musingmaiden

I am me. Not it.

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~Velut Luna~: Chapter 9 - The Embrace

A few inches of nondescript ivory stone were all that had separated them for the past few days. Aizen had held a second audience with Ulquiorra three days ago. Orihime did not know what had been discussed, but ever since then, he had never been far from her room. Dark shadows had appeared beneath his eyes, and he seemed even more distant than usual, lethargic even. She couldn't imagine that this was physical tiredness. Could he even sleep? Perhaps he could. Despite knowing that Wonderweiss slept, she still wasn't sure if Ulquiorra did. "You seem tired." "I am fine." "Maybe you should go…sleep?" "Don't trouble yourself, onna."

All

18 deviations

Literature

~Yogen-sha~: Chapter 1 - Second Death

The crowns of the trees blocked out any daylight unfiltered by the deep viridian green of the surrounding Forest of Death. Karin panted, clutching at a stitch in her side, her arms slick with a sweat that made the chill forest even colder. She wasn't surprised they'd left her alone. The three of them had never been close, what with her being so quiet and timid. She had few skills in ninjutsu and taijutsu, though her skills as a Sensor were unparalleled in her village. They probably figured she'd be useless in a fight to retrieve a Scroll of Heaven if she couldn't adequately defend herself, so they left her behind. They didn't hate her. Thin

Featured

8 deviations

Literature

Don Juan's Ghost

"Don Juan Tenorio flashes a grin, a rose clamped in the vise of his jaw. He reeks of perfume so you know where he's been – Don Juan Tenorio flashes a grin. Over each stainless maidenhood he's ever held sway; his rakish gaze purports all that he saw. Don Juan Tenorio flashes a grin, a rose clamped in the vise of his jaw." So read the ditty I stumbled across, An inscription 'neath a frontispiece, I couldn't bear to look at the dross A bacchanal, not refined in the least. But in the midst of the carousing mob, A pair of leering eyes did snare My wanton and capricious gaze – Brooking no dissent, it kept it there. Th

Original Work

5 deviations

Literature

~Velut Luna~: Chapter 9 - The Embrace

Fanfiction

10 deviations

Literature

~Blood Will Out~: Chapter 2 - The Parasite

Kiyoshi pulled his cloak tighter against his slight frame, the frame of a boy not yet a man, about sixteen years of age, one would have to guess. Seated in meditation on the frozen river's bank, he considered the barren landscape, his eyes almost white as the snow that covered it, but with the faintest hint of icy blue. Lord Sato was a kindly man, he thought. He had taken him in as an orphan, raised him to be one of his samurai, and ensured he lacked for nothing. But every day his face grew more sallow and he had begun to give off a strange, metallic odor. He was never himself. By day, he moped in his private chambers, and could not be bother

Blood Will Out

2 deviations

~Yogen-sha~: Chapter 1 - Second Death by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

~Yogen-sha~: Chapter 1 - Second Death

~Blood Will Out~: Chapter 1 - The Skinwalker by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

~Blood Will Out~: Chapter 1 - The Skinwalker

The sickle moon cast its spell in a shallow pool of tired white light beneath her feet. This was the first time Kaya's foster father and brother had allowed her along on one of their hunting expeditions, and she was lost. That morning, she had been captivated by the play of the morning sun on the snow. So, while her family slept, she had gone down into the valley, a sea of snow that already undulated and shimmered in the feeble light of dawn. She had stopped to admire every icicle that graced the forest canopy, filtering that light, twisting it into a stream of patterns thrown against the lesser white of the snow, shifting and changing with

Don Juan's Ghost by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

Don Juan's Ghost

~Velut Luna~: Chapter 1 - The Millstone by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

~Velut Luna~: Chapter 1 - The Millstone

The sickle moon cast its spell in a shallow pool of tired white light beneath her feet. She had slept all day. Or had she? The moon, fixed in its post like any good sentinel, never left her cell's window. She had no sense of time here, not even that attuned to thirst and hunger, since those had all but deserted her. Her possessions constituted a Spartan state of affairs, not that that bothered her: a surprisingly comfortable couch, a toilet. She slept on the couch and did little else. Meantime, Ulquiorra Cifer, as fixed and invariable as the Las Noches moon, brought food to her cell and expected her to eat it. She did so, with difficulty, an

The Olive Tree by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

The Olive Tree

Quoth Telemachus, "The busy bee, the avid ant each diligent, each vigilant, proliferate: they propagate, promulgate and educate. O, if I were a grunt or drone I'd have a purpose - tend my own - but man is more disparate still than teeming honeycomb or hill. Man is a gnat perambulent his motives all incongruent his death a spasm transient his life truly inconsequent." Quoth Mentor, "Give me your gnats, your vapid midges, for with knowledge I build bridges from the stagnant, tepid fens to the School of Athens. Each man an ore so malleable! His intellect invaluable, his tempered will a treasure still, wrought by a sm

Ungeziefer by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

Ungeziefer

"There are two main human sins from which all the others derive: impatience and indolence. It was because of impatience that they were expelled from Paradise; it is because of indolence that they do not return. Yet perhaps there is only one major sin: impatience. Because of impatience they were expelled, because of impatience they do not return." – Franz Kafka, Aphorisms (1918) The creature wakes. It is surprised (it is not a very bright creature) – it had expected something different: a certain tension alleviated by the fluid unfolding of limbs enwrapped in musty sheets smelling of unmeasured breaths; sinew, perhaps. But the

To the Monarch Butterfly by musingmaiden, literature

Literature

To the Monarch Butterfly

horizontally through the wrought-iron netting of your wings the jealous sun is winnowed its lifeblood flows unstaunched into and out of you poorly-conceived sieve distiller of daylight, that gilded molasses lingering, a molten phlegm on the lip of the canopic jar to be hoarded by us mortals screwed shut with a lid shaped from the bust of some simian figure thrust bodily into the crypt, a marble ingot which has been exchanged for a lifetime's supply of solar viscera in the afterlife the yellow bile of the sun we shall pour out and watch as the long hours of our daytimes liquefy the packed earth in terms of months w