medical care. The concept of modern hospitals as we know them today can be traced back to the time when Christian monastic communities offered free care for the sick and the suffering.

In the 19th and 20th centuries, churches established a range of social programs such as orphanages, soup kitchens, and shelters, providing a social safety net for the vulnerable and marginalized. In recent times, Christian aid organizations have gone global, responding to crises around the world, from the aftermath of natural disasters to the plight of refugees. This rich history of Christian aid giving is a testament to the enduring values of love, compassion, and empathy that lie at the heart of the community.

Enter Jane Jensen Griesemer, a remarkable figure in the modern era whose deep-rooted empathy and passion for helping others transcend the boundaries of a traditional spiritual journey. Through her multifaceted role as a compassionate leader, she has been able to touch the lives of numerous individuals in need, reaching far beyond the confines of the church. This article delves into the various aspects of her initiatives, programs, and outreach efforts that have left an indelible mark on her community.

Griesemer's unwavering dedication to spirituality and community involvement is truly exceptional. As a devoted mother, passionate educator, and influential figure within diverse religious institutions, she not only serves as a guiding light for individuals from all walks of life on their paths to spiritual enlightenment, but she also bears witness to the remarkable power and transformative impact of the Holy Spirit. Her compassionate nature and profound understanding of human experience allow her to create meaningful connections and foster a sense of belonging within her community. Through her tireless efforts, she continues to inspire and uplift those around her, leaving an indelible mark on the lives she touches.

She holds a master’s degree in theology, specializing in studying the intersection of faith and music. With her extensive experience in musical ministry, she has made significant contributions to the spiritual realm. Through her engaging worship music, she has touched the hearts of many, creating a deep connection with the congregation. In addition to her musical talents, shehas also spearheaded thoughtful outreach initiatives, bringing the message of love and compassion to the community. Her dynamic leadership skills have been evident in her ability to inspire and guide others in their spiritual journeys. Beyond her involvement in the parish's RCIA team, she maintains an active presence in the community, consistently offering her unwavering support to those in need. Her dedication and passion for her faith are truly inspiring, making her a cherished member of the community.

One of the unique aspects of her approach to community outreach is her extraordinary ability to blend spirituality and music, artfully orchestrating a symphony of compassion. This synergy enhances the overall impact of her outreach programs and enables those she works with to connect with not only their inner selves but also the world around them on a deeper level. By harnessing the power of music to evoke emotions and facilitate healing, Jane Jensen Griesemer has created an environment that fosters positive transformation and growth.

Over the years, Jane Jensen Griesemer has also developed and implemented an array of comprehensive programs aimed at addressing the needs of different demographics within her community. Through her diligent and compassionate leadership, she has been able to identify specific challenges faced by different groups and provide them with tailored resources and support. These targeted outreach initiatives exemplify her phenomenal ability to connect with a diverse range of individuals, regardless of their background or faith.

In addition to her impressive spiritual and community engagement, Jane Jensen Griesemer has demonstrated her commitment to supporting the growth and development of others in the realm of religious education. As a teacher, Jane possesses a deep understanding of the learning process and how to cater to the unique needs of each student, ensuring their development of a steadfast spiritual foundation. By blending her expertise and passion for spirituality and education she provides a nurturing environment for individuals embarking on their spiritual journeys, guiding them every step of the way.

Amidst the numerous roles and responsibilities that Jane Jensen Griesemer has undertaken throughout her career, a common thread can be observed — her unwavering dedication to her beliefs and her desire to help others. Her compassionate and empathetic approach, coupled with her commitment to spiritual growth, have culminated in a harmonious union of leadership and community outreach that has left an indelible impact on the lives of countless individuals.

To truly appreciate the extent of Jane Jensen Griesemer's contributions to her community, it is essential to recognize the fusion of musical, spiritual, and educational elements inherent in her endeavors. This unique blend has resonated with a diverse array of people, breaking down barriers and fostering a sense of unity and understanding. Jane's tireless efforts have undoubtedly contributed to the wellbeing of her community, providing invaluable support and guidance to those in need. Her legacy stands as a testament to the profound impact that one individual can make through unwavering dedication, passion, and compassion.

[theunkn0wn-0]

The Gift of Immortality DRAGON BALL STORY: Insert Reader

GENDER-NEUTRAL READER ✕ DRAGON BALL CHARACTERS

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅... 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

╰➤⌈ 𝑰𝑵𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵… ⌋ ╰➤ 𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙎: 𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙴 ⟬ 7 / ??? 🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷🇸 ⟭ ╰┈➤ 𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙍𝙀: Fanfiction, Adventure, Action, Romance, Slow Burn, Drama ╰┈┈➤ This is a FIRST PERSON POV story for the reader, Y/N, M/C. ╰┈┈➤ Instead of (Y/N), I use [First Name] for your name. ╰┈┈➤ Enjoy the story, have fun.

WARNINGS: Mentions of BLOOD and DEATH/DYING

Prologue - BIRTH | 1

❝Every time I die, this is the vision that greets my eyes, and every time I think, “How lovely that sunlight which I forsook so many centuries ago…”❞

•◉◓☆◓◉•

d

d

Sorrow.

Witness countless lives of your loved ones dying within your hands, yet you can't do anything about it.

Your friends that you have made over years and years, and you witness them die from old age, diseases, mishaps, and being slain.

And your lovers…

Pain.

Your comrades die in battle with you, fighting for your people, fighting to save innocents, fighting for justice despite that.

You sacrificed your heart that endures the pain that builds up each day and time. To witness the horrors and the pain of being slaughtered over and over again.

You sacrificed your mind to endure the insanity driven by everything from the pain.

Fear.

You fear losing everything and getting too close to people, and you have to stay your distance because you can't handle the heartache of losing a loved one.

You fear they would betray you, being used, being mistreated, and captured again. Fearing your life of being hunted down like an animal for something you couldn't control.

You fear that you will lose yourself once you go insane and never come back.

[Story/plot made by theunk0wn-0]

Confusion.

You are lost and confused, not knowing why you were like this. Why are you given such faith?

Does God or life hate you? You had no answers.

You are confused about why you can't die, move on, age, or get sick, and why you can't rest or have peace. You can't live a normal life.

Why would the world treat you like a thing instead of a person? 

Frustration.

You are frustrated you cannot have and live a normal life, to grow old and die in peace. You can't take a break, you can't rest, you have to keep fighting.

You are frustrated when you find the right person in life; they die in your hands, in front of you. You have to keep hiding, staying in the shadows, yet each day is more difficult to disappear.

Anger.

You are in anger about how the world treats you, how people treat you, how you can't move on, you can't die, you can't have a family. You want to let out the rage, but you keep it contained.

Angry about how you were born like this without knowing the answers, without a single clue what your purpose was to live.

Was it to live to suffer? Was it to save people? Was it to wander the Earth? Was it to protect the world? Perhaps all of the above.

There is no one out there to understand you but yourself.

You are truly alone in this world.

The world was a tapestry of raw, untamed beauty, painted with the earthy hues of rugged landscapes and untamed wilderness. Trees, giants of a bygone era, stretched their gnarled limbs towards the heavens, their bark rough to the touch and adorned with mosses and lichens. The air held an earthy scent, a heady mixture of damp soil and the fragrance of wild flora that danced upon the breeze.

The sound of babbling streams wove through the air, their crystal-clear waters whispering tales of ages past as they wound their way around mossy rocks and pebbles, a symphony of nature's melodies that harmonized with the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen critters.

As the sun descended behind the horizon, a canvas of fiery hues painted the sky, gradually giving way to the unfolding blanket of night. Above, the celestial tapestry revealed itself, adorned with countless stars that glittered like precious gems. Amid this serene backdrop, the crackling of a distant fire and the rhythmic pounding of stone against stone reverberated through the tranquil stillness of the night.

A human woman sat upon the grassy ground, silhouetted by the flickering flames of the fire. Her figure, adorned with streaks of soil and splotches of blood, was shrouded in tattered remnants of clothing, yet she seemed unperturbed by her disheveled appearance.

Engrossed in her task, she diligently worked on fashioning a weapon. Each strike of the rock against the spike stone resonated in the night, the clinks and clanks harmonizing as she honed her spear, preparing it for the next day's hunt.

However, amidst this focused work, the rustling of nearby bushes abruptly disrupted the tranquility. The crackling fire seemed to grow louder in the tense silence. Her keen [Eye Color] eyes narrowed, scanning the darkness beyond the bushes as they continued to sway and rustle; her hand instinctively tightened around her weapon, poised to confront whatever creature lurked in the shadows.

"[Mother's Name], seize your weapon. Don't strike your devotee, my beloved."

The commanding yet familiar voice shattered the tension, carrying a trace of bitterness that resonated through the night air. Hearing this voice, your mother eased her grip on the spear, lowering it slowly as the figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the warm embrace of the fire's glow. 

Illuminated by the dancing flames, he bore the appearance of a man, with dark wavy brown hair cascading above and skin as pure and pale as freshly fallen snow.

Your mother had always found this man intriguing, not only for his unique appearance but for his eyes. In a world where eyes typically bore shades of black, brown, green, or blue, his crimson-red eyes were a rarity, captivating and mysterious in their intensity.

"Ares, you're back," your mother murmured, a mix of calmness and admiration lacing her words, each syllable a tender whisper that carried across the clearing. Her voice was gentle yet resonant.

As Ares, her beloved, drew closer, the shimmer of his golden collar armbands caught the fire's light, illuminating his attire—flowing black pants cinched at the waist by a glistening golden sash.

"Apologies, I took longer than expected," replied Ares, his crimson eyes softening as he closed the distance, his gaze locking onto hers. Settling beside her, he felt the dampness of the grass tickle his bare feet.

"I've searched for you since dawn. Where have you been?" Your mother's tone, initially calm, contradicted her stern words. Her eyes betrayed her worry, flickering with a mix of emotions—care, concern, and a touch of relief upon seeing him safe.

"I had urgent matters to discuss with Whis. It couldn't wait," Ares explained. His voice carried a hint of urgency mingled with a touch of regret; his eyes flickered with fear for a brief moment before he relaxed.

"I understand. But next time, please tell me. I scoured the woods, fearing the worst," her words carried a motherly concern that she couldn't conceal. Ares let out a hearty laugh, rich, and echoed through the woods, carrying a sense of amusement that reverberated in the night air. His amusement twinkled in his crimson eyes as he gazed into her [Eye Color] orbs.

"Do you truly think these woods pose a threat to me? Fear not, I am far more powerful," Ares replied, a confident smirk gracing his lips, his eyes holding a mischievous spark.

"Regardless of your strength, I'll protect you until the end of days," your mother declared, her voice carrying an unyielding resolve and a depth of emotion and affection towards him. Ares' blunt retort carried a hint of admiration, "Another reason why I fell in love with you, woman."

Her soft and tender smile reflected the depth of her affection for this enigmatic man. Her warm chuckle mingled with the gentle rustling of leaves in the canopy above, a symphony of nature.

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4 YEARS LATER | AGE: 4

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The haunting cries echoed through the dense woods, disrupting the serene harmony of nature. Startled birds took flight, their wings flapping urgently as they fled their nests. My mother's face, once radiant, was now streaked with tears. Her eyes, usually warm and comforting, were now swollen and red, her tears traced their path down her warm, reddened cheeks.

I felt an overwhelming sadness clutching at my heart, unable to understand her pain. She enveloped me in her arms, their warmth a comforting shield against the chill that the cries had sent through the air. She struggled to speak through choked sobs, her voice quivering with each uttered word.

"I'm sorry, darling. I don’t want to cry in front of you. But I have you..."

Her words trailed off, swallowed by sobs, as her embrace tightened around me. I reached out with my small hands, wanting to help her, and in that gesture, a glimmer of hope flickered in her eyes. Her trembling hand found mine, the texture of her rough, warm palm a reassuring touch as she gently caressed it.

"I still have you… [First Name]," she whispered, her voice barely audible amidst her hiccups and sobs. Her gaze, filled with a mixture of hope and melancholy, locked with mine. Her hand, which cradled mine, continued to caress it gently.

"Don't be like your father or me. Be strong yet kind," she pleaded between hiccups, her brown eyes reflecting a bittersweet longing. Her touch moved from my hand to my hair, her fingers tenderly stroking my locks as her voice softened into a fragile murmur.

"Don't let emotions cloud your judgment. Be clever yet compassionate, [First Name]." Her sobs mingled with the natural symphony of the forest—the rustling leaves, the distant calls of birds.

"I wish your father could witness your growth… I wish fate hadn't snatched him away," she lamented, her voice cracking with pain as I stumbled over my words, trying to comprehend while my confusion surfaced.

"Father?"

"Yes, your father," she confirmed gently, her touch lingering on my hair, offering solace as she grieved. Confused and overwhelmed, I remained nestled in her embrace, allowing her to hold and comfort me, though I couldn't grasp the situation.

At that moment, I was just a child.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

7 YEARS LATER | AGE: 11

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

"For this is how you hunt," my mother's firm voice guided me as I stood by her side, eyes fixed on the fallen animal at our feet. The deer lay still, my mother's makeshift spear protruding from its side, blood seeping slowly from the deep wound. Her hands carefully gripped the spear, extracting it from the deer's body, crimson blood seeping from the deep wound.

"Use everything, down to its bones and skin. A hunter uses everything; this is how we respect the dead."

Her touch upon the deer's neck spoke volumes, a quiet acknowledgment of its life slipping away.

"We share goals, the animals and us. Survival is our common thread. As much as I cherish them, we must feed ourselves. We respect their sacrifice by ensuring it's swift and painless."

With a swift motion, she ended the deer's suffering, a snap that echoed through the woods, the fading light in its eyes; its once rhythmic breaths gave way to silence as death claimed it. "Come, help me carry this," she beckoned, and my heart surged with eagerness and hunger.

We had secured food for the day, and my eyes flickered with a mix of joy and anticipation, hungry not only for the meal but for the warmth of my mother's cooking. Together, we dragged the deer, its blood painting a trail on the grass, marking our path back to our den.

Our steps echoed as we made our way to our den, the cave's cool embrace enveloping us. The trickling sound of water inside greeted us as the sunlight, filtered through the cave's mouth, illuminated our path. The scent of damp earth mingled with the tang of blood, an earthy yet strong aroma that lingered in the air.

The weight of the dead animal strained against my grasp, letting out grunts that echoed within the cavern. Without my mother's help, carrying this load would have been difficult. We ventured deeper into the cave, finally setting our prized bounty upon the cold, stony ground.

"[First Name], could you gather fish from the lake? I'll prepare the food," my mother spoke, her words a gentle directive. She handed me her makeshift spear, a tool crafted for the hunt. As our eyes met, a sense of pride sparked within her gaze, her lips curving into a soft smile. With a nod, I accepted the spear, returning her smile with one of my own.

Snatching up the makeshift basket woven from leaves and twigs, I dashed out of our den, my bare feet navigating the terrain with ease. As my bare feet pounded against the ground, the crunch of leaves and the sensation of soft grass, soil, and scattered pebbles underfoot greeted my senses. 

I felt the softness of the grass and soil between my toes, punctuated by the occasional touch of the gravel. Though accustomed to walking barefoot, I had grown numb to the pain. The melody of the flowing river and the rush of the nearby waterfall reached my ears, their soothing sounds interweaving with the rustling of leaves overhead.

Venturing deeper into the woods, the sounds intensified, guiding my journey toward the river. With each step, my pace slowed, my breaths steadying. I approached the bright, glistening river, sunlight dancing upon its surface. With a tightening grip on my mother's spear, I maneuvered onto the scattered boulders, inching closer to the deeper section of the river.

Carefully, I positioned myself, scanning the crystal-clear water for signs of movement. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and in a swift motion, I plunged the spear into the water. The sound of splashing and flopping resonated, signaling I had caught it. As I withdrew the spear, a cacophony of splashes and thrashes echoed as the fish wriggled at the end of my spear. 

With nimble fingers, I plucked the catch from the spear, adding it to the woven basket beside me. Again and again, I pierced the water, each successful strike the basket steadily filling with the day's sustenance; I couldn't resist the temptation for one more catch.

My senses attuned to the river's rhythm, searching for more prey amidst the gentle currents. Then, a stroke of luck—or fate. My gaze locked onto a salmon, which they were infrequent in this river. However, it was just out of reach of my spear.

Pulsating with excitement and determination, I took a risk, inching closer to the edge of the boulder that provided me safety from the deeper currents below.

So close, but just out of reach.

With a hopeful breath, I extended the spear, but in my eagerness, my hand slipped from the boulder's edge. Time seemed to slow as panic coursed through my veins, my heart pounding with fear and realization of my position. The world slowed to a crawl as I teetered on the edge, unable to grasp anything for support.

My fingers lost their grip, and a gasp escaped my lips, swiftly followed by a resounding splash as I descended into the river's icy embrace. The chill water engulfed me, slapping against my skin like a harsh awakening. Panic surged as I flailed, unable to swim against the relentless pull of the current. My lungs screamed for air, my limbs thrashing in the abyss of the river.

Each moment intensified the burning sensation in my chest, the relentless pressure of drowning bearing down on me. Desperation clawed at me, and despite my efforts to break the surface, I sank deeper into the dark abyss.

My vision blurred, the world darkening around me as the burning ache in my chest intensified. The suffocating weight of water surrounded me, and despair washed over me like the relentless tide.

Was this death? Am I... dying?

Darkness enveloped my senses, a numbing sensation spreading through my weakening body. I felt myself slipping away, renouncing the icy embrace of death.

Yet, an inexplicable light pierced the darkness, a flicker of hope amid the bleakness, and with a sudden surge of awareness, my eyes shot open, startled by the sudden influx of air into my lungs.

Confusion clouded my thoughts as I grappled with the shock of being alive, if only for a fleeting moment. Before I could comprehend the situation, the burning sensation returned, water flooding back into my lungs.

Frantic, I thrashed and struggled against the relentless tide, but it was futile. Each awakening brought a brief respite, a cruel tease before the cycle plunged me back into the drowning abyss. My lungs screamed for air, my vision blurred, and my body weakened as the cycle repeated mercilessly, trapping me in a loop of drowning, fading, and inexplicably returning to life.

Each gasp for air was met with the relentless invasion of water, intensifying the burning torment within me. This torment repeated itself, an agonizing cycle of drowning, brief resuscitation, and plunging back into the suffocating darkness.

Disarray intertwined with despair as I grappled with the inexplicable cycle of death and resurrection. How long had this torment lasted? I lost count of the times I resurfaced, only to be pulled back into the watery abyss.

With each resurgence, hope flickered briefly before being extinguished by the suffocating embrace of the sea. The fear of never escaping this torment gnawed at my soul, leaving me trapped in an endless loop of drowning, reviving, and drowning once more, a cycle that seemed to have no end.

My body, weakened by the relentless assaults of the sea, had succumbed to darkness countless times, but as light pierced the veil of my consciousness once more, I opened my eyes with a desperate gasp, taking in a precious lungful of air.

The burning sunlight assaulted my vision, accompanied by the symphony of splashes, the rushing river, and the distant roar of a nearby waterfall.

"Wake up! [First Name]! Please!"

The desperate plea reverberated in my ears as I fought against a fit of coughing; my chest heaved, wracked by a fit of coughs, each one a reminder of the recent ordeal. The memory of the ordeal left me trembling, a knot of anguish tightening in my throat, raw with the acrid taste of seawater.

Was that real?

I couldn't bring myself to believe it. The mere thought left me trembling, my hands quivering uncontrollably, as I grappled with the terrifying uncertainty of what I had experienced. I couldn't think of drinking water the same way ever again, haunted by the vivid recollections of the ordeal I had endured.

A warm, rough hand cupped my cheek, drawing my attention amidst the chaos of my thoughts. Familiar [Eye Color] eyes met mine - my mother's gaze, a mixture of dread and hope swirling within their depths.

"You're alive!"

Her voice, tinged with relief and disbelief, seeped into my consciousness, stirring emotions I struggled to comprehend; my body trembled, still shaken by the lingering chill of the water's embrace. Drenched and disoriented, I found solace in my mother's warm embrace, her attempt to soothe and comfort me amidst the storm raging within.

My heart raced against my ribcage, each breath felt heavier, a desperate attempt to grasp onto existence. The fear lingered, a shadow threatening to engulf me once more.

That moment had etched an indelible mark upon my soul, a traumatic encounter with what I later understood as my first brush with 'death.' I couldn't comprehend it then, couldn't fathom if what I experienced was normal or a haunting aberration.

In an era where knowledge was scarce, especially during the Stone Age, such puzzling occurrences were mysteries that eluded understanding.

Years later, I found my answer.

The day my mother passed in her sleep; I laid her to rest beneath the same tree where my father found his final slumber. Wildflowers adorned their graves, a silent tribute to lives well-lived, marking their passage into the afterlife. The weight of grief settled upon me like an unyielding burden.

In my eighties, I stood amidst the burial, grappling with the weight of their absence and the fleeting nature of my existence. Witnessing my mother's gradual decline had been a silent agony. Her once towering stature had diminished, her skin weathered and worn, her eyesight fading, and her strength waning until she could no longer join me in the hunt or even take a simple walk, leaving me to navigate the challenges of survival alone.

A pang of heartache pierced through me, tears welling up as the realization of my newfound solitude settled in. Questions plagued my thoughts—why hadn't I suffered the same fate? Why did I not succumb to the same aging, losing my sight or strength?

Was it even normal?

My mother had never questioned my perpetual youthfulness, nor had she explained what was natural or not. It left me to grapple with the uncertainty of my existence. As I grieved her loss, I carried on with the daily routine she had taught me—gathering food, honing tools, hunting, and preparing for the harshness of winter. Yet, amidst the familiarity of these tasks, an overwhelming sense of loneliness crept in, a void that grew deeper with each passing day, week, and year.

The confines of our territory felt increasingly suffocating. The same den that had sheltered my mother and me became a haunting reminder of my solitude. The temptation to explore beyond the boundaries gnawed at me, a desire to venture into the unknown, to seek the company of others like me. Fear tethered me to the familiar; the uncertainty of what lay beyond the horizon held me captive.

Would I ever return if I go?

The longing to discover the secrets of the world outside clashed with the fear of the unknown. The resolve to seek answers simmered within me, a determination to unravel the mysteries beyond my sheltered life.

The day arrived as I gathered provisions, my instincts honed from years of hunting; I stood by the riverbank, eyes fixated on the unexplored expanse that lay beyond.

Fresh air filled my lungs as I took a deep breath, my gaze tracing the currents and the uncharted land on the opposite bank. Stepping onto scattered boulders, my heart raced with each careful stride, cautious not to lose my footing. Finally, my bare feet touched the soft, damp grass on the other side.

The thrill of the unknown surged through me as I embarked on this solitary adventure, a journey seeking answers that would unknowingly lead me down paths of horrible events.

•◉◒☆◒◉•

Finished: December 28, 2023 Published: December 31, 2023

NEXT CHAPTER: 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑮𝑼𝑬 — 𝑺𝑨𝑳𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 | 2

LINK TO THE BOOK [WATTPAD]: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐦𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 — 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 If you're interested in stories like these, here is my 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[jorbiijor03]

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