Submission (#46) Approved
User
Prompt
Submitted
17 February 2024, 08:19:57 CET (10 months ago)
Processed
17 February 2024, 11:54:38 CET (10 months ago) by Licht
Comments
[The house in the Wildwoods is redundant]
Rye’s house is empty. That is meant… almost literally.
He doesn’t live a life of minimalism. However, the occasions he stays in the Wildwoods are scarce. The entirety of his (important) belongings fit in a picnic basket. That basket is whisked away with him upon each travel, and his room is not among his destinations. If he has to be home, he keeps the lights off. And once he leaves, the lights are flicked on: a beacon in the dark. Sure, there’s a window on the east side of the room’s wall, but the hill right outside is far better for observing the stars. There is a desk beneath the sill, but he can write perfectly well on the go — the tea tray in his basket is often used as a pseudo clipboard.
[…except for its ability to hold bygone memories. ]
Despite his lack of sentimentality, Rye keeps the gifts he received from past contractors. He doesn’t display them nor cart them around openly. He stores them privately, and his room is the collateral of his collection. It is filled with things that pile the pillows and coat the covers. The trinkets, the jewels, and the letters. They add up from contracts spanning lifetimes. The bed is claimed by them. It’s no matter; he doesn’t usually rest, especially not among memories.
His true room is whichever his current contractor provides within their home. Occasionally, it is shared between the two of them, if that is what the contractor desires. While the bed in Wildwood cools, he is out there, stoking the fires of a mortal. He swells the lantern crammed within their chest until it balloons. They soar above his flame. He brings them closer and closer to the sun on artificial wings until their wax feathers melt. They drown just like he did. But at least, in their life, they reveled in the hedonism of unlimited possibility.
We sometimes view the sun as special. But we sometimes forget the sun is a star, a piece of a greater category. It is the proximity that makes it “ours.” It is the deal that brings a kyr into being a contractor’s own. A personal wishing star amidst the blue.
In the Wildwoods, Iyaervin’s lights are on. Warm. Inviting.
There is no one home.
Rye’s house is empty. That is meant… almost literally.
He doesn’t live a life of minimalism. However, the occasions he stays in the Wildwoods are scarce. The entirety of his (important) belongings fit in a picnic basket. That basket is whisked away with him upon each travel, and his room is not among his destinations. If he has to be home, he keeps the lights off. And once he leaves, the lights are flicked on: a beacon in the dark. Sure, there’s a window on the east side of the room’s wall, but the hill right outside is far better for observing the stars. There is a desk beneath the sill, but he can write perfectly well on the go — the tea tray in his basket is often used as a pseudo clipboard.
[…except for its ability to hold bygone memories. ]
Despite his lack of sentimentality, Rye keeps the gifts he received from past contractors. He doesn’t display them nor cart them around openly. He stores them privately, and his room is the collateral of his collection. It is filled with things that pile the pillows and coat the covers. The trinkets, the jewels, and the letters. They add up from contracts spanning lifetimes. The bed is claimed by them. It’s no matter; he doesn’t usually rest, especially not among memories.
His true room is whichever his current contractor provides within their home. Occasionally, it is shared between the two of them, if that is what the contractor desires. While the bed in Wildwood cools, he is out there, stoking the fires of a mortal. He swells the lantern crammed within their chest until it balloons. They soar above his flame. He brings them closer and closer to the sun on artificial wings until their wax feathers melt. They drown just like he did. But at least, in their life, they reveled in the hedonism of unlimited possibility.
We sometimes view the sun as special. But we sometimes forget the sun is a star, a piece of a greater category. It is the proximity that makes it “ours.” It is the deal that brings a kyr into being a contractor’s own. A personal wishing star amidst the blue.
In the Wildwoods, Iyaervin’s lights are on. Warm. Inviting.
There is no one home.
Rewards
| Reward | Amount |
|---|---|
| Cinder | 700 |
Characters
MYO-023: Rye
No rewards set.