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sayrahscribbles

Sybel's Denouement

Nov. 15th, 2011 | 12:08 am
mood: enthralledenthralled

I am Sybel. For seven days I have stared into the Abyss, and drawn myself farther and farther from the corners of my own mind.

No one can bring me back; I have nothing to return to. I have ruined everything. My selfishness and pride. I was wise enough to save Coren, but so damned stupid that I wouldn't let him do the same. I have nothing. No animals. For all I know, my soulmate is dead. For all I know, my child is dead. And I didn't even care. I just kept on going and going, and when others raised objections like these, I brushed them aside. "It will happen," I said. Whether the world approved or not. Whether I hurt everyone I ever cared for or not.

But what hurts me now is not all that. No. That could be forgivable. Coren would forgive me. Tam might even forgive me. For hurting them so. But no.

No one can bring me back; I don't deserve to live. I nurtured this hateful, vicious revenge in my heart until it overrode everything. Until even my soulmate could not turn me from my self-destruction. But what stopped me? What turned the tide? What made me stop? My own demise. MY OWN DEMISE. I saw the white bird others treasured, broken. And that stopped me. Nothing else.

What wounds me is that the same pride and selfishness that hurt those I love...is what made me stop. I have not changed. I have not learned anything. No. I have seen what I am, but that hasn't changed it. My eyes have finally turned inward, and what I saw made me change my course. The war that will tear the country apart is a doll's house for my inner struggles and hatreds. Knowing this, I cannot go through with it. Knowing this, I cannot allow the dark to take hold. Knowing this, I cannot accept what I have become, what perhaps I have always been.

Instead, I flee from all, including myself. And now am here. In the farthest corner of my mind. Were Coren to come and shake me, I would not rouse. No one can save me. I couldn't even save myself.

And what's this? A voice? But...a voice I knew I'd never hear again. Have I died, then, truly? Will I suffer as I do now for all eternity?

"Sybel."

No, surely not. I do not feel dead. The dead have no bodies. I can feel mine, slowly. Bit by bit, I can...feel again. Muscles and bones screaming from disuse. Awake? How?

Oh, my Tam. I struggle with my eyelids for a moment, even if it's but to see him before fading. The least I can do is bear his anger and hurt before I leave him.

He isn't angry.

And all of this, all my thoughts, more arrogance and pride. Trying desperately to cover for myself, to find excuses behind the excuses, wheels within wheels of sensibilities and denials. Love is love is love, and I am fool forever to continue to hurt those who love me...and whom I love. I consistently underestimate them...belittle them in my heart of hearts, think I know better. Condescension. Such arrogance, from me. And how is my arrogance and pride any different from Drede and Mithran's arrogance in daring to destroy a person's mind?

The lesson. Who am I to judge?


~*~

Totally found this as the first entry in my dream journal from 4/26/2006. It's brilliant writing, in my opinion, so I felt compelled to put it here too. This is...so very me.

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Poetry — What Is Real?

Dec. 15th, 2010 | 08:00 pm

What is real?Collapse )

And what is merely consciousness
Or is it something mere
Is perception any less a player in the cosmic game
Is it the referee, making the calls
Or perhaps perception is the game itself
And our senses are the refs
And our friends the fans
And our emotions and values and choices are the players
Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose
But as long as we enjoy the game
When the game ends we can say we truly lived

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Mirrormask (final)

Dec. 15th, 2010 | 07:34 pm

There are many kinds of Power in the Worlds: fire and signs, water and tides, breath and song, earth and stone. But nothing in all the Worlds is more powerful than Creation, and her sister Destruction.

Helena did not realize at two, finger-painting with charcoal, that she was invoking a Power which would one day shape her dreams. She did not understand, at seven, that every drawing she made had a life of its own. So when, at fifteen, her Creations led her to another World...she remained blissfully ignorant for a time. But no ignorance lasts forever.

Soon it became clear that this World of Light and Shadow was her world, Created from her drawings. Every scribble had hidden meanings, and Helena could sense a connection with every crack in the strange-yet-familiar pavement, every uncloudlike wisp in the sky. She knew, somehow, how to trick a sphinx, how to charm the giants. And no matter where she went in the World of Light and Shadow, she could sense the existence of the MirrorMask, though she searched fruitlessly for its exact location.

Nothing in this World could completely surprise her. It did not shock Helena that the Light Queen was her mother who required waking. Nor that the Dark Queen was also her mother, although seeing all the worst things her mother could become was by far more disturbing. But when Helena realized that the Dark Princess was really in her world, yelling at her dad and tearing up her drawings one by one...that horror never completely left.

Even after she found the MirrorMask, and sent the Dark Princess back to her rightful place in the World of Light and Shadow, Helena remained acutely aware of what the Dark Princess would have done to her life. And she hated it. It was not unreasonable for her to hate that possibility...after all, it was only through luck and magic that she was not stuck as the Dark Queen's pet. On that count, Helena was sorry. As much as the possibility of the Dark Princess ruining her life was hateful, Helena did not hate the Dark Princess, after all. No more than she hated the Dark Queen, or the sphinxes, or the Shadow itself. In the same way Helena could feel the pavement cracks and unknown paths of the World of Light and Shadow, she knew that they were each playing their Roles, doing what was natural. The World of Light and Shadow was partly her Creation, but Helena knew that there were levels of Creation active which were far beyond her own.

As time wore on, and adventure receded into memory, one thing troubled her. At night she lay awake, wondering about the fate of Valentine and the Dark Princess. Did they escape together, in his tower? Did the Dark Queen recapture the Princess? Did she hurt Valentine? The last was most worrisome, because although Valentine had partly betrayed her, she knew somehow that he would not forget her name like he did the others. He came back for her, which he doubtless had never done before. He apologized to his tower. And Helena had a strong suspicion that he even managed to change the future he saw when he bit the Future Fruit. There were only waiters in her world, after all.

So when, one normal night at the Big Top, she was tipped and caught by a boy with a face, Helena was very happy indeed. He might not know anything about the other World, and his other Self, but she did. She could not control what happened to Valentine in the World of Light and Shadow, but this world...in this world, things would turn out just fine.

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MirrorMask (rough)

Sep. 30th, 2007 | 09:55 am

There are many kinds of Power in the Worlds: fire and signs, water and tides, breath and song, earth and stone. But there is nothing in all the Worlds more powerful than Creation, and her sister Destruction.

Helena did not realize at two, when she began fingerpainting with charcoal, that she was invoking a Power which would one day shape her dreams. She did not understand, at seven, that every drawing she made had a life of its own. So when, at fifteen, her Creations lead her to another World...she remained blissfully ignorant for a time. But no ignorance lasts forever.

Soon it became clear that this World of Light and Shadow was, in fact, a world Created by Helena, a world made from her drawings. No scribble was left without meaning, and Helena could sense a connection with every crack in the strange pavement, every uncloudlike wisp in the sky. She knew, somehow, how to trick a sphinx, how to charm giants. No matter where she went in the World of Light and Shadow, she could feel the presence of the MirrorMask she sought, though she did not yet have the ability to reach out and touch it.

At first, Helena thought the Dark Queen was the worst. While it did not exactly surprise her that the Dark Queen was also her mother, in the way that nothing in this World could surprise her, it was still disturbing. All the worst things her mother could become: that is what the Dark Queen was. But when Helena realized that the Dark Princess was really in her world, yelling at her dad, snogging boys, and tearing up her drawings one by one...that horror never completely left.

Even after she found the MirrorMask, and sent the Dark Princess back to rightful place in the World of Light and Shadow, Helena remained acutely aware of what the Dark Princess would have done to her life. And she hated it. It was not unreasonable for her to hate that possibility...after all, it was only through luck and magic that she wasn't stuck as the Dark Queen's pet. On that count, Helena was sorry. As much as the possibility of the Dark Princess ruining her life was hateful, Helena did not hate the Dark Princess, after all. No more than she hated the Dark Queen, or the sphinxes, or the Shadow itself. In the same way Helena could feel the pavement cracks and unknown paths of the World of Light and Shadow, she knew that they were each playing their Roles, doing what was natural. The World of Light and Shadow was partly her Creation, but Helena knew that there were levels of Creation far beyond her in creating the souls involved.

There was one thing that worried her. There were many nights when she would lie awake in her trailer, and wonder what happened to Valentine, and the Dark Princess. Did they escape together, in his tower? Did the Dark Queen recapture the Princess? Did she hurt Valentine? That last was what bothered her most, because although Valentine had partly betrayed her, she knew somehow that he wouldn't forget her name like he did the others. He came back for her, which he probably had never done before in his life. He apologized to his tower, and Helena had a strong suspicion that he even managed to change the future he saw when he bit the Future Fruit. There were only waiters in her world, after all.

So when, one normal night at the Big Top, she was tipped and caught by a boy with a face, Helena was very happy indeed. He might not know anything about the other World, and his other Self, but she did. She couldn't control what happened to Valentine in the World of Light and Shadow, but this world...in this world, things would turn out just fine.



Notes: Switch the places of the Dark Queen and Princess: "At first, Helena thought the Dark Princess was the worst" etc.

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Catullus 101 (trans: me)

Dec. 10th, 2006 | 10:57 pm
mood: calmcalm

As a Personal Anthology junior year of high school, we took various media and responded to them, linking them to a common theme. My theme was longing. ...Reading this brings me back some. I've been through a lot since then, but in many ways, nothing's changed. (Also, the song "Frater Ave Atque Vale" by Faith And The Muse was based on a Tennyson poem by the same name, a name taken from this poem.)



Carmina CI
Catullus

Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus
advenio has miseras, frater, as inferias,
ut te postremo donarem munere mortis
et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum.
Heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi,
nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum
tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,
accipe fraterno multam manantia fletu,
atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.

~*~

Poem 101
Catullus

Having been carried through many races and many seas
I come to these miserable rituals, brother,
So I may gift you with a final gift of death
And address the mute ashes in vain.
Because fortune has stolen you yourself from me.
Oh miserable brother who was taken away from me undeservingly,
Now…however…while these things, which by old custom of relatives
Are passed down as a sad offering at this funeral,
Accept from brotherly tears, much dripping,
And forever, brother, farewell and adieu.



Response.Collapse )

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Miscellaneous - vampire

Nov. 7th, 2006 | 08:04 pm
music: "Wish I Had an Angel" Nightwish

I'm in love with my lust~

This night will hurt you like never before
Old loves they die hard
Old lies they die harder


~*~

     Driving. Laughter. Blood rushes to my head. It hovers just beneath my skin, a cloud of liquid life waiting to surge forth from my lips. Each time I smile, my canines brush those lips, full to bursting, sending a new thrill of pleasure across my face and through my body.
     Darkness. Headlights on bright, but they barely cut through an inch of the night that surrounds me. I don't really need them to see, but sometimes the illusion of normalcy dispels outside interference...until it's too late.

     Lights fade across the color spectrum and back, strobing in patterns that change just as I start to understand the hidden messages. Boring of this exercise, I observe the dance floor. Pitiful fools, most of them. Trying to dance away their wasted years, to somehow regain the things they never had. Easy prey for one like me.
     Misbegotten dreams are my currency, and illusions are my reality. I create worlds beyond their knowledge, and they give me what I need to survive. The strong prey on the weak while the weak thank the strong for the privilege. It's a lovely world.
     It's true; if I wanted, I could enter the dance floor and all eyes would be on me. I do not tire, nor do I hesitate, and dancing, to me, comes as easily as breathing to an unthinking child. But it is just as entertaining for me to lurk around the edges of the room. My very presence intoxicates. A glance from my eyes fills that man with mystery, that woman with lust, that couple with a feeling of power over their own lives, if only for one night. I inspire and I invoke their deepest conscious loves, fears, and desires. It is only fair that I satiate my needs with theirs...and them. Each breath that falls from their lips could be their last...and deep down they know it. They see me, and they see their fantasies...and thus they know that I signify the End. No one able to inspire these things would appear in their lives if not to change them. And in many ways, even the smallest change is a kind of Death.

     Death-dealer, I have been called. There is no higher compliment.

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Miscellaneous - core

Oct. 17th, 2006 | 07:06 pm

Siiinking. Deep inside the earth's crust, the rock is cool and dark. It fills me and surrounds me without sound; an absolute silence prevails within my mind. But I keep sinking.

I reach a point of no return, one on a path of least resistance that my mind is helpless to avoid. Down the rabbit hole, then. The rabbit's burrow is getting hotter.

So hot that I am no longer enclosed in solid stone and layers of earth. Instead, I swim through a thick gelatin of magma. I make my own path from darkness to darkness, as my flesh burns, separating from bone and melting to nothing. Bone alone continues its vain motions against the planet's inner fires until it too disappears, turns to ash, until even the ash disintegrates into nothing.

Liquid stone burns away my body, but my spirit continues inward and downward, breaching the realm of liquid metal, instant death, the core of all we know and stand upon. Even here, I find that the mind survives the body. The center of all things, and I am passing through it. And am somehow still myself.

But the end of all things follows their beginnings. And the beginning comes again when you've passed the end. Back, up and up, through liquid fire and metal and earth, back to stone and dirt and air.

And only when the end becomes the true beginning--when my spirit reaches air again--do I feel myself falling apart. In the midst of all I know, and all I've ever known to love, whatever holds me together is falling apart, and my soul melts away like my flesh did before.

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Miscellaneous - balloons and marbles

Oct. 17th, 2006 | 06:06 pm

Flushed. Hot. Grinning like an idiot. Balloons floating up and up, past all reckoning. Flying until they're falling forward and in between the stars of mind and body and sky. Vanishing into the ever-bright midnight of the soul. The vacuum defined in brilliant light, contour sharp enough to cut. Mind flying back with the blood, back and back until the blood melts into sunset reds and blues, the nonexistent oxygen melting into streams of cloud that wrap the planet like a marble.

Mind branches out again and soars, upward and outward. One marble planet joins eight, joins eight hundred, joins a universe of marbles, all rolling in their prescribed paths, following the time-space curves like a nylon stocking. Over and around and under, all the little marbles. Once in a while, two will click together. The second they touch, both together release a force greater than either alone. This universe of marbles and synergy, full of the sounds of glass rolling against nothing, the sounds expanding like an echo into every plane of existence.

Mind falls back, slowly, layer upon layer of consciousness regressing, to see two marbles click on a table of glass.

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Forgotten Beasts of Eld—Ter (request)

Oct. 12th, 2006 | 12:17 am

Here's another piece I wrote from The Forgotten Beasts of Eld. of_carabas requested something with Ter, and this is what came to me.
Words: 310

Joy.Collapse )

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Looking at you through the glass~

Oct. 6th, 2006 | 10:21 pm

It's the stars that shine for you.
It's the stars that lie to you.


Darkness saves. No, really.Collapse )

~*~

Concrit appreciated. :)

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