白い骨

K U C H I K I
B Y A K U Y A

the purest emperor
a heart of gold
a soul of platinum
he is la lune
the star of heaven
royal beauty bright

roleplay blog for the rokubantai-taichou from BLEACH.
est. 2012
as beloved by abigail.

白い沈黙

CURRENTLY: hiatus.

TIME ZONE: currently CEST.

deumultima:

     surveying fixation — of penetrating rays focussed ‘pon form. t’wards he whom stands before him, behold: a most transitory deviation, flourishing forthwith. of crumbled frame once embellished now fallen before him — curiosity perhaps derives from aforementioned state. to halt abaft prevailing presence, arise penetrating tendrils: of sun-kissed branches devouring obsidian — gliding within ebony strands.

     allowing such actions their temporary distraction, soon would they reveal a most transcendent lure — one elongated ivory pillar; baring an undeniable semblance to the sublime. gaze coming to rest ‘pon defined structure — temporary veiling would soon commence: o’ fluctuating orbs momentarily absorbed, following the flight of his hand. capable palm reaching its descent, soon would it fall from porcelain grace. eyeing the form laid out before him, resonating splendour soon embarks:

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Allow me to offer you my deepest condolences.
Should you require my assistance, you need only ask. ❜

    AKIN TO THESEUS SNEAKING HIS TENDER DIGITS INTO THE SNAKE PIT OF THE GORGON’S CROWN; ‘twas not the gazer whose face would accustom to the texture of marble, but the wearer (the head that assuredly hung heavy). indeed the frame of the vertebrate was graced with venomous familiarity; a vulgar display, a horrific tease that threatened to crack that pedestal he compared to transcendence with internal, ostentatious fleeting. ALL AT ONCE, HE COULD RECALL WHEN HE TOTTERED; all at once, he could recall when he gazed into the sun (and had been blinded in such exquisite inferno he could not recall ever paying any mind).

    HE BEGINS HIS REBUTTAL WITH REPETITION; FEELING EACH SYLLABLE LEAVE HIS ACID-LACED HONEY TONGUE. it was a lie, he knew; he would not pardon the other for insulting his intelligence with a voice of false sympathies. OF THE PLETHORA OF WORDED INSULTS, IT SURELY RANKED AMONGST THE HIGHEST; that ebony veil catches the gust as the seraph sways, entangling upon the descending grasp for the briefest of tangible seconds. he is compelled to admit to himself that he wants to inquire, never aloud assuredly; he finds that he is much too tired of hearing answers he has known, and known, said once again (why? for what purpose?). and so he should say: I DO NOT CARE FOR THE REASON, BUT YOU SHALL BE MY RESPITE.

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     “▬ Your condolences…
                        How gorgeous.”