Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Z's Logs - Dream Walkers

Neiro had smiled, eyes bright and carefree when Silas announced that he would be heading off first, weary from the day's ventures. The albino had waved goodnight to his flatmate, gaze trailing after his retreating back as he retired for the night.

With a sigh, he turned impassive eyes back to the screen, its glow casting shadows across his soft features in the dim evening light.

Unsheathing a spindly bound journal, he gingerly peeled back the thick covering. It was well taken care of with hardly a crinkled corner or sign of wear on the binding.

There was nothing special about it. A typical journal that could be found in any corner bookstore. The real worth of it lay in the pieces within, and it was to one such entry that he flipped to.

Poem: Time's Passing

Amidst the banks of bogged moor,
Where there Time came adrift in lore.

Beholden by none but the minstrel's lyre,
Who told of Time's past now lost in mire.

Time sung sweet through bitter fruit.
That in mud and blood did take root.

Watered by sweat of those long suffered.
And partook of by fools undeserved.

So it bled in rivulets of gold,
The sands of time as stories told.

Hence came our world born of blood and sin,
And unfolded thus in cacophonous din.

Amelioration: Lore Analysis - Animator and Manipulation

In regards to Amelioration, Silvanus is both an Animator and Manipulator, though he has a higher aptitude for the art of Manipulation.

An animator who has synchronized with her
scarf and is controlling it to carry the lantern.

Though manipulation can be loosely considered animation, the same is not always true in reverse. First and foremost, the defining difference is that animation is the umbrella term for the puppetry of a construct, though it largely refers to the inanimate in colloquial speech. The exertion of one's prowess upon an insensate. Manipulation on the other hand, is the projection and assertion of oneself over a sentient or biological construct. Exertion over assertion.

The difference, though subtle in definition, serves as a great dividing line and most felt by the animator themselves as control over the two types require a varying approach and most who find themselves excelling at one, often find their shortcomings in the other.

Silvanus's manipulation is exclusive and unique in that rather than control through the sheer indomitable will, unyielding and daunting like most of whom are able to synchronize, he is in kinder words, amiable. Meek and shy, he comes across as disarming, and rather than the subjugation and submission of the host, forges a bond of compromise. It is his empathy that grants him such powerful control over organic hosts. Such high empathy, however, has its drawbacks. For the same reason, Sil is unable to project himself over the quiescent, being unable to sense and reach for and mold the aether of the inanimate constructs and far too soft to exert his force over them.

BOP 5: Idle Thoughts

To begin, I have failed my BOP. Brain splatter it was not, and definitely out of the 10 min. range. Not only that but the thoughts are specific and directed towards a particular story/series rather than freeform. While it is within bounds to write whatever you please, the problem is that it was not a continuous train of thought and certainly not a single sitting. 

For this I apologize and will soon establish a separate title for snippets of the story Amelioration, and hence I intend to begin the real BOP.

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Forswua had been discharged the following afternoon and all was right.

Or it should've been.

Igneus heaved a much suffered groan, who was he trying to fool. Though his twin seemed fine, Sil had been skittish as of late and made himself scarce whenever the two came back from practice.

Something along the lines of a new project or assignment, or that the remedial class was becoming more intensive, and then the redhead would excuse himself quickly.

Forswua himself had been indifferent and shrugged it off. Perhaps he was worrying too much over nothing, but knowing Sil, the Animator was likely bothered by the recent spice in their life.

Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Dog Day Shorts - Gone With the Wind

Silas stared at the redheaded girl, sitting by herself on the bench.

Her eyes were closed and head nestled against the back and armrest. In his chest he felt the telltale tightness and an emotion he refused to acknowledge having felt. Somewhat irate at himself, he purposely leaned back in his own seat, wrenching his eyes away from the brilliant scarlet of her hair, even as the zephyr curled her sleek tresses, sunbeams gleaming and dancing across each strand with a dazzling glint.

The scholar closed his eyes. It was unbecoming to, though he would deny it should anyone found fit to note, ogle someone so.

A mere week earlier he would have addressed her with masculine pronouns, given the guise she had taken when she had first introduced herself, it was only fitting. Yet it didn't stop the quickening pace of his heart when in her presence, nor the sidelong glances he would sneak as she hurried past in a flurry of notes and instruments.

Drabbles: (NS) Some Author's Note

This post is mostly intended for those who sought for the creator's input on the meaning behind the story North Star and to set a straight canon.

Simply put, there is no theme, motif, symbolism, nor allegory intended.

The story is simply about the adventures of a carefree girl who met, befriended, and finally lost, a dear friend. And who, to bring about closure to their decade long game, again plays seeker to pursue them to the far reaches of time and existence, glimpsing and at times very nearly caught up, but never quite catching them. It is uncertain if her friend is intentionally leaving her a trail to follow, nor their motive for doing so.

Snippets and Stories: (NS) Winter Solstice

Snippets and Stories
North Star: Winter Solstice

Truth be told, Rain wasn't fond of winter. The breezy weather was pleasant, certainly, but she always had to bundle up. Moreover, it was wet and damp everywhere, they couldn't sit on the grass or play games on the field during the cooler seasons with all the water and mud. Not that she minded the dirt, it was the cleaning up part that bothered her.

She hugged herself, leaning into and bracing against the strong winds that shrieked around her. By and by the school disappeared behind her and the roads gradually grew wider.

The skies were already darkening by the time she had reached home, and the beginning of stars twinkling in the sky. They winked at her and she giggled, waving back. It was around then that she noticed a single light growing larger.

It was a falling star.