▬ ❝ On My Honour As Oracle, I Will Not Rest Until The Darkness Is Banished From Our World And The

𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .    //    ACCEPTING .

‘  the handsome fellow that’s trying to rescue you from a hideous fate is never wrong.  ’   //    @asterites​​​

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.    that said, while the wit with which it was conveyed, and the context thereof, robbed her embarrassingly of all her excuses, it contradicted with each principle an oracle absorbed and internalized.  hence, her first impulse was to dismiss  —   but what exactly provoked it ?  that her fate threatened a hideous undertone ?  that he, the silly hero, had all intentions to rescue her ?    (  or that he was ... handsome … ?  )    none of these points were untruths and, still, she argued.  still, she made a case for dispute  :    “ he is wrong.  i needn’t be rescued from a particular destiny that i have not chosen  — ”    but with the lakes of fire in their home of darkness, with the heads of conquered children at a gunpoint, and their betrayed roots, had it been a free decision, or unsought necessity ?   ‘ i chose this ‘    on repeat and with effort, the line transformed to conviction, did it not ?  a conviction as real as one to serve an empire which, more than once, manufactured tools out of the flesh of loved ones.  a conviction of devoting to a life of conserved rite.  a conviction that, rather than following survival instincts, there was a choice, at all.

notice, a frown pinching into pallor and a crooked line that ought to resemble a smile, but did it terribly so, marred her pretty visage as her spoken point dilated to the nonsensical.  the denial so outstretched, it portrayed no longer her own instilled thought.    “ it is not that i want him to do this for me, or that he should continue it.  moreover, he is quite hypocritical ... ”    you see, every day, solheim’s high priestess lied through her teeth.  about a good, giving godhead and redeeming salvation under the throne of his mercy ;  about worship and a cause greater than the worshipers.  every day, she lied about picking up the skeletal remains of a dormant faith, and promised to her subjects a myth cased in crystal.  in turn, she lowered her secrets into the coffin of her past, in hopes the valkyric goddess would find and care for them behind valhalla’s fog and the rotting dreams of sorrowful mwynn.  then she smothered that memory, until her woes emptied and interchanged with robes and a scepter invoking divination, forgot what other purpose her hands served than to reach for the voided universe.  for this reason, she lied again, and again, and again ;  until she believed she wanted the barren holiness, and found herself utterly bemused by the absolute ease it required to welcome festering love to creep through the spaces between her gilded ribs.

“ …  he is so …  stubborn, and foolish.  he does not listen, and i  —  ”    oh, look at her.  poor, wretched woman.  suddenly, her hands were meant to touch the heart of another, and the lies were mouthed with naught more than displeasure ;  for there was this man who learned to know her beyond them, as well as she acknowledged his reckless, careless, endearing whimsicality.  his clumsy struggles and lovable qualities.  and, truthfully, resistance could only be considered an impossible effort.  the thought of such alone torturous enough that she preferred to be snapped out of it by the curious impressions within the glance of her starry sibling  —  the sheer tease radiating off of the silent expression suggested full awareness of the remaining contents within the muffled sentence.    “ don’t you look at me like that now.  besides, something tells me a similar experience plagues and blesses you. ”

  *   𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 .

i.    tenebrae’s native tongue is based on icelandic and french.

ii.    luna is not gifted in drawing, and frankly is horrible at it, but it still belongs to one of her hobbies, along with journaling and gardening.  she tends to more abstract painting, simply for a creative outlet that requires not much technical skill.

iii.    her artistic affiliation is rather defined by singing, which is more a religious practice as oracle, hence there is only rarely a personal attachment and pride in her angelic voice.  she can barely tend to her favorites of traditional tenebraen folk songs and naturally has to participate in choirs and sacred ceremonies.  as a child, she began to despise singing, and would’ve continued so, had there not been a few examples she could sing in private :  1  /  2  /  3.

iv.    that car scene in kingsglaive where she would take control of the wheel was improvised.  she doesn’t have a license.

v.    she had a grandmother called freyja and was named after her.

vi.    she favors perfumes with mild floral scents, not too sweet or overwhelming, uses them as per her mood, not necessarily the same every day, and tends to experiment.  one day she wears fragrance made from sylleblossom extracts, on another one from lilies or jasmine.

vii.    it is evident that she does not keep sylleblossoms in her room at all times.  perchance the decoration varies from blue poppies, gentianas, or yellow / purple oxeye daisies, whatever the seasons provide.  

viii.    while she is most often seen in white or silvery dresses, she does like to wear black or blue as well.

ix.    for the most part, obviously, her relationship with niflheim’s military is one of suspicion and hostility.  however, there was one soldier who stood watch over her not very long after the invasion, guarded her closely and soon became more a father she never had.  the one exception she made in terms of trusting the wrong side.  the crescent-shaped pendant is an item he gifted to her on her 16th birthday.  one day, he vanished, and luna was left alone with a report of him to be presumed dead.

x.    if there is an alternative timeline where luna survives, she would return to a shorter haircut.

* 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ?

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐏𝐀𝐋 // there is strength in softness and no one knows this better than you. no one knows cruelty it took for you to learn to be so vulnerable. your sensitivity is your armor. you refuse to let the world crush you. you refuse to stop seeing beauty in broken things. you will always look for the light in the darkness. people underestimate you. they think you are far too delicate. but they don't know your gentleness was forged from hardship. there are depths beneath your smiles no one will know. when was the last time you did let someone know, though ? when was the last time you let yourself cry, when was the last time you didn't bury your anger ? you're more than what you give to others.

Tagged by: @reginrokkr Tagging: whoever wants to do this !

* 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍 .

what’s your phone wallpaper :   one of monet's waterlily paintings. last song you listened to :   playthings for the breeze by freesscape. currently reading :   nothing right now. last movie :   princess mononoke. last show :   slowly catching up with ygo gx. what are you wearing right now :   i'm a boring individual with a black shirt and grey pants. piercings / tattoos? :   got pierced earlobes but i never wear jewelry. glasses ? contacts? :   nope. last thing you ate? :  i love my hearty oatmeal. favorite color(s) :   i can appreciate all colors to some degree. current obsession :  ff16 and i make it everyone's problem. do you have a crush right now? :  i have no feelings ever. favorite fictional character(s) :  aqua, xehanort, lunafreya nox fleuret, nyx ulric, zack fair jesus christ, kainé, lara croft ( classic up to legend trilogy to be specific, i'm not into the reboot trilogy ), and many more.

tagged by : @oniriqe tagging : i have no clue who did this already aha

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐘 ;    some sacred agonies were simply overbearing, over-gobbling, the cosmos eager to sunder and disassemble.  one side too real, the other too dead.  too holy, too eldritch.  they took root and vine as rotten artery-roads through a gilded body.  though your words rang true, your softness lied.  always, always were there lies. ( like hers, like anyone else's.  ) along with the ghosts you soothed you faded before her, and to this, she was regrettably blind.  oh, what feats she would undertake  ---  moving mountains, parting the seas, bending the skies for her twinkling asteria's happiness !  perhaps, this might have been the reason she shan’t know the hidden meaning. your ailment a secret by volition of cold light.    “ fear does even plague ghosts, it is unfortunate such inflicts those who have yet to meet their end, in turn.  ”   herein the irony manifested between two fleuret women and their empathic attributes, their shared compounds tempering sorrow like a balm to a bruise.  hers, a gift to the living    /    yours, to the unliving.  she did rather not admit her particular understanding of a ghost's reasoning for its lingering obstinacy, and that in her own dismays she would stir waters to tremendous dimensions.    “ even so —  i could not blame them.  the light of yonder is too bright and terrifying, too cryptic for them.  what else will it cleanse aside from memory ?  some may not be able to let go of their pain… ”    and their wailing may never be heard, in silence they must weep. 

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐘 for those whose eyes sees the unknown. the markings of a goddess, it’s plague clouding her vision towards a death-screamed spiral. it suffocates her. the desperation of fallen corpses clinging onto her soul : hungry for vengeance, craving for existence, and when they speak it was honey sung words reaped with veiled treachery. the chaos in her eyes is marred with blood stained tears, yet the night star no longer mourns for its injustice. instead, she carries on pretending she is unbothered / pretending she is above the terror which torments the earth. smile, play her role, she has always been good at acting and running away.  ❝  ——  hmm, what do you think they say ?  ❞  look how patiently the stars deflects their response. her dialect spoken with an air of spacious wonder, dancing on the cusp of religious taboo, with falsehood innocence to match.  ❝  the dead who remains... often feels very wronged.  ❞  there will always be some semblance of truth to her words, but because you are her holy sister, she offers you nothing less than sincerity.  ❝  they do not want to part with the living, so they choose to ignore the summoning of the light above. it hurts them too you see, so they hurt others. or at least some of them do. many of them simply hides. ❞

* 𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑨 𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑩𝑹𝑼𝑺 𝑰 :    𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎 .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 :   the lush lands of the now-known tenebrae had been one of ruin and darkness long ago.  in the pre-historic age was humanity bestowed with fire, and the waters followed.  as ifrit would gift his sparks, leviathan would gift riverflow.  civilizations would be built with each those tools, but they never ceased their fascination for astronomy and selenology.  where the sun would obtain patron status would man establish solheim, the home of the sun ;  where they would revere the moon, they would establish maniheim, the home of the moon ;  where they would ask the stars for guidance, was the seat of the stjarna people.  maniheim’s and stjarna’s societies were interlocked and influenced each other with their belief in the afterlife, crossroads and prophecies, and had closer relations with each other than with solheim.  and though all three had different celestial objects in focus, they would all greet the dawn warmly.  the global population would worship eos the most as the mother of life.

while solheim was not the only civilization to rise to power, it was the last one to connect people before the astral war split nations apart with babylonic impact.  long has the war lasted and none of their social structures survived.  an era of turmoil gave rise to the darkness that people would soon interpret as the curse of the stars.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎-𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 :    during the time of war emerged factions, and the messengers of defeated deity fell from heaven right into the ruins of civilization. some of them, lingering upon maniheim-soil which would simply become known as the "dark land", fell in love with humans and procreated, their offspring dubbed the children of sin.  the line of the fleurets began with skadi, a daughter of sin, born of eos' messenger and a wintery man who originated from the western parts of the continent. she would wander over barren hills, hear the voices of angels, and grew up distanced from her peers.  years pass and she hardly shown any signs of aging, her father long lost to plague and her mother executed. ere she, too, would beget a child with a mortal does bahamut's messenger find her and announce the punishment for her and her descendants : ever shall this blood of molten dawn and rotten light that understands the word of gods bear this burden till the last one falls. ever shall the sons of eos and the daughters of her messenger be the token of guilt.  the draconian shall claim the crossing between clay and ichor.

while skadi had not been bahamut's chosen blood, her daughters and granddaughters would evolve traits closest to the soon-to-appear first oracle aera and her sister gullveig. and gullveig, she'd one day beget another line of descendants with another messenger : selene's.

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐘𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍 , 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃.   astral and whimsy.  and wherever they’d go, they would belong.  for a seeress bereft of her home, unbelonging and still half-settled, tied to the arteries of time, the wonder arose frequently when those visions of dust would finally be realized to dust, when the dream of eternity consumed those who fled every passing day from its consumption.  beneath the faint moon-sheen she folded her hands and hummed out her pondering softly.  and even this, cradled within the security of khaenri’ahn walls, would be a state momentarily existing before it did no longer.  “ for the naked eye, it is an unchanging sight, but what seems eternal is, in fact, not.  i believe she wants to remind us about our own evanescence.  that, though we may last long, it shan’t be forever.  even the moon, will disappear one day. “  abruptly did she then acknowledge etiquette might not be appropriately applied to chatter nigh resembling ‘ small talk ‘, not at all the place for philosophies and spills of vague prognostics.   “ forgive me, kind dainsleif, cryptic remarks are a terrible habit i ought to unlearn for private conversations. ” // @reginrokkr

Inteyvat anthers glow in the dead of the night, an announcement of their detachment from the shackles of their filaments to fly towards the nocturne dome specked with their companions-to-be: the stars, and the lonely moon that sheds its frigid, albescent light in the kingdom of darkness. Ever since his arrival to Khaenri'ah, this is the first time Dáinsleif has the opportunity to be on a vantage point like this with an even better company than his own solitude.

Glacial sapphires turn to look at the angelic figure beside him, what little and natural light that reaches Khaenri'ah imprinted on her like she's the source of this luminescence. ❝Many moons has it been since you witnessed this view, yes? Has it ever changed since then?❞

@moonichor ✦

ophelia / martyr    //    based on “the young martyr” by paul delaroche, and “ophelia” by john everett millais.

Anyway I am a fan of luna being angry and passive aggressive sometimes, so whatever verse I go with, she won't be nice to him.

lunafreya “ he stabbed me in the guts and slapped me in the face but i’m going to sympathize with him anyway “ nox fleuret

Giulio Aristide Sartorio - Isaotta nel bosco/Fata Morgana, c. 1895