The Wishroom

To paradise on whore's arses
'drinking alone is like shitting in company.'

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The Witcher | The Witcher 2 | The Witcher 3

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Characters | other





serviadeath:

SMS by *Vaniri

serviadeath:

SMS by *Vaniri

vaniri:

SMS by *Vaniri

vaniri:

SMS by *Vaniri

umk295:

WITHCER2//エルフたちの覚書メモ
セドリックはイオルヴェスより年上っぽい気がする。 帽子かぶってない男エルフの黒髪率。女エルフは金髪とかいる。染めてるのかな? サイドのみつ編みがかわいい。両サイドと片方だけっていうのは意味があるのかな
シアランのイオルヴェスへの献身うまいです(・∀・)

umk295:

WITHCER2//エルフたちの覚書メモ

セドリックはイオルヴェスより年上っぽい気がする。
帽子かぶってない男エルフの黒髪率。女エルフは金髪とかいる。染めてるのかな?
サイドのみつ編みがかわいい。両サイドと片方だけっていうのは意味があるのかな

シアランのイオルヴェスへの献身うまいです(・∀・)

likatnes:

Witcher sketch dump

Beautiful :)

likatnes:

Witcher sketch dump

Beautiful :)

Whispering Trees

S,


Visions constrict and restrain the one good memory I want to keep; 
drowning it out in a confused haze, where matter and mind intertwine.
Countless seasons have passed during which I have already considered
this gift a curse, but it is not until now that I realise just how
much I despise it for what it does to me. 

I do not know for how long we were there, that night in the gardens. 
It felt like an instant and an eternity all at once, as my entire being was
swept away to a place of a hushed serenity that I had never known before, 
where time and all the universe stood still. For a first, solitary instance 
of my life, there was no interference. My feelings were my own, and my 
visions were only of you, in the now; trembling and writhing in my 
arms, your moans muffled into my skin as your warmth became mine.

When so the world returned, accompanied by dawn’s first rays glimpsing
through the canopy, and the gradually rising cacophony of the voices of 
both past and future, I knew that it was over. Maybe a part of me had 
already prepared for it, for I never stopped thinking of how you still 
are, and always will be, hers. Even though I felt, if only for a moment, 
that maybe you could also be mine…

There is no going back to what was. That place is gone, never to come 
back again. I have come to terms with this, and I would settle for
the memory; but I am not allowed to keep even that in peace. The relentless 
miasma of phantoms are already tearing it to pieces - the emotions being 
warped and disfigured, or buried in heavy sand. The usual remedy results 
in pretty much the same, in a different way. What use do I have for this 
memory, if I cannot recall it with any kind of lucidity in my head; if all 
I have is a discombobulated mayhem of entangled images and feelings?

I have heard the whispers among the trees: Visitors who will bring 
conflict at their heels, and death. Among others, my death. I will 
soon be free, the forest welcoming me back home…

C.
 

(by Kindo)

(via euthanasia-deactivated20121219)