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The leaves had fallen so fast. A drizzle of rain was all it took for the trees to give up their color, and then soon enough snow would blanket the ground in a frozen wasteland. The thick smoke of her pipe swirled into the air, and her boots tenativley whispered on the cold pavement; free hand shoved deep in the pocket of her black wool military jacket. A quick visit to the "Alice in Wonderland" statue, and a stroll in the park always helped clear her mind. Silver eyes studied the bronze, her hand pulled the pipe away from her red lips. Contemplation.

Not long ago, a year maybe? No. Three? She had found a mini voodoo princess on the streets of the city. It seemed like mere hours had passed since they shared Thanksgiving together, with her uncle, father, and a legion of other tragedies. The corner of her lip curled to think the package would reach the child's apartment soon. Full of spooky candies, home made baked goods, and other halloween treasures. She turned her face to the west, as if hoping for a glimpse of the plane. The setting sun made her ghostly skin glow. They had left for California, no amount of resentment would change what she missed so dearly. A blondie, who cleaned up his act. And his girl; a beautiful young woman, with a tattoo of a fish. A few cards were sent out to them.

Her mind turned dust-covered pages to find a girl with curling blonde hair. White gloves, a carefree smile, and excellent taste in poetry. Ah, yes. The woman locked eyes with the larger-than-life bronze gaze of Alice seated atop a giant mushroom, and she smiled again, remembering the young woman's hunger for adventure. If she could only go back. Tea in beautiful gardens, the warmth of the sun on lace and silk, the shamelessness of giggling like children.

And finally, the immortal turned her attention to a captain with firey red hair, a taste for rum, and star-filled moonless nights.

Last part of Act IV

The caribou walked along, his eyes watching the birds and trees as he passed them by. He smiled at the nature around him here. The Forest was a beautiful place, he was happy to have found such a lovely land.

As he walked, a root caught his hoof. He tripped over it, and his antlers collided with a tree close by. As he straightened up, he realized he had scratched into the tree, leaving a deep in the bark. It was already starting to seep resin.

"Oh I am so sorry! Here, let me help you...", Snowshoe spoke, and using his hooves, he collected dirt from the ground and packed it in the scratches. He did his best to mend the tree so it would be just as beautiful as it was before he tripped.

Happy with his good deed, he continued on. But as he walked, he heard a whisper in the wind. "Snowshoe...I love you, Snowshoe..."

"Hmm?", he looked around, unsure where the voice was coming from. He kept going, his eyes scanning around in case he heard it again.

"Snowshoe...you are my one love..."

The caribou jumped and looked around once again. There was no deer close by. He must be imagining things.

But he felt vines crawling up his legs. Looking down, he saw different plants blooming beneath his hooves. Jumping, he ran, the vines breaking but entangling his legs as they held on. He ran as far as he could, the voice continuing to call him.

"Snowshoe...come back, Snowshoe...come back..."

He wasn't watching where he was going, and his hoof tripped over a root.

He had run in circles. As he raised his head, he saw the tree that he had scratched, but only this time, it had different markings that had been cut into the bark.

His pictogram.

The caribou was unable to get up in time, as the grass and vines entangled him. He struggled to break free, but he was engulfed and pulled closer to the tree.

Just gonna work on some art and prolly stream some video

www.livestream.com/alinaquil88

For Kaoori's contest =]

...and let me love you to death.



We are all terrified of something. We can't help it. The second we step into sentience, into knowing right from wrong, the ability to form words, we start to learn.

Fear comes from memories, really. We start to become afraid when we can remember what it is that we fear.

Perhaps we are afraid of the dark places, the dark spaces beneath our beds, the crack of a child's closet door. Perhaps we are afraid of these things because darkness represents the inability to see, and when we cannot see, we cannot face the unknown.

We are all afraid of the unknown.

Or perhaps we fear the sight of the stars - no, no. It is not the stars that we fear, but the gaping, spanning spaces between them, the yawning darkness that we cannot perceive.

One might be afeared of dreams - because most cannot control that which takes place in that sacred space between waking and sleeping. It's all an illusion, but it has meaning, bearing on our lives. More often than not, we cannot grasp what that meaning is - and that terrifies some.

What if your dreams were telling you you were mad?

Many grow out of their fears. We fear things as children because we are ignorant - and with age, we learn that there are no monsters in the closet and beneath the beds. Over time, we are taught of the planets, the stars, the spanning universes - and while there's something to be said about the thought of all of that space, it's relatively fleeting, in the grand scheme of things. We accept the stars, the huge shapes made of ice, dust, and gas, filling the sky with beautiful colors.

And dreams?

They're just dreams.

And all of these things, they seemed unimportant to a deer like Wesker. He'd been through - and survived - so much worse. Nightmares and dreamspaces, the sprawling of the stars - even the monsters, the skeletons that hid in one's closets? Sooner or later, they all die.

Halloween trade for Scythe.