Information

Nary has a minion!

Seeker the Plooma

Nary
Legacy Name: Nary

The

Custom Common Neela
Owner:

Tribe

Age: 6 years, 8 months, 3 days

Born: July 14th, 2019

Adopted: 6 years, 4 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: October 31st, 2019

Statistics

Level: 382
Strength: 961
Defense: 946
Speed: 950
Health: 960
HP: 960/960
Intelligence: 315
Books Read: 310
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Certified Mad Scientist

CREDITS

profile template (c)

helix (get it), edited by

Tribe
story by

Tribe
Background courtesy of Max Bender
overlay by

dalice
Adopted from

Written on 10/31/2019

Nary a Worry

Our divinity does negate our flaws, our weaknesses.

Power does not sanctify our morals, cleanse us of vices. Even angels chase the highs: that rush of adrenaline, the headiness of the revel, the rush of the thrill.

When the thrills are spent--

All that's left are the consequences.

An angel without her wings will plummet to a rough awakening.

Perhaps it was necessary.

Live like a devil, die like a saint

I want to throw open the skies and dance on horizons, bask in the warmth of every sunrise.

I want to know what it is to be really truly alive, to live giddy and reckless and free.

I want to regret nary a thing, to leave no stone unturned.

Immortality duty-bound is a gross inheritance: power without personhood, obligation without pleasure. It preens itself on self-righteousness, caged by its own preconceptions.

In this state, can we claim to know our charges, their finite time, their fickle morality?

Can we even trust our guiding judgment in the course of their histories?

I hear it--

It is a song of should, a song of was: regret and resent entwined, mourning over a past that could have been. Its melody is torturous, so eerie and haunting; it hums deep in my core, my personhood leaping to join in its chorus.

It is a beautiful snare, one that tempts and promises: it sings of wings and rising once more, of remaking nightmare into dream.

I will not take its bait.

la la la construction site wooo

The wings are farce. Our divinity is farce. The systems we live by will always fall short, cheating itself out of any semblance understanding.

We deny ourselves the raw, the real.

We make ourselves pretenders.