Sorcha Kinnaird she/her // Commonwealth ...

info

booklet

ARCHIVES

character information

current state of affairs;

stuff stuff

friends/allies/enemies;

stuff stuff

about me;

stuff stuff

Y1

maiden fair

with Baelfire, Caspian

a new chapter

with Baelfire

archived threads

year 1

home is where the heart is

with Baelfire

errand run

with Baelfire

sea and sand

with Caspian

code by rae

The Poppy Meadows, as beautiful as they were, always filled the earthen girl with a sense of melancholy. To the inhabitants of Cyrileth it was common belief that the meadow had, at a point before known memory, been a great battlefield. Though no blood had been shed in many, many years, each red petaled flower was a reminder as to the horror that had taken place. It was the sight of the poppies that brought forth memories of Cyrileth’s most recent atrocity. The death of the Eldritch Tree, and subsequent fire had kept her away from Gêld - she did not want to risk angering the grieving deities any further by poking around a grave, so she would wait before she would return to access the damage to the wood, and mourn for the lost god. A gentle breeze flowed through the flowers, ruffling the young girl’s fur in the process. It was a welcoming embrace, enticing Sorcha to travel through the field. She soon discovered that she was not alone in the meadow. A figure lay amongst the poppies, the rich russet tones of their pelt ignited by the sun above them. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, she edged closer - enough to pick out that, by his scent, this was a young male. “Good afternoon.” she called to the stranger, announcing her presence should he be awake. "Speak"

Manip & Code by Kit. Stock from Khalliysgraphy

SORCHA Lorem ipsum? "someone speaking" "speaking"

table by rae - image by kit

SORCHA KINNAIRD

boo

table by rae - image by kit

All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true. One guy I knew really was shot in Dresden for taking a teapot that wasn't his. Another guy I knew really did threaten to have his personal enemies killed by hired gunmen after the war. And so on. I've changed all the names. I really did go back to Dresden with Guggenheim money (God love it) in 1967. It looked a lot like Dayton, Ohio, more open spaces than Dayton has. There must be tons of human bone meal in the ground. I went back there with an old war buddy, Bernard V. O'Hare, and we made friends with a cab driver, who took us to the slaughterhouse where we had been locked up at night as prisoners of war. His name was Gerhard Müller. He told us that he was a prisoner of the Americans for a while. We asked him how it was to live under Communism, and he said that it was terrible at first, because everybody had to work so hard, and because there wasn't much shelter or food or clothing. But things were much better now. He had a pleasant little apartment, and his daughter was getting an excellent education. His mother was incinerated in the Dresden fire-storm. So it goes. He sent O'Hare a postcard at Christmastime, and here is what it said: "I wish you and your family also as to your friend Merry Christmas and a happy New Year and I hope that we'll meet again in a world of peace and freedom in the taxi cab if the accident will." "If the accident will."

STOCK➤ Kati H on DawnthievesART+CODE➤ Amphi

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art & code by bean