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Ch1- Just a Prisoner
Tessa groaned. Her head throbbed at the back, and her body was sore from lying on a stone floor all night. She didn't question the fact that she was indeed on a bare stone floor, as she hadn't rented a room at the city's inn that night and had slept at the back of the kitched instead. She simply lay there a few more moments before the sound of footsteps had her sitting up and opening her eyes.
I'm not in a kitchen, was her only thought as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. I'm in a cell. What the hell? She looked around her small cell, and it was definitely a cell. Iron shackles hung from the rock ceiling, and an iron door blocked what was apparently the only exit. A small shabby wooden table and a single chair were tucked away in a corner, and high above her was a small window with three bars preventing even the smallest thought of escape. She absently scratched the back of her head, and cursed when she pressed against the lump at the back of her neck.
Point giveaway~! Winners!Hiiii~!
Since I got a lot of points I don't need, I decided to give away some
I will give away a total of 333 points!
3 members will each get 111 from me ^^
To qualify yourself, you need to watch me AND comment on this journal.
Write one sentence about something you like, for example "I like cake"
Only ONE comment per person, spammers will be ignored.
This willl end the 20th of January~ (TOMORROW)
Good luck ^^
Wow, there was many comments to choose from..
Scrolled trough the side and chose random deviants my mouse landed on.
New giveaway the 15th of February~! For those who didn't win can enter next time c:
Un roti de Cupidon"Patron.. je suis pas sûr que ça soit une si bonne idée..."
Un bruissement d'ailes presque froufroutant sur sa gauche le fit se retourner d'un bond, mais il ne put percevoir qu'un bref mouvement du coin de l'oeil. Ils étaient rapides, bien trop rapides. Jamais le vieux ne réussirait. De nouveau ce bruit soyeux, semblable à des ailes de tourterelles, mais bien plus proche. Dans son esprit il pouvait les voir, tournant au dessus de sa tête comme autant de vautours prêts à la curée.
Le bruit assourdi des détonations résonna et tout autour d'Emmanuel une pluie de plumes commença à virevolter tandis que cinq bruits sourds accompagnaient la chute d'autant de corps autour de lui.
"Ramasse les, petit. On a encore du boulot."
Avec une grimace mi admirative, mi dégoûtée, le jeune homme se mit au travail, enfilant des lourds gants de cuir pour se protéger. Son sup
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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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