my grandpa has such a loud voice n whenever he coughs it sounds like he about to cough up cobwebs n such and my grandma so smoll like hobbit smoll like she 4′9 i think but sshe talks so much, never much with me tho and if she does only about school-__-

Home and heartache...

The oldest residents of that abandoned house were the spiders. Many generations had laced the walls with cobwebs of intricate beauty, though now even they lay in dusty rags. It seems as if it has been decades since a footstep had echoed within those walls, since the dust had been disturbed and the ghosts awoken. The only furniture was an antique pedestal table carved of local oak and upon it a bottle of finest malt whiskey and one up-turned glass.

He knew he shouldn’t be here but much weighed in his heart and mind. For once upon a time this manor served as the home to one Jacob Holt. Here… In Gilneas.

He recalled the events as if it was yesterday. The curse spreading about then being disowned by his very father. Leaving, he went as far as a top of a hill before he realized the Forsaken attacking. Racing back, he could only save his sister. His mother and father were killed.

There was no time to mourn. Only escape. Making their way south, the found their uncle and was kept under the care of Natharen’s mother and father. But the loss of his family and home still wane in his young heart and as to was revenge. It was only a matter of time before he sees both. Until then, only heartbreak reigns in his heart and the travel back is long and heavy.

For Jacob, there is no witty repertoire or flirtatious comments. Only pain and a thirst for revenge.

Six random facts about me!

I was tagged by the delightful theperksofbeingdisabled!

1. I judge people that don’t believe in aliens.
2. All of my nightmares involved people screaming without making any sound because their throats are full of cobwebs. 
3. I check facebook roughly once a week, and I only have like thirty friends.
4. I lived through the Bush administration and I feel like that is an accomplishment even though I am not American. I also survived Y2K.
5. I write freelance articles for my local newspaper occasionally, in the therapy advice sections. My topics range from healthy relationship dynamics to coping with mental illness/parenting a child with mental illness. 
6. At one point in my childhood I had: had a dog, six chickens, twenty one rabbits, five guinea pigs, three budgies, a cockatiel and a peacock.

My nominations: weaponizelesbians, do-the-scarn, pourquoi-nutmeg, eccentricmango, cat–beard, ostentatiousnarcissism, le-hibou-sarcastique, lemonsdonttalk & every one of mutuals. 

Shadow of the Muse by Ryan Jones

I. He walked along the courtyard of his dreams as thoughts fell to the ground brushing against his feet; dissolving into the rain soaked earth never to breathe again. He, in anguish called upon the Muse- ‘Seek her and she will come’ he whispered softly. The cobwebbed images of lost despair sent chills throughout his body making his mind tremble under the starry night; until the sweet siren of serenading song echoed against the wind rippling the inviting water which lay silently underneath the bridge. There she glowed in all her majestic innocence, the Muse of creativity.

II. He gazed towards her in captivating disbelief. Hair, falling gracefully down her back longer than winter nights, eyes which swam inside the moonlight stabbing his every thought. She stood there in naked silence enchanting him with every glimmer of her smile. As his eyes peered deeper he noticed what she held. In her left hand ink and in her right paint. She spoke with the faintest sound and said - ‘Choose one’ he reached into her left hand and immersed himself into the depths of her ink and felt the exhilaration of concentrated thought.

III. He spoke not a word as his mind was pierced with eternal light. He could not see anything but the mesmerizing silhouette of his mystical Muse. As she finally let go of his hand she spoke once again and lastly muttered- 'Time swallows us all so listen closely to yours and when you hear her tapping at your bedroom door don’t whimper but embrace her every tick, for she comes quick, only to engulf your illusion of life and bring you closer to your home…infinity’ as he regained his sight all that was left was the trailing visions of the shadow of the Muse.

The old manor was dingy, cluttered with empty chests and rusted suits of armor. They laid on their side, a thick coating of dust covering the once polished steel.  Heavy cobwebs hung in the broken chandeliers, making the ornate light fixtures sag under their weight.

Lucy hissed and rubbed her hands together to keep herself warm, watching as her horned companion picked his way across the dark foyer and over the old threadbare rug. It looked as it had once been a plush red carpet, stretching further than her eye could see.

Now it was ugly and matted, Natsu’s sandled feet trampling down on the same path other looters had taken in the past.

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