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The Invisible Clown"End of the line!" they cackle and croak
They traded prize tickets for dagger and cloak
To the House of Mirrors, cornered alone
The invisible clown: unreflected, unknown.
Eaten by darkness, the whispers all fade
Dust slowly settles, sun darkened by shade
Hundreds of mirrors, all portals of shame
With nothing to copy, no face and no name.
Forgotten, to wither, the clown slowly dies
Until She appears, looks him right in the eyes
"You see me?" a whisper escapes from the night
Finger to lips, She dispels all his fright.
"I see you," She promises, taking his hand
Wood becomes stone and glass becomes sand
Dark becomes daylight and din becomes breeze
The clown becomes weakened and falls to his knees.
"You saw me," a whisper escapes once again
"I saw you," a brush of his cheek and a grin
His makeup is smudged, his wig slipping down
A face hides beneath the guise of a clown.
She kisses his forehead and washes away
The greasepaint and tears and the dirt of the day
Revealing the face of a scared
'Inner Turmoil' - 4Tenaron rounded a corner from the main hall into a vast tower-library, pausing momentarily to gawk at the elaborate architecture. The shelves extended upward at least fifty feet, and there were tall rolling ladders lining the perimeter. At the back of the chamber was a staircase leading up to two separate landings, each with fine arched entryways and filled with luminous treasures and even more books. A stained-glass dome skylight at the apex of the tower painted a spectacular mural of light across the white marble floor, an artistic depiction of Azeroth's solar system and all the known constellations.
"Goddess..." he whispered in awe as he beheld the grandeur of the library, and even his slight whisper echoed up the towering walls of books. He was never a great lover of literature, but this spectacle of craftsmanship appealed to his artist's heart. Something glinting upon the second landing caught his eye, and set his hooves moving briskly toward the staircase.
The bulky body he wore
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More