here is some writing for one of my eldritch ocs!! shes kind of like a dragon. ))

Before mana existed and before the earths bled blue, before the stars rained gas and the galaxy bled black.
Her jaws cracked open the black humming stones. Each brick vibrated with the non-matter of life to taste the disciples love.
Her tail was the river they poured planets, and upon the river lay the quills she adorned, standing like pillars. Quills made of the knives of one million dead children of the cosmos. Her wings plunged through the world, around the world and betwixt the sky and stars. webbed and furred, torn but not shredded, her wings were only there when the light was wrong. A shield to protect her children and vanquish the men who did not belong. Her scales like a blood-stained moon, glittering and hollow, and red all over. She oozed blackness from where she stood, a mountainous beast for all to see, bearing the sword were her breast lay, a scabbed inorganic gold that seemed more like solid matter than anything else in this world. The gold, a sheathe for The Old Father’s sword that once flaked Her scales into an infestation where Her forearms lay. A sickness that dragon-spoken creature embraced as she had once cremated their skies red with the sword marked for anguish and brought down the end of the Old Father’s reign. I felt my hairs stand on end. I felt a whisper before my fellow soldier met his eyes upon the sword. The screaming, chattering and whispering was like one hundred shrieking banshees in my head and to feel the sword through the reflection in his eyes made me numb and drop to my knees. His poor face contorted into unseen levels of terror beneath his helmet. I could feel his life, stolen away in an instant of pure fear and frenzied terror. Not a moment to fight back. My soldier’s body lay limp. I couldn’t help but share a glance at the Red Sword and for that I too, would be dead, and rotten with madness.

The Amazon rainforest’s trees may soon die off en masse, researchers warn. According to a 20-year satellite study published yesterday (March 7) in Nature Climate Change, the famous forest is exhibiting signs of poor health that could mean large portions of it will become savannah in the near future. Such an ecological shift could happen quickly, Timothy M. Lenton, a coauthor on the study and a director of the Global Systems Institute at the University of Exeter, tells CNN. “My hunch, for what it’s worth, (is that) it could happen in the space of decades.”

“The Amazon is a custodian of biodiversity and possesses a vital ability to pull in carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, so it is clearly concerning that its health is deteriorating as human-caused deforestation and climate change metes out increasingly potent and harmful impacts on the ecosystem,” University of Reading climate scientist Richard Allan, who was not involved in the study, says in a statement to the Science Media Centre (SMC).

What is worse in the forest? Imagining the blood in the scenes on the tree bark and grass or the idea of it all. You turn, and there lies lovely deer peacefully playing on mostly green and blue areas. Yet, through your mind's eyes as you prance and walk the terrors and horrors surround you. Is unfair to only observe that without emotion so as to incorporate it in the forest symbolically? I always pondered why the sand soil contained red near the playground. Is somebody's blood spilled unfairly on the ground and the rocks are a place to hide when it is all too much to process. More horrible if not spoken, not drawn is it not? In a deer community another's pain too horrible for that deer to speak can be drawn, acted out or spoken by another. Or like fawns do turned into play. Yet though a deer is gone others remember and mention when they come back or go the graveyard and refresh the memory. Art and deer live on in the forest.

The empty void I see when I hurry past the open well fills me with horror, more than once I’ve had to rediscover that the nightmares which plague me in daydream just cannot be thwarted. If ever I sleep, it is thick and dark, and if too I dream I remember nothing.

Sometimes the work of my own imagination sprouts legs and runs after me… others’ imagines have been commenced at times, but then abandoned in my brain. Nobody but me is as skilled in the craft of self-induced terror (then again if otherwise it wouldn’t be self-induced at all). Nobody understands it in the way that I do.

All those invisible horrors.

The monstrous trees give me safety and their shadows whisper words of comfort. Outside, here, the air is filled with the fragrance of something more

the moonlight floods my body with a ghostly warmth, unlike any cold white light inside here ever could.

I lean towards it closer, clinging to the edges of the rock til morning.