The storm continues to rage outside, some would see it as a miracle considering the firestorm that is raging across Los Angeles. I can see the oily orange glow of destruction rising over the besieged city through the curtains of rain the Pacific has blown over us as a buffer.
It is almost beautiful.
I see the spirits in each lightning strike. Unfamiliar faces that scream for release and revenge; sad, bewildered faces that cannot accept that the 'afterlife' is so greatly different from what the priests have promised.
It is a great irony that the touch of Frost has burnt so many.
The rain, the gift of water, I feel is no manifestation of the spirit storm. Rather I feel it is a gift from our young guest this night. I long to discuss with her the form her later education took, for it puts me in mind of my mother and grandmother... and their Mother before them. But not now, the time is not right. Such a conversation will belong to a gentler night when fire and Frost do not seek to consume all in their path.
In the thunder, there I hear my own anger and disappointment of my plans being thwarted. I have gotten so close to achieving my goal only to have it dashed from my hands by a power-hungry madman. What is it that the old hippy's song advises?
Don't let it get you down, it's only cities burning.
Isabel Giovanni // World of Darkness // 245 words
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It is almost beautiful.
I see the spirits in each lightning strike. Unfamiliar faces that scream for release and revenge; sad, bewildered faces that cannot accept that the 'afterlife' is so greatly different from what the priests have promised.
It is a great irony that the touch of Frost has burnt so many.
The rain, the gift of water, I feel is no manifestation of the spirit storm. Rather I feel it is a gift from our young guest this night. I long to discuss with her the form her later education took, for it puts me in mind of my mother and grandmother... and their Mother before them. But not now, the time is not right. Such a conversation will belong to a gentler night when fire and Frost do not seek to consume all in their path.
In the thunder, there I hear my own anger and disappointment of my plans being thwarted. I have gotten so close to achieving my goal only to have it dashed from my hands by a power-hungry madman. What is it that the old hippy's song advises?
Don't let it get you down, it's only cities burning.
Isabel Giovanni // World of Darkness // 245 words
Reply based on current events in play at
tenebrae_nostro.comment?
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