Think Pink

idk what this is it's cliche here you go

Lark’s iridescent green eyes had seen the world in a minute. The dragon was stirring after its thousand years of rest and, still in a dreamy stupor, it had crawled into Lark’s village two nights in a row. Left in its wake were the dead and a traceable path of
charred fields.

The fields that surrounded Lark’s village had always seemed so protective. Even invaders had been deterred by the expanse of green. Yet the dragon had crossed the fields and devastated the village in the span of a few nighttime hours.

Lark was drawn from her painful recollections by voices. Though they were out of her sight, they sounded near. Lark rose and followed the sound with childlike curiosity.

The elders had convened in the village square not far from Lark. None of them seemed to notice Lark as she approached.  “You remember the story! The dragon sleeps for one thousand years, then awakes to find its princess. It has long forgotten that she’s dead, so it destroys whatever is in its path until it is appeased.”

“Nothing could satiate that monster.” One of the elders shot back in disgust.

“The legends have it one thing can. The princess.”

“She’s dead! We can’t bring the dragon a dead girl.”

An old woman piped up. “The princess’s soul reincarnates into a young child.”

“We’d never know which child to pick! What would that help anyway? The dragon would just kill them. We need to look at this pragmatically. Let’s send a messenger to the king and ask him to send the army.”

“We need the princess.” The woman insisted wholeheartedly.

They argued on until one elder interrupted them. His voice was soft but gravelly, and cracked like it took a tremendous amount of effort to speak. “She is right. We need the reincarnation of that girl to please the dragon. The last time the dragon attacked, the girl with the princess’s soul was sent alone to face the dragon. She never returned, but neither did the dragon, until now.”

“Marona of the Western Field, we have no way of telling which girl is the one.” One of the elders protested.

“A girl of ten years, borne of the Calling Field.”

All of the elders stiffened at the thought. “There’s only one child in the village who was born in the Calling Field.”

“And she must return there to stop the dragon.”

Panic began to rise in Lark—Lark of the Calling Field. The overwhelming fear only lasted for a moment before a sense of peace spread throughout her body. A disembodied voice whispered to her soothingly. The dragon loves you. You’re simply returning home once 
more. It was a voice reminiscent of her mother's.

Where the voice emanated from Lark wasn’t sure, but something about the words felt right. Somehow the thought of facing that awful beast was almost… exciting. Lark cautiously stepped into the circle of elders. The old figures bowed their heads, though whether in regret or honor for her soul, Lark didn’t know.

The oldest of the elders, Marona of the Western Field, closed his eyes. “I knew you were eavesdropping, little one.” Before Lark could stammer out an apology, Marona continued. “Be that as it may, I’m glad you were, princess. I am to ask of you the greatest sacrifice.” His old grey eyes opened.  “To give up your most precious gift here.”

The gift of life.

“I’m supposed to meet the dragon in the Calling Field.” Lark’s eyes strayed toward the field of her birth. “To go home.”

The old man nodded. “I cannot ask this of you, but I must.”

“The dragon won’t hurt you?” One of the elders piped up.

“Not until you return in another thousand years.” Marona offered a crooked smile. “Little princesses never really die. They only return in another life to be loved again and again.”

The voice had come back to Lark. Go home, little one of the Calling Field. Return to your dragon. Be loved and live once more.

Lark ebulliently started toward the field. “I’ll see you again, Marona!”

“In another life as always.” 

Just thought I should let you guys know. I really don't think I can go into the details without breaking down and I don't think I should anyway, but I'm feeling extremely suicidal and I just need to get away from the computer for a while to deal with this and try to stop myself. I'm sorry if I freak anyone out, I just figured it would be polite to give you guys a heads up.

The 39th Annual Hunger Games 

A 1x1 with Mystics Apprentice 

Character Sign-Ups 

Name: 

Age: 

District: 

Gender:

Appearance:  

(bio will come later) 

Name: Alia Cayton 

Age: 16 

District: 4

Gender: Female

Appearance: Standing at about 5"6, Alia's chocolate locks curl slightly and contrast starkly with her emerald green eyes. Her district token is a bracelet decorated with waves. Three charms hang down--a silver trident, a penny-sized clock, and a heart with the number 4 engraved on it. She's of average body build, neither skinny nor overweight, and wears the grey Hunger Games jumpsuit. 

Hey guys, I need some help with my cosplay! I want to go as Maka from Soul Eater, and so far, I've located a good wig, scythe, and pair of boots. The hard part is finding a good costume! I've found some that are fairly accurate, but always off in some way that's obvious (to me at least). Does anyone know where I can get a really accurate one? 

Here's another short story for you guys. Let me know what you think! (: 

Atara sought out her usual meeting place. She called out cheerfully, “Rezenbane! I’m here!”

The towering monster turned. What Atara had always guessed was a smile spread across the creature’s face. He was roughly thirty feet tall, with onyx scales that seemed unable to reflect light. His teeth were daggers the size of her forearm.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” Atara began, trying as best as she could to hug the monster. “We had company and they would notice if I snuck out.”

The monster growled, but the sound somehow wasn’t threatening. He rubbed his massive head against Atara’s petite shoulder. Though the dragon couldn’t speak, Atara had a feeling that he understood the gist of what she said.

Atara relayed to Rezenbane the stories she’d read recently—they both loved fairytales.

Atara had been so caught up in the story of a heroic knight that she hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. The sun had long ago set, and Atara’s  village had come looking.

Rezenbane’s supernatural hearing picked up on the sounds of the approaching villagers first. He shifted awkwardly, motioning with his wings repeatedly in the direction they were coming. Atara assumed he was just restless from the stories, and didn’t put the pieces together until it was far too late.

“It’s back! The monster is back!” Someone screamed, their next words becoming incoherent with fear.

Atara froze, clutching to the nonexistent hope that maybe they were screaming about some other
monster. Of course, they weren’t. She and Rezenbane had been spotted.

“Send a messenger for help! It’s going to kill us all!”

“It’s going to eat that little girl!”

Atara spun to face the assembling crowd. Rezenbane shifted to hide behind Atara, but there wasn’t much the young girl could do to shield him.

“That’s my daughter!” A familiar voice wailed. “Atara! Atara, run!” My mother was screeching in horror.

“It’s okay!” Atara yelled in reply, but no one seemed to acknowledge her.

The thundering of hooves came before Atara could see the assembled warriors. Armed with bows and swords, the archers let loose their first volley of arrows. Most of them were unable to pierce Rezenbane’s thick layer of scales, but one had found its way into his maw.

Rezenbane roared in pain, rolling on the ground violently beside Atara. “Stop! Please!” Atara begged, but the warriors didn’t seem to care. She sprinted toward them, banging on the armored leg of the lead warrior. “Stop it! He wasn’t hurting me!”

“That’s Rezenbane,” The warrior’s voice was muffled through the heavy metal helmet perched atop his head. “He’s one sick dragon. He’ll devour you and the entire village.”

“No he won’t,” Atara sobbed. “He’s good! I promise, we’re friends!”

The warrior reached to shove Atara back toward the crowd of villagers. “Get back to your mother.”

She managed to ram the warrior’s leg hard enough that he lost balance, toppling off of his horse. Atara desperately struggled to climb onto the golden horse’s back. “Stop it!” The warrior lunged, but the horse was already in motion.

The horse tried to skitter away from Rezenbane, but Atara managed to keep him moving. “Rezenbane!” Atara captured the attention of the pained dragon. “Fly!”

The dragon seemed to understand the deeper meaning. Not fly to escape certain death at the hands of the warriors—fly and never return. A tear the size of Atara’s pale palms rolled down Rezenbane’s blackened body.

“Ready!” The call sounded from behind Atara. The archers were preparing yet another attack.

“Please!” Atara’s heart ached with the words. “Leave, Rezenbane!”

“Aim!”

The dragon stared at her hopelessly. An endless depth of love shone in his crimson eyes. With a painful choking sound, Rezenbane dragged himself up from the ground.

“Fire!”

The arrows fell short of the dragon, already soaring into the sky. He paused out of the warriors’ reach to give a parting swish of his tail to Atara. She whispered, “Goodbye.”