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Post by L Y N X ! on Jun 11, 2011 2:10:51 GMT -5
Aithne never thought a feeling like this would ever cross over her mind. What was the thing called "love"? Strong affection for another, but that could easily be mistaken as a good friendship. What made being in love so different from friendship? There truly was no real definition for the word "love", as others may claim to say. Love was what you felt with your heart, and logic had no way of defining it. Was it possible that she loved Stranger, with all honesty? She had to believe so, this new feeling was unexplainable. The devastation she felt when she had been told that he was gone. Any normal aquiatance would have been merely saddened, but how come she had acted so? This was all new to her, and for once for a while, she was a bit frightened. Not of Stranger, but of the ignorance of the subject. She didn't know what to expect from loving this stallion, but if any other event of his death took place, she didn't think she could bear it.
It was a relief to finally come to terms with her feelings. Even if Stranger turned I to a horrible stark-raving beast, she would still love him. She still needed some assurance that this feeling of love was true, instead of her great relief that she saw him alive. But as he continued to speak, a warm feeling spread through her body that made her feel she had a stronger ground. Her eyes never left the looming figure upon the ridge, as if he was the only thing that existed. Frogs croaked, crickets chirped, the wind shisperd sulking in her ears, but his voice was the only thing that she could hear. That had to mean something. Aithne admittedly felt s bit bashful now, now that it was confirmed that they felt the same way. But obiviously his feelings for her were stronger, which gave her a hint of unease. What if he expected too much of her right now? She should hope not.
"Oh, Stranger," was all that she managed to say, overwhelmed with a sudden surge of emotion. She gazed back evenly into his eyes, searching for something that she wasn't quite sure of. Perhaps the hint of a lie? She had no idea what the Devil had done to him, if he was just feeding lies into his head. She just had to trust what he was saying, and hope for the best. Gradually she moved closer toward the stallion, nervously, carefully, unsure of her self. Her nostrils flared as she stepped up the ridge, her golden eyes slightly narrowed against the gloom, watching him apprehensively.
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Post by Storeh on Jul 16, 2011 13:05:44 GMT -5
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The loss of a breath to the willful thinking of the spiteful mind, settling more than the taste of poison to rest upon the weathered tides of strain. Embers dancing through the thoughts, brought then upon the ashen breaths of a life once lost, wasted so gracelessly then spread like tears to the seven corners of the isles. Heat was breath, the sparking of deepening orbs giving little composure to that which was surrounding, narrowing without gesture, as though in dire contemplation more so than need, waiting for the aching of submission of the crippled heart. The blackened edges waiting to crumble with the name uttered on the twisted fates of her tongue, the step, the lines drawn so clearly against the colors of her pelt, something for the next fracturing blink taken unneeded into consideration. An airy support of not knowing, the wraiths lingering to peer over the shoulder of the hellion, a question of where more so of why. The tugging of the strings, the plucking of the skin as though some sort of instrument, stemming brutally from the uncertainly settling like leaded wings on his mind. Millions of cries for bending, but little to take when it broke, the contorted smiles and splintered bones akin to the lights of her eyes. The parade was endlessly flowing, tucking like pins into the folds of skin, another stare to silence, waiting for a choice to be made. What was the nature of a predicament uncannily excecuted from one without much of a purpose, so much as a desire embedded through the blood. There was neither answer nor question on the silence of the night, something perfectly unsupported in the torrential whims of this kind.
The long stroke of a toned leg, spanning a stride in a step so cautious as though to startle. With danger there came a penance, the need to vandalize the sanctuaries, the crossing the tugging of the soul, the sorrow underlining the woes of the cradled times. Souls were lost, were they not? How can he recover them so easily with merely a shadow, a step, toward this mare so perfection akin? Her breath was a substance in itself, something striking him to the core then past, a shiver of cold like the moment of kissing death, the resurfacing of something new. Again and again to be sweltered, to be cast into the shadows where the light merely skirted. An inhale of bitterness, an exhale of salvation, a grasping for reach as he stared into the face of the wonderless spite without the blinders of damnation. A key in the soul of another, spread out on the feeling of right. The flames were licking at his heels, the horns burning holes into his skull, the mind a product of reminders of how torrential this desire was to be. Unrequinted, he loved. Yet in her voice was the beckoning of what could be, what shall be if this mare was to understand. Witnessing a life worth of deaths, breathing the last of his own, bearing the burden of his brothern unsated, unshared and undivided. Spanning the silence, another smaller step was made, unsure yet completely watchful to wait. Wondering.
"Aithne. Do you think I wish to do you harm?" The broken notes from a spirit no longer cradled so restlessly by another, as though tears could be produced like on the day of their reckoning, the moment of return. Sometimes it could serve as a product of the imagination, yet it was lined with something far more than just the palest of timid goodbyes. Buried deep was the agony of never wishing to know, the breathing of a being and the heartbeat of a soul, as though she could extend her own final wishes, and Shiminege himself would be the one to fall and crumble. A million stars to cross these waters, wading to his neck in the torrential unwanting of these splintering of dread. What was the wanting of a purpose he knew, the love of the drawing like pins to a heart. A time for the cushion to be emptied in his skull, driven liked stakes and talked none the more. A pang felt without sympathy, the knowing of giving another life for her. If she shall wish whatever she may, he would give the rest away. Tossing the times out of a window, the seal broken as though floods released. The will of the power, the need of the song. A tale of the ages, and a romance that never was. His memories could not recall the horror or the misery, just the sound of her heart beating in her chest. Where was he if he wish and he may?
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[/color] Muse: Impossibilities are Fashionable.
OOC: The difference is beyond comprehension.
Music: Welcome to the Black Parade || My Chemical Romance [/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 21, 2011 1:40:14 GMT -5
She had never truely known the luxury of a feeling called love, it was an alien feeling, but a pleasant one at that. It sent a sweet tingling through her flesh, filling her soul with fresh purpose. What a beautiful notion. How could she ever live without it? But there was always that one sliver of doubt, that one glance back to where things used to be, that ground of safety where everything was known. What happens when you spread your wings into that great unknown? It was the same as what she was feeling - she had no idea what to expect from this stallion, who had captured her attention and her affection, the moment she opened her eyes and seen him right by her side. That moment had meant the most to her, and still flitted through the back of her mind as her eyes continued to rest on his looming form, illuminated by the fire that bended and flicked at his feet.
Guilt. How could she doubt him? Eyes so sincere, gentle, behind the fiery appearance. Hellion on the flesh, fragile as a butterfly at his core. Pained expression lingering on his facade, regretting the caution that resitricted her movements. She longed to reach out and touch him, soothe those feelings. Shh, I'm here, everything was okay. As he spoke her eyes softened and those feelings melted away like butter, and she shook her head to dismiss the accusations. "No..forgive me," she spoke soft, barely above a lover's whisper. Aithne realized she had halted upon the ridge, only a few steps away from him. She could feel the heat rolling off the flame, a gentle breath against her skin. Closing the distance, golden orbs searching, longing, hoping this was all real. She felt too alive to think this was all just a dream of her deepest desires come to light. How she had wished to see him again, and her prayers were answered, but by the wrong force. But here he was standing, breathing, alive. Hers. The simplest touch, her velvety muzzle against his shoulder. A shudder, lingering. She could feel the muscle under his flesh. Relaxing as the gentle breeze rolled on through, disturbing the fine hairs that rested on their necks. How calming it was, relief from the world as she stood. With him. How could a creature of hell bring her such heaven?
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Post by Storeh on Jul 21, 2011 14:16:23 GMT -5
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The beading of an exhalation breathed live emotion across the shadowing tears of flesh, the unharnessed cascade of a reigning tide washing without a pretense of idle fear surrounding him. Beckoning with the drawing of nature, movements lined against a heedless calling, words so cushioned beyond an immaculate proportion, streaming between the fiction or the fact before him. Memories so seeking to lay like icy flakes on his skin, shivering with the touch of something genteel without faltering or fracturing brethren, love as a feeling comsuming the blackened bits of what remained. Soaring with the aide of compulsive fits of agony, the feel of her skin against his, the breathing of her breath as though brought from within. Gesture without, pressure remains, leaning against her touch, his maw on her own skin, wondering. What was it that was binding them so close, tying them together without severing or breaking what already was there. A hellion, something past salvation, feeling the powers of love not lost, found in the depths of reachless eyes. Boundless, without doubt of what he would not do for the one who was newly brought to light before his very eyes. Sparking without hope, yet the hope twisted into something more. Not less of what could have been, but the knowing of what was. Thinking on the past was a curse when this is what the future could have held for Stranger all along, the haunts and wraiths not racking with the coolness of her falling presence. Falling was he, was he not? Yet fallen was unconsidered when mirrored with the winnings of a disasterless fate. Unaccustomed to the silver lining blinding his fiery orbs, his lips against the silken finery of her neck. Controlling the pattern of his breath, skin burning without the air of sparks flickering at his hooves. Brought into justice by the adequate natures of a fate forgotten and put past.
Nothing was of more matter than what stood rooted before him, bound by whatever higher power sought to deal, the dull ache of a shattered heart, ripped to shreds mended. The throbbing of a love unrequinted lost now in the shadows of the forgotten. Broken bones meant nothing now, the fires of a revenge calmed in is torrential pounding spirit. Souls lost, yet here she was with the key to something still there. Smiles, like broken beacons or collected scars, edging around the matter within. Happiness to swell without bitterness to fade. Yet never before could he even say her name. A passing inquiry, more of a breathless song, and here they were. Tears across the crimson pools of his ever changing eyes, wondering if the bottomless chasm they once where would so. Wise was he, to know what was not to be known? Pushed aside with the emotional tagent that settled deep into the marrow and sinew of his frame. Ages could pass for the moment would stretch. Endlessly and Shiminege would think it too soon. Void of a life filled with smile, laughter, and love. Here it was under the flesh of another being. Love tottering on the brink of his own ruin, his sheltered demise. Bitterness forgotten, his maw across her mane, plucking at the strands. Forever was he bound to her now, for it was not something to be taken idle. Seriousness, handing of the chains to his own. Life in exchange for the feeling he felt, the sparks in his eyes so wiling to melt. The smile still ashen, the tears still acidic. Poison to breath, but that was not a lament.
'I am yours, Aithne. I shall always be.' Spoken on the breath of a truth, a promise unbroken on his speaking. Meanings not lost on the electricity felt underneath, with his maw so trailing across the delicate slope of her neck, feeling the pressure of what she was. Drinking in her heartbeat and breathing her scent. Was this sensation something more than what he could believe? Was this an accusation on the breath of a dream? A devil playing tricks for the sake of a dance, yet it so it was to be, he would give in at any moment. No goodbye to be spoken on the fine silk of his lips, something uncertain without the rearing of head inside. Never would he breath something sinister as hatred. Poisoned in his mind and out again. Drawn with the fire racing through his blood. Where was the living when the dead just gave in? Something so ashen to fall. Yet there was no heavens to see it all. Faith restored in the color of her eyes. Orbs to swim in, divine fire to purge the penance. What more words could be breathed into situational life, how could he make something more of an already dreadless plight. Flight without aid of a wingless adorned. Aithne before him, a love so sweetly shared. Nothing more could he ask. Not could he even dare. What was to happen? Speaking on too soon. Nothing for anything, demon or not. She was an angel, and this is what he had gotten. Flames from the hell without the searing of his skin. Did this mean that Stranger had died once again?
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[/color] Muse: Impossibilities are Fashionable.
OOC: The difference is beyond comprehension.
Music: Welcome to the Black Parade || My Chemical Romance [/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by L Y N X ! on Jul 30, 2011 21:03:08 GMT -5
How many times had she spent awake, listening to the sound of the poisonous night? Wondering, where did you go? Her thoughts always straying to the fragile creature she found from her flight, and thought she had saved. She had saved him from himself, but she didn't protect him from the world. There was always that hidden guilt that his death was perhaps her own fault. She had left, perhaps thinking that everything would be alright for him. How could she of done that? No warning sign, no alibi but the ones that took his life from him. He was there for her, and she wasn't there for him, to protect against the evil. But he was here now, against the odds, coming back to earth for a malevolent purpose, that all seemed cast away from his mind now. The gentle embrace, and the caressing touches they shared. It soothed her fears, her ever-planning mind put to rest to enjoy the moment. She could feel their heartbeats together; here they were at the beginning. How would their story unfold? Happily ever after, she hoped. But fairytale endings didn't exist, no matter how close one may come. Though now things seemed perfect, caught in a suspended moment of peace, she knew there would be rockier times ahead. But with Stranger by her side, it felt as if she could take on the world. His words, spoken so sweetly, brought a smile to her lips. Her head turned so that she may meet his gaze, and brushed her velvet muzzle against him in assurance. "I love you, Stranger," she said, soft and sincere. As she spoke it aloud, the more sure she was of herself. It seemed as if everything was falling into place, like missing puzzle pieces put together after finding them in the least expected places. The looming war was all but forgotten, what was war when you had love? It was a cure to hate. She had learned to love the innocent, and turned her face away from the evil rule of Aiden. How come he couldn't see how beautiful life could be without murder and hate?
ooc: its a little short but eh, I like it. :3
song: hurricane - 30 seconds to mars
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Post by Storeh on Jul 30, 2011 22:10:45 GMT -5
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To gain but seizure to the mindless plague of uncultivated remittance, the spiriting forth then past of each ailment of supposed doubt. Rebirthed to be given a second set of wings, the crucial needs for an end that would allow the burdened to fly, soaring over the broken bodies that once torture the tormented soul. No more for the fracturing of composure, the neglect of excecution and death. Uplifting like a thousand exhaltions, drowning away the edging of spite overturned like coals on the fire, sparking natures drawn away past the scars and wounds unhealed. It was a nature unakin to the imaginable and grasped, a world apart from that in which the normal resounded, the heavens parting with their forsaken light to grace the trendils of his coat, allowing the once shattered remenants of a tattered heart to soar with the painting of new wings. Jubilation to sing the praises of the gods with the voices that could not touch neither men nor mortal all on the breath of three words accompanied by a name given. Shared. Shiminege felt the outward push of the universe, the weight on his shoulders shared like a burdenless existence, the sparks behind his eyes tangible, loosing their sight as they peered into her own eyes. Then, the world crumbled away once more, multiplying in on itself, a pain unlike any other searing across the delicate edges and surface of his pelt, digging deeper down into the tendons to bring forth the melting of pressure. There was neither time nor composure to bring forth words or expression for account, the hellion only having time to flung himself away from his love, Aithne, before his body exploded in flame. Though the sparks and the smoke, the purging and cleansing of he flames, he saw her silhouette, an apparition against the approaching dawn, a beacon for memories in his mind. Reminders serving their suite and purpose like the ash falling from so long ago. The blinking up at the heavens, the reminder of the burning of bodies from the chambers of hell, from a distant land long ago. The creaking of his tendons and muscles as he dare not breath or move, undeserving of the life he lead. The recall of dying, the crumbling of dreaming. The calling of a life unerased in meaning. On his tongue the snow would fall without grace. He was dying once more in front of himself. Looking out and looking in.
Convulsing and choking from the ashes, he rose again, the breaking of bones and forming renewal, all on the breath of a morning dawn, the skies crying out in succession of the hellion new shed from the skin, the mold from which this new figure emerge. The streaking of tears down the hollows of a face he could feel on the mask of his own, the lights dancing of a pelt peppered with the sands of an aging memory. A statuette to marvel yet just as it should be, the wings on the back breaking through the skin, spreading through the crimson to a length as feathers extended to the luminous horizon. Angels to cut the souls of the damned from their plight and bodies, demons to claim their shells to the fiery reaches of a nameless hell, lost to a speech of fear. Emotion to lap at the edges of a mad unsavored, lost in the expanse of a time unfavored. Yet standing before the mare was something that only could be praised with poetry, yet even that would not be able to tell. It was neither Elemental in composure nor pose, nor was it demon or earthy. The Stranger of Our Holocaust rising from the twisted shadows of himself, from the blinding morning light, the rays a halo about his shaded mane, the darkness and fire gone from his feat. Like a ballet to be danced without composer nor music, like to fly without the use of the wings. He had been breathing spite to return for the next day, yet in the flames of the purgatory he had been assigned something had been brought from demise. Cut from the flames was a figure unreached, yet the stallion was not favored in circumstance. The pale horse looked on without expression, with the need or contemplation, and Stranger could feel its presence and breath on his skin, but it could not touch what had been given in sin. Resolution for penance or a plague unjust, yet the bottomless eyes would seek not to poison nor purge. For in the time of the manner he saw her once more, the lifting of heart so felt like before. It was like it was something none could understand, words forsaken with abandon for none could even try to grasp a meaning without definition, a song without lyrics. And he was crying again, the cascade of tears, the rivulets from his eyes, the warmth tainting his pelting, the hollows above his eyes. Imperfections made flawlessness, and he wished to drink her in once more. What was this love leading forth to? A road twisting with bounds.
Yet Stranger was not even an angel, just a being with the right to wings and not to knowing. Wisdom to escape a fate chained to the lease of death, yet the holding of another to dismiss all fears with the breath of a curse. No longer would he serve his part in the dead man's ballet, for love had given him life again, for he had died again. Making that lives for him to forget, as though he would know once more. Avengers would lay broken on the sides of ladder steps, yet he had climbed, against the odds of his nature, to the ruined remains of the golden gates, though they seemed unpassable at times. The world was plagued with wreck and ruin, but it seemed pointless to argue with such happenings. He was not a puppet to the broken, nor the damned, though those nightmares still hovered without reach like an endless and ceaseless stream on the edges of his eyes. Nine lives to be sheltered, forsaken or broken, yet this one was the one that counted. Cautiously, he tucked the newly brought wings close to his form, lowering his head slightly to take another step to Aithne. His love, the one who had brought he back from the brink of the edge of the cliff of the forgotten, ended his spite with this fanciful thing. I love you, she said, with the aching of her heart in his throat with the beating of his own. The fractured things less than splinters to his heart. Love to be golden and cast through the veins. He wanted to scream it to the heavens, to give mockery to hell for the flames. Yet he was silent with his tears and the summoning of a smile. Love was the poison to cure all things fallen.
I love you, he said, though his heart was in ruins.
I can't recall, she said, though there was something about it,
I'll never leave you, he said, for he knew it was the truth,
I love you, she said, and they knew it was right.
My heart belongs to you in the confines of this night.
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[/color] Muse: Battered and intact.
OOC: Back from the brink.
Music: My Chemical Romance {Anything and Everything} [/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by L Y N X ! on Aug 7, 2011 21:45:29 GMT -5
The relief of those three words she spoke, bringing a sudden new purpose and meaning to her being as she said them. To love, and to have someone love you back, was the best feeling in the world. It soothed her troubles to come to terms with herself, and for a moment, she felt almost..heavenly. The stars above even seemed to shine their approval, sparkling like millions of silver sequins on dark fabric. She looked to Stranger to share that mutual moment of peace, but was surprised to what she found there. His expression turned into something of pain, before suddenly he was away from her before she could even blink, and exploded into flame. Her squeal of surprise echoed through the dark grounds, stirring the dead silence of the hour, as she tried to reach out to help him, but the inferno was even too hot for her. What was this witchcraft? Had the demons called him back to Hell now that he had no longer that malevolent purpose in mind? It took it a moment for it to sink in as she watched, helpless, as the fire consumed her dear Shiminege. She should have expected it, she thought, with an ultimate feeling of loss; the Devil didn't like to be cheated. She soon experianced the same feelings, ten fold, when she heard that he had been murdered. Grief, horror, and most of all - rage. How dare they hurt her darling? It was a rude awakening, a slap to the face. Her skin practically began to crawl with the itch to do harm, to defend. But with bodies burning, what was there left?
The fire bent and twisted in odd shapes, strange shadows shifting beneath the surface, a magic illusion. Confusion. There was no scent of burning flesh - nor even an outcry from Stranger himself. Curious, indeed. There was a sliver of hope that perhaps he was alive, though she couldn't promise herself that. The inferno that was hot on her face and skin then suddenly melted away as fast as it had come, and she gasped at the sight she found left behind. Her love, left unharmed, but with a pair of beautiful wings. Oh, how fitting it was. No longer a beast, but a beauty of angelic nature. All previous heightened emotions faded into giddy relief that was eminent in her gaze as he drew his wings to his body. She searched for words but failed to find them. What was there possibly to say? He had been blessed, and that was the best she could ask for him. She smiled tenderly at his tears and the peak of his own smile, and stepped toward him, closing the distance that seperated them once more. "Are you alright?" she asked him softly as she lowered her head, seeking to brush her velvet muzzle against his, assuring his safety. She had been so scared that she had lost him again, but now, it was rest assured that from now on, things would be normal. Besides, of course, that her mate sported a pair of wings.
song: hurricane - 30 seconds to mars
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Post by Storeh on Aug 13, 2011 10:52:34 GMT -5
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Faulting without remittance to the sancutary ended by the turbulance of warring worlds, a requiem that in scarred hands scathed by the wrath of heathen gods collected something more than just the pardons of a dream. In ways it was in like with the purifying flames of a purgatory held in denial, apart with the weeping of fallen seraphim that knelt when the shards to be presented. Patched with sworn thread Shiminege had been haphazordly reworked into the hem of his life, carefully skittering past the edges of a reckless abandon, basking in a light where borders dare not be crossed. Velveteen with odd matched silken whiskers with a warm akin to flame, yet the flames from a hell that the stag had known where not in the same as kindred. Seamlessly there he should stand, like a statuette that had marked in its own place, with fabricated images dancing off the corridors of his mind. Channels in which passed through nightmares that held no bounds, grounding features then to fade with the touch that harbored something more than a faithless love. Life and death set apart could then no erase what was held within her eyes, as though in the speculation of her gaze he had then drank from the golden cup, bathed in the holiest of waters to be purged more so than the heavens claimed. Brought from the chambers of a heart battered with the tears of sacrifice, yet there was not a substance he felt more heartily, nor anything that would have thought to be then sweeter. Speech was a spinning cog in a machine ready to revolt, yet each reprise of her voice was an choir sent to the skies, lingering with the traces of ash as he was, brushed then from his peppered coat. How many times would he remember the lives wallowing in lives or the pain they had not justly suffered? For him an eternity was united in the blink of an eye.
'I am...fine.'These where the words chastised or then unrequested to pass from those so pondered of lips, reply for the question of an inquiry so freely to be jested. Yet the voice to then be summoned was something in itself revived, a musical note hidden in the hushes of familiar a whisper that was more than he could easily remind. It was the murmur of something to shush the cheers, a voice that reminded more so than he cared of the days fallen past without a glance in return for the payment. It was his own, the broken tone of a funeral bell so idly mistaken when heard for the wedding to a fault. The carrying of widow’s tears as though to remark on what was lost from their own, a pause in the making for breath. A brain was left reeling with the wasted moments of his own stupor, yet the so hastily remarked succession was yet to be reveled in. Cherished by himself then with the smallest of breathless laughter upon something one would never but realize they had indeed missed, the things to slip past that he once took for granted. Another breath to be taken as the subjected of needs, with his mate granted with her own stance, a witness in something he had yet to explain, for it was hard to grasp the unbelievable. Possibility to plausiblity to be taken with the sands of times, for the past then unraveled what occurred in the unimagined, for it was there that the true tests then lay.
The road that wound out before a pair so star crossed without fault or innocence, twisted with volley and forked with impudence blasted straight from the salvation unscathed. A tale of desolation they had breathed in live, sparks to ignite the fires that mistook pain for destiny in the darkness of a momentumental night, as though a single chose could then change the path intitled. Yet here it was that they stood. Shadows to stretch towards the heavens with the goodbyes to be passed between lips, yet forever words to be pardoned, forgotten with the gathering of ash. Roses might be wilting in the frost of the winters, the changing of those seasons brought without speaking, a single eye casting to the weather for the welcoming of good news for a change. It was the twist of the knife and the kiss of true love, the ashes of the beloved and the resting of the souls, but Stranger new this was the ending for a beginning that would stretch on without timeless middle, no conclusion for the wicked with the newest of constition. Resolution forgotten in the flames of revolution, the replaying of history burdening on himself, though now there was the burden to be splitten and halved, shared without pain, though emotion to the splendor. He was at home with the tears of the savior, with the time he had ticking so restlessly in mind, it was Athine alone to change all the tides. Their story was unfolding before the misery subsided, yet the bonds would nought be broken.
Love was for one only.
Not to be broken but to be shared.
Easing towards the endings.
When the beginning looms so near.
Twisted into the hounds.
Bedlam may call.
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[/color] Muse: Battered and intact.
OOC: Back from the brink.
Music: My Chemical Romance {Anything and Everything} [/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center] |
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Post by L Y N X ! on Aug 17, 2011 18:44:48 GMT -5
Aww! Well anyway I think it would be best we just end the thread here <3 So epic.
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