(no subject)
GAME INFO
EDENSPHERE NAME: Ghost
DREAM:
Small feet run across tile-slated roofs of a city lit up in the night. It is beautiful and stunning and it is his home. It's in his lungs and in his blood and it's where he is most comfortable. He knows each roof, each ledge, by memory and it has nothing to do with intellect, but street smarts. He's savvy in that area because he owns these streets, through his sweat (not blood) and cocky smile. He sees it in the reflections of the attic windows he runs past, silent and with stealth.
Like a ghost.
He is free and happy and this is what he loves. Leaping from one roof to the next he watches the ground of bustling people with a grin. It forms on his face and he knows its there. Then he spots something up ahead. Before he can discern who or what it is he is falling off the roof.
He has come to the end of the line. Or the houses, to be detailed.
A soft thud and he is still. His legs aren't moving and he isn't flying anymore. He isn't home and this isn't where he wants to be. He sits up and looks around. White, but it pulses at him and that scares him. His heart flutters but he tells himself not to be scared. He's stronger than this and weak hearts can't protect beautiful homes. Like his.
Like ours.
There stands a man - the man. He nearly blends in with the pulsing white, but his lavender hair and outrageous clothes stand him out just enough. He stares at him, un-speaking. So the man does for him.
In your time of need - not want, I will be here. Keep
walking
forward.
His face swirls and distorts and he turns his head as if that will pull the picture back in place. It doesn't and the white merges with purple and green and teal and it reminds him of candy.
It reminds him of warmth and what he promised. What did he promise?
EDENSPHERE NAME: Ghost
DREAM:
Small feet run across tile-slated roofs of a city lit up in the night. It is beautiful and stunning and it is his home. It's in his lungs and in his blood and it's where he is most comfortable. He knows each roof, each ledge, by memory and it has nothing to do with intellect, but street smarts. He's savvy in that area because he owns these streets, through his sweat (not blood) and cocky smile. He sees it in the reflections of the attic windows he runs past, silent and with stealth.
Like a ghost.
He is free and happy and this is what he loves. Leaping from one roof to the next he watches the ground of bustling people with a grin. It forms on his face and he knows its there. Then he spots something up ahead. Before he can discern who or what it is he is falling off the roof.
He has come to the end of the line. Or the houses, to be detailed.
A soft thud and he is still. His legs aren't moving and he isn't flying anymore. He isn't home and this isn't where he wants to be. He sits up and looks around. White, but it pulses at him and that scares him. His heart flutters but he tells himself not to be scared. He's stronger than this and weak hearts can't protect beautiful homes. Like his.
Like ours.
There stands a man - the man. He nearly blends in with the pulsing white, but his lavender hair and outrageous clothes stand him out just enough. He stares at him, un-speaking. So the man does for him.
In your time of need - not want, I will be here. Keep
walking
forward.
His face swirls and distorts and he turns his head as if that will pull the picture back in place. It doesn't and the white merges with purple and green and teal and it reminds him of candy.
It reminds him of warmth and what he promised. What did he promise?