Meet the Eggs: Spring 2012

These are the eggs for Seryth and Romth's Spring 2012 clutch.

Egg Name Egg Touches
Seeds of Change Egg
At first glance an even golden brown, this large egg bears the ubiquitous closer inspection. What seems at first a relatively even tone becomes an uncounted plethora of minuscule, granular dots, each a slightly different shade and shape. It's a trick of the eye, but many of those grains seem to be tiny spheres, domes, spindles, and other such shapes interspersed by tiny flicks of pallid, silvery white forking and branching between them. Diminutive tongues of new-shoot green flicker out like tiny tongues of golden-green flame - newborn roots seeking firmer ground and the first tiny evidence of leaves peeking out from newly split seed husks.
Germinating Awareness finds an unexpected, perhaps premature split in the oneness that is its existence inside of its hardening shell. For a brief moment, there is a sort of motion, so slow as to not be, and then it is. A *feeling* of something small, something fragile, something as new as light and as ancient as dawn reaches out, and begins to press itself into your psyche, digging with a need but without comprehension, until it finds something to root itself to. But the connection, it is tenuous, and then withdrawn, as if the Germinating Awareness weren’t aware it’d been digging outside of its own existence at all!

Germinating Awareness returns, driven more by a sense of need than curiosity. Yes, there you are again, you strange entity OUTSIDE of itself! Germinating Awareness considers you, and then niggles again, wriggling its way against your mind, until it finds a deep repository of … experience. Experiences. Thoughts. Dreams. Emotions. Desires. Failures. Triumphs. The world is certainly full of … THINGS! These are all strange to the little one, and it tries to sift through them, though it proves a slightly unnerving and frustrating experience for the Germinating Awareness…these are YOURS, alien, inexplicable. There is nothing like what you have seen, known, done, inside that egg!

Germinating Awareness spreads that metaphysical split a little wider, and this time, not only does it root about against your mind, but it reaches with other, barely realized senses. Are those wings? Foreclaws? Emotions? They spread, tenuously, and then bloom out towards you like a tiny sprig first pushing aside shell and soil, reaching for the warmth of Rukbat close, closer, so close…gone, like your name being called on the edge of a daydream. _
Plethora of Pliable Puttees Egg
A laundry heap has found its way onto the sands in the form of a deceptively average egg. To the naked eye from a casual distance, this is a multicolored fat and squat egg like all the rest - its potential to produce a dragonet the same. Closer up, the heap becomes more vivid, its potential questioned. The shell is bumpy, heaved with surface bubbles and dimpled - playing host to an irregular shape. This is where the messiness starts. It all seems piled on haphazardly with chunks of color constrained to malformed tubes that appear foot shaped. Cotton whites, wooly grays, flat blacks and of course, the shocking brilliance of rainbows, fuzzy pinks, velvety purples, and satin reds lie stretched, folded, and balled against the grainy fabric-like surface. Interestingly enough, there are sections where a tube of color carries a pattern, such as small symbols like hearts or stars, or numerous strips and bands. This muddled mess of hue covers the entire span of the shell, without a single instance of repeating itself.
Rock'em Sock'em *~THUMPHS~* against your senses as if you just walked around the corner and straight into a chest belonging to an overreaching shadow. This unknown presence is intimidating, frightening your inner child awake, rattling some long forgotten core buried within you - making you remember the fear of the dark, the fear of facing down monsters and ghoulish stories. It pressures against you, giving you the sensation of a shove, some irritation for your foolishness of colliding and remaining with it. Heat starts to build up, your blood begins to boil, you share a moment of anger at some recollection of being bullied like this before. It could have been your mother, your father, your sibling, your relatives, a friend or a teacher. The anger is the same. Injustice. No cause and no reason for this! Fight against it! Stand up for yourself, your friends, for justice! In the brooding boil of thoughts that build, a stinky smell like sweating feet will make your nose curl just before a quick sucker-punch *~POP~* detaches you from the mind within.

Rock'em Sock'em *~WHAPS~* against your mental thoughts - if you weren't paying attention, you are now as you feel some ache in your jaw and some need to shake it off. Knowing you came back for more, maniacal laughter echoes into your ears, driving an instinct to defend. Are you willing to hold on to what you are or will you surrender everything? Suddenly, you are rocked by a flurry of mental blows that come at you in deep rhythmic pulses, spraying splashes of searing hot pink bright in your mind as each figurative punch is thrown and lands against your intrusive connection. Your stomach might churn, your vision might blur, your hearing could fade away - mere repercussions of your choice. Everything has a consequence, you know this… Is it worth it to you, to face these consequences, to stand up and take the risk? A faint hint of heat tickles against the flesh of your cheek… Something pushes over you, draws judgment upon you and breathes against you with a single bead of moisture splattering over your forehead. A sensation of being on your back ripples through every muscle and fiber of your being, with this pressing power standing over you. The match is over and you could very well be on your back in the physical world. Can you make it to round three?

Rock'em Sock'em is on the ropes with a loud *~WHOOSH~* as you return, wrestling against your intrusion immediately! There is confusion that belongs to no one but the presence you have come to reclaim with a sharp *~SMASH~* of mental connections - it allows you, forces you, to share in that. You have become stronger. Ominous swirls of darkness and shadow cloud your senses with a heavy deliberation of directed impact, your head spinning with dazzling sparkles. Does it lie down, do you lie down? Does it keep going? Do you? That unsettling smell of stinky feet returns and for a time that's all there is only to be eventually replaced by a soothing rhythmic pulse that caresses your mind with a blanket of searing hot pink…that itches. Underestimated and underappreciated it, haven't you? Hasn't it? Rising heat yet again swells over your body, the outcome as if you have run a marathon or fought for hours on end to prove some point. Maybe you have. Perceptions are funny like that. For now, this round is yours, but at what price? What will compel you? Will you be as stubborn and strong willed to see it through? Time will tell, it will tell and know. A quiet *BUMP* sends you on your way. _
Forms in Celestial Darkness Egg
At first, this egg seems to have been coated in little more than dusty charcoal, blanketing the entire shell in the mire from top to bottom. Here and there, a few speckled traces of white can be seen from a distance, forming into detailed arrays of softer colors up close. Pinpoints of light cascade around the endless night, highlighted in places by the most subtle shifts of color like an aurora fading the shell in hints of silvery steel and sky blues. Here and there across the celestial landscape, little lines seem to have been etched, marring the beautiful image as if someone had cut faint scars in the dark. These seem so random, like the wayward strokes of some careless blade. Yet perhaps there is more than meets the eye here - a hint of a form that the imagination draws from the patterns of lines between those stretched out motes of white.
Threads of Destiny thrum softly in the distance, like music being played upon your heartstrings. The feeling is strange and alien at first, but there is a tentative quality to it, searching for understanding. Where does your strength come from? What is it that brings you to these sands and sets you before the great wheel of fate? Pale shadows of blue find their way in the dark, drawing with them the scent of endless grasslands and deep forests. A cool breeze draws away the heat of the caverns, bringing with it hints of salty sea air. The sweet pull of adventure waits for those brave of heart and strong of will. Will you take the chance?

Threads of Destiny calls to you in a voice like those familiar songs from the lower caverns, holds, and craft halls. The voice of a mother singing to her child mixes in a harmony of deeper tones throughout the ranges of age and gender. Lullabies - love songs - heroic ballads all merge somehow to make something new. So many people - so many voices out there in the world beyond - and yet you bring your own here to this place. You hear it softly at first, but then louder as a steady beat seems to form in time with the faint music that plays. No, this is no drum, but the sound of your heartbeat, testing the way it finds rhythm with the rest. Would you join your voice to this song? There is a need from within - to find someone with a strong heart that resonates with its own - searching for that one voice - that one spirit that it might forever walk the pathways of life beside.

Threads of Destiny appears in your mind as a single red strand that rests around your neck, the end disappearing into the ether. Where it touches, gentle heat spreads as if this were something fated - something meant to be. What began so softly comes through with the subtle shades of glowing hearth fire and the warmth of blankets in the coldest months. It brings with it a herald of song like the chorus of a hero finally coming home to be greeted into the arms of those they love. It dares even the most unsure of hearts to be more than what they are - to become something worth telling in song and story. Are you be the one the fortunes foretold - the one to whom the string leads? Could you someday find your place among those ones who find immortality in the heavens? Time will tell… The light - the warmth - it all draws away slowly. Now is not the time. Soon.
Color Outside the Lines Egg
From a distance, there doesn't seem to be anything unusual about this egg. An off-white shell the color of parchment paper shows only a spare few spots and splotches upon it - the patterns seeming haphazard and without meaning. It's an egg that could easily be overlooked from the stands, but up close is where this little beauty shines. The jagged strokes of color that had seemed so washed out from afar come into focus. The texture of the egg's shell gives each playfully strewn mark a mottled appearance, the white peeking through underneath. Swirls of yellow and gold and red give the impression of sunlight where streaks of greens and blues make out valleys or rivers. The whole effect leaves the egg looking like some child's canvas of scribbled drawings connected only by sharp lines that encompass the entire spectrum of hues.
Discovering Imagination seems shy at first, unsure of who you are or why you’ve come. There is a tickling sensation at the back of your neck as if you’re being watched, but from where? Cautious, but curious, something from within reaches out to find some place within your heart. It starts with a subtle touch against your fingertips, as if counting each of the digits. You can hear it softly - the sing-song humming of one of the children’s songs from the lower caverns. The feeling of laughter and joy is all too easy to catch hold of, threatening to drag a smile from even the most hardened faces. Scribbles of color appear in different shades, changing as they go from left to right across the back of your eyelids, but what does it all mean?

Discovering Imagination seems more enthusiastic now. The vision in front of your eyes clears for a moment as if someone were flipping to a new page. Delicate forms take shape in colors of the rainbow, drawn crudely with inexperienced hands. It’s hard to see at first, but after a while the colors begin to form someplace familiar. Wherever you may travel, this is the place you call home. Hesitantly, the artist shows you what it sees through your eyes, so curious about this place and what it means to you. It steps forward, but seems to stumble and the colors splash forward, obscuring your view. Oops! You aren’t mad, are you? The gentle feeling draws back a little, uncertain.

Discovering Imagination leans forward, giving the impression that it might just touch against your nose. Slowly, happiness returns again, knowing you’ve stayed. The obscuring color fades as if being wiped away by careful hands. Something new appears to take its place, though. A mess of colored swirls and lines that seem like little more than scribbles dominates your view. Unlike before, it’s hard to make anything out of this image, and even the tiny artist seems unsure what it means. Yet, there is a feeling of need there, reaching out for this friend they haven’t been able to find - someone to teach, and guide, and show all the beautiful things in the world. The question lingers even after the impression of that image fades away: Are you the one I’m looking for?
Elemental Building Blocks Egg
Strangely angular for an egg, this multi-hued ovoid almost seems pixilated, though that could simply be the heat haze from the burning sands which cushion its bulbous body. A wild exhibition of colors, bright and cheerful, make up the patchwork shell: brilliant scarlet, daffodil yellow, grassy green, and rich azure, all interconnected. Each color seems carved into squares and rectangles, distinctly separate from those around them, and yet somehow interdependent on each other in the greater whole in a way that speaks of elemental unity. The apex of the egg seems oddly incomplete, flattened rather than rounded, with sixteen tiny knobs in cobalt, crimson, lemon, and lime surmounting the unfinished top.
Building a Mystery has no truck with silence - clicks, clacks, whirrs, and bangs echo through the darkness, a cacophony of activity beyond the black veil. There is an odd rhythm to it - one that falters as the touch of a foreign mind throws off the balance of the frenzy. First the clicks fall silent, then the clacks drop off. Whirrs dwindle to buzzes, then nothing, and the last sound to fall on mental ears is a solitary hammer blow. The silence is almost stifling for a moment, before an inquisitive note sounds, a single whistle inquiring just who you are and what exactly you are doing here.

Building a Mystery hesitates, then the noise picks up again, muted somewhat, the rhythm ragged but regaining its stride. Light shimmers faintly at the edge of consciousness, though never bright enough to pick out more than fleeting shadows of whatever is being built behind the veil of darkness. That curious whistle sounds again, the interrogative tone echoing in benign harmony with the resumed sounds of work. The impression of the question burns in the falling notes: What do you think is happening in the shadows?

Building a Mystery is clearly on a schedule. The work has reached full swing once more, the bedlam of building ear-rattling as it once more falls into that steady cadence: click, clack, whirr, bang. The whistle shrills gently as the lights begin to dim once more, until even the indistinct shadows of the mystery beyond the veil are swallowed into the darkness. Rather than questioning this time, it gives a soft, almost reluctant farewell, the echo fading until it is lost in the commotion. With its retreat, no more notice is taken of your presence. There is work to be done.
Paint Your Palette Blue and Grey Egg
The surface of this egg provides a canvas for an artist's hand whose brush has danced in lively, almost theatrical elation across the shell creating a bold, dramatic display in bright, glossy colors here while applying muted, somber shades there. Powerful strokes create a mysterious depth conveyed by indistinct shifts of light and shadow where dusky tones merge with bright, the light fading one moment only to be reborn the next. On the underside there appears to be a nocturnal forest sleeping in deep shadow, the foliage touched by moonlight's silver, its ghostly light falling to the ground beneath in fluttering patterns. Above, pale clouds stir the rich indigo that saturates the curved apex, the blue shimmering across it as if changing skies were mirrored in watery reflection. Fractured hues overall evoke emotion, creating dreamlike pictures unique to the beholder's eye, imagination and interpretation - never the same twice.
Colors Changing Hue are almost a tickle, the feathery stokes that enter your mind to brush upon the landscape of your memories. Gentle, hesitant to intrude yet driven by a yearning to know, it moves across morning fields of amber grain, the bristles pause upon darkly clouded and shadowed hills. What is that right there? Why do I hear a sad song for these colors? What happened to make you weep so disconsolately? The presence lingers, breathless with attentiveness on your answer before withdrawing reluctantly, leaving a soothing caress, the lightest of touches in apology in its wake.

Colors Changing Hue are inquisitive this time with a gentle, contemplative touch as it trails once more back to your past, first dipping from a palette of blue and grey before it enters a hold to stroke the walls with muted whispers of the dimmed color. What are these portraits hung upon empty halls, these faceless heads? Are they strangers that you've met, perhaps? There's one, however, who stands out in vivid contrast to all the rest. Perhaps simply stirring the dust of avoidance from it, bringing it into clearer focus, the brush is soft, dry and clean as it touches on the gilt frame, tracing the curve of a pale cheek whose facial features are almost tangible rather than mere imagery. There's a story here, it seems to say. Who is that? Why is that one different? There's the sense that you don't have to answer, but it would very much like to know, to understand the emotions behind this one. The time stretches, the brush motionless upon that face until it at last departs with a final featherlight tickle that brushes your own cheek, a kiss as it were. Thanks for sharing!

Colors Changing Hue skip right on in with the brisk dance-beat of stiff bristles tapping lightly but insistently at the most pressing of your present thoughts. Broad, bright and bold marks the light of discovery upon flaming flowers and violet haze as the bristles sweep with delighted abandon here, then there tracing the contours of the indistinct form emerging from the silvery fog of half-shaped awareness. How lovely! How wonderful! These thoughts dance along with the contact wanting to know is this person special to you? Is it love, the feeling for this one? Are you loved in return? Vivid drops drip from the hovering brush tip as it waits with curiosity, keen to hear the answer. There's the sense of approval as it then departs as jauntily as it appeared, leaving a glistening trail of color behind.
The Best Medicine Egg
Riotous colors encompass the surface of this little egg to tickle the senses and eyes alike with the vivid plum of clever innuendos coupled with the brilliant yellow of funny stories - both drawing beholders to contemplate their own awkward moments with amusement. If irony has a color perhaps it is the orange of farfetched mishaps - the type the harpers write rollicking ballads about - that winds about the rich red of goofy faces, the caricature of self drawing a grin in spite of one's best resolve not to. The pink hues of chortling babies draws a silly grin in response, while unexpected surprises wrap a blanket of bright green about the mirth bubbling up. All quite contagious!
Impertinent irreverence breezes into your mind with an exuberant air and there's the distinct feeling that you are being analyzed with a twinkling, impish, squint-eyed shrewdness. « You look maaaaaaahvelous! » the presence tell you with an exaggerated throaty flourish. There's the impression of a smirk behind the compliment while it waits for your response. And when you do speak, the sly reply is, « Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak. » Oh the smug! You can feel the GOTCHA! coming from it. It's all in good fun however, nothing malicious as it withdraws, tossing a chuckle over-shoulder in your mind as it fades.

Impertinent irreverence slips back into your consciousness with a snicker to find that you are still here, squelching its amusement before telling you somberly, « The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on the list. » There's a pause for effect before you are told impishly, « Juuuuuust kidding! » followed by some chortling. But really, it seems to want to be serious now and there's a palpable attempt to get back to straight-faced sincerity, « Some people say "If you can't beat 'em, join them." I say "If you can't beat 'em, beat them", because they will be expecting you to join them, so you will have the element of surprise. » Then it dances laughingly away from you as if avoiding a smack for impudence.

Impertinent irreverence returns this time in a seriously philosophical sort of mood. Really! You believe that, right?? It's contemplating life outside the shell and wonders, « What is your worst 'Bad Day' memory? » After your story it sympathizes with « Iiiiiiiiiiii HATE when that happens! » but then adds brightly « Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once. » Maybe it found something amusing in your recollection? The presence pulls away, but leaves you with one last bit of advice for being a Candidate, telling you devilishly, « Knowledge is power, and power corrupts. So study hard and be evil. » Really is nothing is sacred?! A cackle is left hanging in your mind after it has gone. _
Medley of Nature Egg
At first glance, a jumble of riotous color and form meets the eyes but upon further inspection, hues and shape begin to emerge from the tangled medley emblazoned upon the egg shell - a confectionery display to be enjoyed and savored by eyes alone in luxurious contentment. Redfruit clusters in all the varied shades ranging from apple-green to rosy-red — and the blended mix of crimson kissed verdancy in between — claim pride and place upon the egg's shell, entwined with plump droplets of juicy-looking blueberry-blue and raspberry-red. Curving along the edges of the egg shell, as if it was meant to do so, a bordered fringe of banana yellow encircles the circumference of the egg, keeping everything else contained within the border. Globs of orange and lemon-yellow and lime-green are scattered haphazardly over the shell, alternated by misshapen pear-green blobs.
Tasty Temptations settles into your mind with a satisfying *CRUNCH* — the first exploratory bite that one takes into the juicy crispness of a round rosy redfruit. That's not to say your mind /is/ a round rosy redfruit, but there's no doubt succulent sweetness to be savored and enjoyed as the unborn dragon child within the egg delves methodically into your thoughts. It sifts through the crowd of memories and emotions the way one carefully peels and cores a redfruit, slicing each wedge of memories into bite-sized pieces to be savored and enjoyed. « Who are you? » the mind within asks, « What do you want? Where are you going? » It's your memories that have made you who you are, and the young and impressionable mind seeks to learn more about them. There's a final *Crunch* — then the world seems to go black as silence falls.

Tasty Temptations returns, peeling back more memories like one peels off the skin of a banana, slow and methodical, one tendril of thought and remembrance at a time until the pale flesh of your memories are exposed for further perusal and enjoyment. There's a curious sensation at the edge of your thoughts, a nibble or two — or at least what feels like a nibble or two — that investigates the very core of who you are, weighing and measuring and learning more about you. « Do you have dreams? » the inner voice asks, curious and contemplative. « Do you dream of flight? » There’s a flash of vision before you, the ground skimming by far below and the rush of wind in your ears briefly assault your mind and senses before the world is once more plunged into darkness.

Tasty Temptations makes a final foray into the depths of your thoughts, tickling past your senses with a heady fizzy buzz of peach brandy, the treat sweetly savored and heady, a rush of euphoria like ambrosia and nectar. It’s truly a drink fit for greater powers that leaves you awhirl and gaspingly giddy as once more. The jumble of memories and past experiences are sifted through and sorted, stored away in a collective consciousness before lo' there before you hangs the golden prize, shimmery and tempting, there upon a phantom branch. It's there, all you need to do is reach out and snatch it, the fruit of knowledge offered willingly. Or perhaps not so willingly, for with a teasing giggle the vision fades, the world whirling into inky blackness once more, the mind within letting go and you'll find yourself blinking at the smooth roundness of shell. You are let go and free to continue onwards. _
Tumbled Smooth Mosaic Egg
Scattered across the surface are oblong shades of muted grey and faded blue that mingle with the slightly round-ish shapes of soft purples and striated tans. Watery tints of pale green shapes, resemble that of a small ball of dough that has been pinched and tossed together with speckled pinks and smudged reds. The occasional spotted orange square, squished and stretched, is tossed in there as well. Though muted, it is still a bright contrast to the rest of the colored shapes. There seems to be little rhyme or reason to the jumbled colors, like stones upon a beach, they are mixed together and have become a whole - more than their separate parts.
Waves of Foam crash across your mind, pulling you out from a nest of stones and tumbling you around in a swirl of sea-green and white. Where is up or where is down? Light surrounds you and fills you. Shadows are but a faint memory to the waters that seep into your mind, seeking out and flowing into those darkest places of your mind. Round and round you go, there is no up or down, there is only the swirl of water and light that surrounds you, fills you, wearing away at the rough edged shadows of your mind. In the deepest and darkest areas, it pools and swirls around as if it was doing more than just lighting the recesses of your mind, but also experiencing the pains and the traumas for itself. Why does this particular memory hurt so much? Why the anger? Why is it so much like a storm on the sea? Separate and yet part of the sea itself.

Waves of Foam slowly begin to recede, waters trickling away as it pours out of the dark recesses, almost in silent apology for intruding so deeply. The foamy waters curl around and flow past the softer memories as the tide ebbs, caressing and experiencing the joys and highlights of your life. Catching in the little nooks and crannies of your hopes and dreams, the light dances across the water, vibrant and alive and longing to know why this particular dream and experience that particular hope. Soon the waves themselves are distant, leaving you in a vibrant tidal pool surrounded by velvety-wet ripples that defy logic and converge inwards upon you. Almost as if they were hands that reach up to touch you. You, your very being even, is examined and probed. Seeking to find how your experiences have made you the way you are, so different than it and yet so much the same as well. Before too long, the ripples begin spreading outwards again, taking with it a sense of you.

Waves of Foam comes crashing in again, washing you out of the pool and carrying you out into an alien sea, tumbling you like a stone once more while the waters fill your mind. This time it’s not just the dark crannies, but all of it. Glowing sea-green light merged with hints of purple and blue sky illuminate the inner recesses for a brief second that lasts for hours before it’s gone. You’re left drifting in a quiet sea that holds you buoyant. The waters are warm and though there is a scent of the sea, there’s a tint of spices as well. Warm and pungent mingled with just a touch of sweetness. There’s a sense of curiosity to the holding waters as it centers upon one particular memory. Why is this one held apart from the rest? What makes it so special? What happened to have ingrained it so deeply inside?

Waves of Foam rush you back to shore once more, sending you tumbling and swirling back the way it had brought you. Crashing upon the shoreline, it washes you on the sandy beach. The grains of sand there are rough and invigorating both, before the waters land you gently onto a nest of sand surrounded by tumbled stones. The colors are both vibrant and faded as the waters share with you its own things, adding you to its collection of tumbled memories - or perhaps those are your memories. The waters ebb back out again, taking with it the little bits and pieces of each stone that have been worn off so that it may continue to experience.
Sweet to the Touch Egg
Crenellated shimmers dance across the surface of this bottom-heavy ovoid, creases and crevasses dipping wildly into a bright, brindled surface. Beneath the crystalline sheen, hues dance with wild abandon: cherry abutting grape, blueberry and lime intertwined, with hints of lemon slivers peeking from beneath bright orange drops. The swirl of shades is subtly saccharine - a toothache for the mind. Trapped within a plastic bubble, columns and circles of color tumble about each other - a felicitous feast for the eyes - an evocative enough image that one can almost smell the soft, seductive scent of sugared sweets.
Sugar and Spice greets your entry into its world with neither sight nor sound. Rather, it is scent which first becomes apparent, the tang of cinnamon tickling your nose. Beneath the spice is a subtle hint of sweetness, a soft tickle of sweetening. It wraps about you like a warm, cozy blanket, keeping you snug and safe against the blackness that surrounds you. Through the darkness, glitter sparkles - slight at first, then the shimmering picks up speed, until you realize you are caught in a storm of sugar crystals raining down from nowhere. It whirls and eddies, dancing in gleeful abandon before, abruptly, it whisks out of sight.

Sugar and Spice is still there, even if the sugar storm has passed. Cinnamon and sweetening give way, fading into the still darkness even as a sharper tang pricks at your nose - the harsh, cloying scent of ginger. It hangs about you, chilling the very air as the wind picks up again, sweeping in and swirling madly. It plucks and tugs at you, gently at first, then with growing sharpness as it skims through your mind, rustling invasive fingers through your thoughts. Then, before intrusion can become violation, it vanishes, leaving behind only the constant ginger-laden chill.

Sugar and Spice sighs, a faint gust of wind, just strong enough to push out the ginger, laying a refreshing trail of peppermint in its wake to soothe. An apology, perhaps, for the previous invasion - one which is not repeated, as the breeze is careful to stay beyond your personal boundaries. A steady rain of sugar begins to fall, a glittering cloud which lightens the darkness, chasing away any shadows that might linger after the assault. Slowly, the peppermint fades beyond perception as the sugary rain subsides, leaving only a lingering freshness in mind, sinuses, and mouth to indicate it was ever there.
Colorful Bodies of Matter Egg
Darkness, so deep and endless that it just draws in all light, a void of vacuum that rivals Between. However, there does seem to be a single point of reddish light at the apex of the egg. It expands away from the darkness and illuminates and brings attention to several round orbs that are visible on the opposite side, away from the dark. Swirls of colors bring life to the surface. Faded oranges and bright reds coalesce together in one large round mass. A smaller orb sits distantly from the large orange one and is shaded in pale pinks and purples that are shadowed by cobalt blue. A bluish-green swirled mass is surrounded by icy green rings set in an angle. A scattering of white specks seem to almost flicker in the distance.
Distant Voices in the Dark softly touch across your mind - soft vibrations of sound and light that spread outwards from a single point of light. Faint warmth spreads across the surface of the shell, as well as a faint electrical tingling. There is a gentle probing as something stirs deep within, some entity that has been deeply asleep now seeking to see who has ventured forth to disturb its slumber. Why have you come? Why here? Why now? Light begins to grow, showing a dark cavern. Then there are glowing flashes of crimson are tinted with molten oranges that flow like thick lava that flow through the cavern and along your mind. Illuminating not just the thick crust of the cavern, but your mind as well, seeking out the answers that it wishes to find.

Distant Voices in the Dark seem to fade a moment - the glow dimming into just the faintest of light, only one small pool of molten lava seems to glow. Something it finds causes it to shake and then there is a sudden flare as flames leap forth when a hole in the crust appears. What is this memory? What is this anger that lies buried so deep. Do you know how it smolders? There is a sudden hissing as water pours through the hole, engulfing the lava and dropping you into darkness.

Distant Voices in the Dark drift back again, a faint glow as it lightly caresses across your mind, almost apologetic. There is a soothing quality as it gradually lights the distant corners of your mind once more. At some humorous memory the light grows, enveloping it as it comes at from all corners. It’s curious and it seems to nudge at the memory. As if trying to figure out what makes this particular moment more amusing than another. There’s a light breath of air that drifts across like a sigh and the light fades back away from the memory, taking with it bits and pieces of the emotion inspired by it.
Just One More Piece Egg
A litter of pieces, scattered color and curl is tossed with careless abandon across the complicated surface of this too-confused egg. Tabs of daffodil yellow do not fit with blanks surrounded in sky blue, but when the lines do intersect, that shade of spring green simply does not match the darkened forest which is supposed to be there! Is this an extra tile of splotched barn red? It is completely at odds with the jigsaw pattern of hues that compose the rest of the shell. What interlocks does so beautifully, tessellated lines of ebony that seem almost to disappear into the colors, lost in the vista of a picturesque scene. But there right there - a piece is missing, a dark hole of sullen black which mocks an egg that may not be quite done.
Capricious Sensation touches back with a tickle of teasing upon the inside of your foot, a giggle that breathes promise across the nape of your neck, a lick to your nose that is really nothing more than a wet lick - puzzled contentment, if contentment can be found in a puzzle. Who are you? What are you? What do you do? When do you do it? Time? What is this? What are YOU?… What am I? These questions and more arrive in a jumble, like puppies that scramble and scatter, clatter and collide into a tumble of excitement, gleeful in creation and exuberant in possibility. They wiggle into your mind, nosing and nipping at all of the places that can be reached and even some of the places that have never been touched. Oooooh, touch. Feel. Let’s do this some more.

Capricious Sensation hums in distraction, pestering your senses with the banter of the aimless. Ever lick a feline? The thoughts of those before, touches and ideas before, coalescing before finding the perfect place in the puzzle of a burgeoning character. A feline? Your senses are stroked, a soothing motion that runs a finger down the bend of your spine, caresses your kidneys, warms your innards with answer, pauses and then rakes back up, against the fur, against the grain, against the way it is supposed to go! It is a thrill of senses, of wherrybumps pebbling skin, scalp tingling, and a clenching of joints that becomes a shock to the system. Ooooh, that touch was even more fun. More.

Capricious Sensation clicks, an echo of a noise as subtle as salt - another piece of the puzzle snaps into place, character being built upon one guesstimate at a time. Questing fingers of thought, sticky quicksilver, try to slink into your own with a touch. Bullying, seducing, cajoling, they manipulate the fragments with a youth’s curious fascination, petting and gnawing on the ideas until they are accepted or discarded in a wet squish. Ooooh, I like that one. Your next thought is stolen before it comes to realization - taken and added to the rest upon a puckish breath of smudged silk. Hesitation fills the silence, fickle sense dawns. Done. Go. Like a dust mote, you are sneezed away. Violent. Explosive. Enjoyed.
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