Syncronisty

My curse is that I must live forever, in a circle of death, rebirth, and life. I have been locked screaming and singing for eternity. About the sun. About the rain. But I am the Diva. And I must get to my paradise before the dragon awakens.

The mist was like a large, sentient being in the sunlight, rippling, drifting wandering, and almost enveloping the dark forest in a silver cloud. But it was darker the lower it went. Oh so darker. Pitch black to say the least. No travelers ever returned from the forest. At least n travelers returned with their mind intact. It was an devious forest. Inside were carnivous trees whose vines ensnared you when you least expected it, living clumps of rotting compost that would absorb you into their smelly recesses so that you could rot away alive. Them there were the fairies. The glowing fairies. Moving just too fast to get a good look at them, the whizzed about, quick and energized as mini hurricanes that lured you away with the ‘promise’ of giving you (just) enough light to see where you were going; all the while though, robbing you of your life essence.

Just beyond the seemingly double personalitied forest, lay a gleaming citadel, with tall buildings, impossibly shiny, impossibly white, and impossibly impossible. Or they would be if they had been attempted today. The strange metal way the result of Sorcerie, a combination of alchemie and magic lost to the ever shifting sands of time. Magic had turned the barren land it once sat on fertile, Alchemie turned it into a technologically wealthy hub, and Sorcerie built the city itself. The city was one of only two in the world to be grown by Sorcerie. His sister city, Darr, deep in the crevaces of the Miarle glacier, was his only rival. The faint smell of magic covered everything in the city, and occupants all grow used to it in a short amount of time.

On a him, watching the dawn sun paint colors onto the plain black sky, sat two children, barely teenagers. There was a girl, with long, messy brown hair, uneven in some parts, as if she had gotten it stuck in branches. Her eyes, though, were not messy at all. They were deep pools, clear and alert, of sea water blue. A cold sea water blue that never wavered or held any emotion besides rage. They stood out against the mud smeared against the mud and dirt, long caked into her skin. Even she could not remember the olor of her own skin.

That's pretty epic.

That's just the unedited setting

I see.

And the title isn't misspelled. It's supposed to be pronounced Sink-ron-ist-y

Oh. I was wondering about that.

Yeah, most people might

Probably.

Unless they are psychic.

Plot twist, they're all potatoes

I saw that coming.

Le gasp!

Plot twist: I didn't see that coming.

Plot twist: The cheetah isn't dead.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO....

oh, okay.

And there is no cat hair

What?!?

I know!

That's crazy.

So crazy

So very crazy.

I CONTAIN THE CARAZY

DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOWEEEWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

yeah.

Yepperoo