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Psyphire
1 1,221 M Little Steps 3
PathStep 97 Compassion hearts64 Forum posts110 Forum upvotes112 Current upvotes112 Age GroupAdult Last activeNovember, 2024 Member sinceJanuary 26, 2018
Recent forum posts
Writing Exercise?
Reading & Writing / by Psyphire
Last post
 September 23rd
...See more I don't have a title for this piece. Just wrote down whatever came to mind for an hour. Suggestions are welcome. Hope it is a little enjoyable. The vast valley is vacant and silent, save the distant hoot of an owl. No sign of the Rabbits, deer and foxes that would normally roam the fields. Not a single bird in the sky. Nothing around for miles except snow covered ground, and a gentle snowfall was all that remained from the blizzard that just subsided.  With a groan, a woman emerges from the abandoned fox hole where they sheltered the storm and begins trudging ever so slowly in the knee high snow. She is wrapped in an old puffy snowsuit, although large, it is patched in multiple places and is barely keeping her warm. In the distance was the ice capped peak of a single massive crescent shaped mountain that was her destination. Today would be her only chance to reach Mound's Mountain. The icy snow makes her hands and feet burn with a painful numbing effect. She fights to stumble along as fast and as far as she can, despite tears running from her emerald green eyes.   She finally reaches the foot of the mountain and the small cave that leads into its depths. She coughs up a bit of blood, she had little time to admire the scenery. It is surprisingly dry inside; the crisp clean air is soothing to her otherwise numb senses. An inviting breeze comes from within. She loses her footing many times on the sloped floors. The path splits, looking to the walls she finds some ancient writing. It is rather long and verbose, but listed the exact path she would need to take. Going deeper her eyes strain to see anything in the ever increasing darkness, and has to rely on her already weakened sense of tough. Soon the rocks and dirt beneath her feet became flatter and easier to traverse as she meandered even deeper into the maze. It was now so dark, the only way she could navigate was from the sporadic ancient markings on the wall that told her she was going the right way.  An hour in, the floors became even and stable and she could feel the cobblestone beneath her. Torches on the walls flickered to life. before her. The hallway before her had seen better days, the tapestries on the walls and the red carpet on the floors were covered in a thick layer of dust. The marble floors beneath her feet had not seen a mop or wax in nearly a millennium. Even the ornate wooden doors at the far end of the hall was clearly in need of repair with one askew on its hinges and the other missing its knocker.  In the center of the room beyond the doors is a tiny marble pedestal with an oddly massive crystal moon sitting on top of it. This crystal is the ancient altar of the moon goddess. “I am Melora, Luna of the Blood Crescent City.” A woman appears on top of the crystal. Her long silver hair covers her entire form save a single pitch black eye gazing into her soul with venom. “Yes. Your city and their neighbors are full of traitors. They have killed many of my blessed in rebellion to me.” “I am not here to atone for their sins. I seek a blessing.” “You wish to have me bless you? Your body is so weak” “I have made my way to the most remote altar of the continent in this ‘weak’ vessel.” “Your determination and resolve are noted. But that is not enough a reason for me to choose for you a blessing” “I have already been chosen by you!” Mystica opens her hand to show an intricate scar in the shape of a fan. She gazes into the mark on her hand “Yes I recognize this mark. I had my love curse this mark to protect the person it was bestowed to. Seems like it worked, barely.” “Cursed?” “This mark that labels you an Alpha is the mark of a special Vulpine. Had you had a blessing, your 'people' would have killed you the second you transformed at 8 years old.” “You mean 18?” “Werefoxes are a little… special in how they operate.”  “So I will have a lot of catching up to do then?” “You amuse me. I can see why you were chosen. Come for your blessing.”
A place to think... and let go
Trauma Support / by Psyphire
Last post
 August 21st
...See more I have no idea how any of this will help. but as things have recently become a little harder to bear, I feel like crying, but have no space to do so freely at the moment. the best I can do is ramble on about what bothers me, and hope someone understands me. I hate perfection as much as I hate failure and yet I was both at the same time. I was the favorite of my parents, but never so important that they actually tried. I could remember the days when my father would make me write and rewrite my homework until my handwriting until it was close to perfect... and even then it was not good enough. I remember the constant nights I would cry over my math homework because I was constantly distracted in class and wrote slowly which in turn earned me a few bullies. I hated my bullies and all my homework did was remind me of them so I would rush my homework, only to rewrite it and the pattern continued until I was beaten to submission. I remember complaining to my parents, only to be told I was a coward for not beating my bullies senseless and not having thick enough skin to ignore their jeers. I have been beaten with bottles and belts, ironing boards and bicycle pumps, spoons and wires for nothing more than looking at a boy with admiration or failing to focus on my work and watched my mother cry long nights after being told she was fat as a reason my father was cheating with the twins across the street. I have watched her cook the last of the rice in the house to feed us and sat there starving until I lied about how full I was. I have stayed up late nights to watch the sunrise hoping that someone would burn the school next door so I would not have to go. I have swallowed my pain and pride as my mother told me she could not afford to switch my school to somewhere more diverse for monetary reasons, despite the fact I was showing severe signs of depression and every teacher, counselor and social worker I met begged her to do so. I could still remember her gloating to all her friends that I was her only perfect child, I did not have anger issues like my brothers, I was not the one with ADHD, nor was I the one with hearing problems. I was the only one to never get left back, adorned by parents and teachers alike. I was the goody two shoes, the one everyone wanted to compare their child to. I was often told by others that they could not stand how perfect I was, that my smile drove them insane. it hurt they could not see my pain, but then again I worked so hard to hide it. I have never let my mother down, but I was the utmost failure to my father, being told by him many times "you are not my daughter" only for his tune to change the very next time I saw him. I graduated High school, but had no motivation to go to college that was not fueled by making my father happy, I dropped out. I got married early to get away from my parents, but now my husband is leaving me. the pain and anguish I have held for years with little breakage is pouring out before me like a broken dam and I feel more like a failure than I ever did before. I am so far behind for a 26 year old and I have no Idea where to even start. sometimes I pray God would just end my existence so I would never have to face the failure I have become. until I find a way to cope, all I can do is pretend I am fine. the forest has already burned to the ground, what else can possibly go wrong?
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