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Sincerest Apologies and Bright Promises
The Thirteenth Requiem I_icon_minitimeMon Oct 28, 2013 11:18 pm by SoraAngel

Dear Residents of this vast underworld,

How is everyone? May Hades smile down upon you all. He is most certainly not smiling down at me at this moment. But …

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 The Thirteenth Requiem

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Arts Wizard
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PostSubject: The Thirteenth Requiem   The Thirteenth Requiem I_icon_minitimeSat Aug 03, 2013 2:19 pm

Why hello there. (~´・ω・`)~

Today, I'd like to share something with you. I would call it a story, but it's more of like an extremely metaphorically articulate autobiography. So ya. But I worked quite hard on this (nothing like staying up until two in the morning to finish this shet), and this morning, upon rereading it, I actually liked it enough to post it here, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.

Alright, then. So without further ado: once upon a time...

Once upon a time, in a land made of lies and fractured sunlight, there resided a young girl. She was not nearly as pretty as her moonlight-skinned Mother (who lived on instant noodles for eight months), nor as withstanding and noble as her Grandfather (who never let the stars do more than incline), and could not find it in her half-heated heart to be as kind as her Grandmother (who always spoke seven words more than needed). For the first few years of her life, she wiped away her Mother's tears - for her little child had no father to teach her how to run - held onto her Grandfather's fingers, and slept in her Grandmother's arms. She lived in their love, and lived in bliss. The World was just beyond her soft fingertips, warm and welcoming, and for five years, the young girl needn't be pretty or brave or selfless - she need only be her.

On the sixth year, she found her voice, and thought it quite pleasing to the ears. So she sang. And when she made friends, she sung to them too. Her voice was soft and high and as melodic as the gliding of salty waves. She sung of green grass and blue skies and rosy pink petals that swirled into the air, outlining the shapes of the clouds from above. She sung of innocence and childish beauty and did not stop until the Princess stared at her and the Knight laughed at her and her face burned with humiliation for reasons she did not know of yet.

The seventh and eighth years passed aimlessly as the young girl grew her hair and lost her teeth. No longer able to sing as she did before, her heart filled with self-pity and fragility, the simplest of words sending her crumbling and crying. She was as unsustainable as the low whisper of the wind, and her Grandmother eventually grew tired of her selfishness. And her voice eventually found her, now angry and bitter for being silenced, for being laughed at and shut away in shame. So she sang. And this time, she sung to the World. Her voice now cold and cutting, burning with an uncontrollable need to be seen, to be avenged. She sung of betrayal and the Night and tears and injustice, demanding sympathy and attention and for someone to just care.

But nobody did, because she was so hateable then, with her cruel words and frozen heart. She received nothing but disgust. And when she ran into the Woods, tears blinding wasted eyes, and sank down to sob like Snow White did, a final, desperate attempt, not a single crow glanced her way. Something irreplaceable broke inside of her, the snapping of a vital cord like blade against flesh. And she sang one last time.
She sung of unfairness and cruel beauty and did not stop until the last of her sobs melted away into silence.

(The ninth year would not be of importance until later.)

The tenth and eleventh years were oddly happy. There were three young boys who befriended the young girl. The First had eyes of the sea - a beautiful mixture of green and blue and gray that shifted with the tug of the Moon and the rays of the Sun. The Second shared her interests, and could speak nearly just as well as she could sing. And finally, the Third...she found it hard to describe him. He was beautiful (moon-skinned), and strong-willed (the stars could not even incline), and so incredibly kind (not one word more, not one word less). So wholly enchanted by this boy and his seeming perfection, the young girl fell in love for the first time. Slowly, though. Like a little burning candle, he coaxed the voice out of her, melting away at the frigid walls, smoothing out the sharp, wrinkled edges of her heart. And the young girl was foolish, so foolish, that she opened her mouth again and sung.

The lyrics came out shaky and nervous, and somewhat empty, for her mind was almost always elsewhere, thought they never drifted too far from the boy that heard, but may not have ever listened. She was hazy and giddy and slightly shy, mind and heart still uncertain and unfamiliar with the feelings blossoming inside her heart. She grew distant from her Mother, for she knew that she'd never approve of these little buddings of affection that were. She sung her first love songs to this boy, though she made sure to hum them softly, and at a distance, for she never wanted him to know.

Happy. He made her so happy, for the first time in years. And supposedly, that's what made her love him.

But she hummed too softly, stayed too far, and the lyrics were too vague. They spent the entire time stomping around each other in dainty little steps, and when he told her about her, shaky and nervous and somewhat empty (for his mind was elsewhere), humming just like the young girl had, only at a different girl, one with a thin frame and diamond earrings and shiny lip gloss, she had trailed off into a heavy silence.
But there was still one verse left of the love song she'd prepared for him. And she really did love him. So she smiled and whispered them into his ear, telling and teaching him to sing the words, so that he wouldn't simply hum the melody and watch the girl he loved slip away.

She sung of love and irrational beauty and did not stop until she finished.

The twelfth year grew reddish bumps on the young girl's already-rough skin and ruined her voice and twisted her mind, drove it insane with violent episodes of terror (for the future) and regret (for the past) and hatred (for the present - and for herself). The Princesses, with their golden hair and fox-like manipulation, stared her down in hungry packs of five and six, and the Knights roared with laughter at her every move. The young girl became a Jester to them, and eventually, to herself. Self-pity turned into self-hate, and as her thighs fattened and her stomach folded, she could not even bear to look at herself in the mirror. She once saw a Queen, and she once saw Cinderella - now she saw an Ugly Stepsister.

Her Grandfather became frustrated with her mopey attitude, as he could not understand why and when she had become so weak and breakable.

She sang, of course.

Her friends never understood. The World didn't care. The boy couldn't hear.
So she sang for herself.

The crashing melodies of broken hearts and loneliness and pre-teenage confusion were woven tightly into the sobs at night, the searing (but strangely comforting) pain of nails against flesh, the sounds of violent hacking and rushing toilet water. She sang of depression and abusive beauty and did not stop until her throat grew raw from the screaming.

The thirteenth year.

(For the first time in four years - because thirteen minus four is nine - she picks up the pen and sits down to try again. She's seen the World now, the cold, ugly World that requires you be beautiful and invincible and willing. And she has grown strong enough to sing again.)

I don't sing anymore. Not with my voice, anyway.

I listen instead. To the rain against my window, the calling of the birds, the roar of the fire when I cook dinner. I listen to their songs, and I sing them back in the steady rhythm of pen tapping against paper (a thinking melody), the sheets of trailed, ink-tangled stories in the form of curved 'g's and undotted 'i's.

I sing of silence and hidden beauty and I won't stop until the last requiem.

And that's a wrap! 8D

I guess I should explain why I'm so proud of this piece. Really, it's beyond the clever words and pretty metaphors. Thirteenth Requiem was basically a retelling of my life so far. And all the little details that may sound like pretentious fluff are actually real. They are little bits and pieces of my experiences and thoughts and life that I've managed (somewhat) to weave into this story. And on one hand, I feel like that's what writing is about, - for me, anyway - while on the other, I feel like that's an author's fatal flaw, because unless I can explain these little details for the reader to understand, nobody will appreciate the beauty.

So yes - "moon-skinned" wasn't just thought up off the top of my head, and I got the "...who never let the stars to more than incline" line from the Latin quote, "Astra inclinant, non necessitant." And oh my goodness, if you would believe it, the First did have eyes of the Sea, and I entertained the both of us by making charts to see an patterns in the shifting f his eye color, and I actually did collapse onto the floor to sob, Princess-style, when I was still an attention-seeking whore. And nobody did come. -_-;

And that's why I hold this piece so dearly to my heart, I guess. Because in some ways, this is me. Smile

The Thirteenth Requiem Redumbrella-dango_zpsd5e3f8ef
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Guild Master
Guild Master

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Join date : 2012-12-17
Age : 22
Location : Tartarus Labyrinth

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PostSubject: Re: The Thirteenth Requiem   The Thirteenth Requiem I_icon_minitimeSat Aug 03, 2013 10:54 pm

Damn, girl. You’re becoming quite the accomplished writer. Props to you for such a beautiful piece; with everything that’s been going on (and thinking about the past), it literally made me tear up. ;_;

I won’t go into a critique because it’s just too amazing. Besides the metaphors and whatnot, I love the nuances, the capitalization of certain words, the way you incorporated different elements like the wind and the sun, and how you tied everything together effortlessly and switched to first person at the end. This prose made me think of how the moon controls the tides. How the world constantly changes. Best of all, the emotions you evoked and the experiences you wrote are real and felt real.

Thank you for sharing.

The Thirteenth Requiem Oblivion-2

Thrown into the depths of Tartarus
Winding passageways of the Labyrinth
Root of all evil
Hear no evil...see no evil
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Common Euridite
Common Euridite

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PostSubject: Re: The Thirteenth Requiem   The Thirteenth Requiem I_icon_minitimeSat Aug 03, 2013 11:36 pm

Sometimes I forget how young you are. Rarely how amazing you are, but sometimes that too.

But you always remind me otherwise in a way that sticks for months to come. Amazing.
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Writing Wizard
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Join date : 2012-12-18
Location : In the Veil.

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PostSubject: Re: The Thirteenth Requiem   The Thirteenth Requiem I_icon_minitimeTue Aug 06, 2013 1:27 am

I'm speechless, breathless.... I... 
You're so amazing I sometimes forget you're in the hardest stretch of your life. I'm so proud of you, you're amazing and I... just wow. 

This is glorious.

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PostSubject: Re: The Thirteenth Requiem   The Thirteenth Requiem I_icon_minitimeTue Aug 06, 2013 8:41 pm

Since I'm not as eloquent or well-spoken as the others, let me just post my reaction to reading this.

                The Thirteenth Requiem 3r0e6v

That story was awesome! YOU GO GIRL!

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