TheRedForest
Serf
- Local time
- Today 4:35 PM
- Messages
- 1
Red is the color of love. Beating hearts and hungry lips. Roses, Valentines, cherries. Red is the color of shame. Crimson cheeks and spilled blood. Broken hearts, opened veins. A burning desire to return to white."
― Mary Hogan
I have been this way for as long as I can remember.
To write, ramble, spill, and bleed upon blank pages is not a want or desire for me, but rather it becomes such a need that my own teeth set themselves against each other. While others simply see story, fetish, or escapism in their works, for me it is the closest that two can ever get to being a deity. We take from each other the pigments of words, and dip our fine brushes into the charcoal outlines of intentions. We dabble and draw into existence lives, life, and purpose into a void of nothing more then the reflection of our screens.
Some would call us writers.
Some would dismiss it by merely calling it roleplay.
Some would even look down on us.
Though that isn't the shape of it is it?
We plant seeds into the damp earth.
We watch as vines, towering oaks, and blossoms spread.
We are gardeners of a thousand dreams.
We are tenders of countless outstretched limbs that reach for the sky.
We are the ones who plant forests.
Mine simply happen to bloom in a thousand variations of red.
Basics
Genre of stories - Any that leave phantoms lingering on my fingertips as I write them.
Style - 1000+ words, long winded, wordy, and dramatic.
Interests - Music, art, words, and Path of Exile.
Dislikes - Rude people, demands, and hatred.
As always my fellow explorers,
my name is Red, and now...
Now, it is time to begin.
my name is Red, and now...
Now, it is time to begin.