No SenseNo sense of belonging.No Sense by TheMadmanwithaScarf
No sense of believing.
No sense of home.
No sense of myself.
No sense of care.
No sense of anything.
The Broken Woman The beginning. You’re born, you live, you die. That is life. That is the fundamental essence of life. Just like stories: we have a beginning, a middle, and an end. It’s the middle, yes, the middle, that has the most life in it. So many tales from the middle. You only get one tale at the beginning and one tale at the end. Birth and death. That is true. I am sorry if you think otherwise.The Broken Woman by TheMadmanwithaScarf
The middle. This is what this story is about. These stories, mostly. We will touch base on the beginnings, and dabble in the ends, but the story will mostly consist of the middles. Their middles. Their tales. Their lives.
The end. I do hope that you will cherish the middles to prepare for this. To prepare for the end. The end of them. Never forget the middles. Do not lose them to the ends, or I’ll be disappointed. Very disappointed. You won’t like me when I’m disappointed.
I hope you will enjoy these
Enter the Madman The Madman, a title that people will come to call him, the Madman. He was not a stereotypical madman with unpredictable eyes, and to be fastened in straitjackets and chains, and to gabble out nonsense. The Madman was a man with calm and thoughtful eyes, and he was unrestrained from the clutches of chains, and he conversed actual sense, yet on a few occasions he would spew out strange nonsense that only he would understand. Usually once or twice a day. Oh, who is the Madman, you ask? Oh, silly me, I forgot to introduce him. I’m getting ahead of myself here, you see.Enter the Madman by TheMadmanwithaScarf
The Madman’s true identity was Shadow Michael D’Alton, who was a tall man, about six foot and an inch tall; and he had peachy skin. He had a head of shaggy, gingery hair, the same colour as the setting sun. He had a broad face with a shaggy beard. He had a pair of very thoughtful dark blue eyes like mysterious dark pools of sapphires. He was
Sanguinis Vulpes - Chapter Two The golden sun rose the next morning over the horizon and the tall, looming mountains. Amelia awoke on the wooden floor of her kitchen; she looked up to see that she was alone. She slowly stood up as she looked around to see if the half-elf, or the dwarf was still there. She walked around -- still barely awake -- in the living room. There was not a soul sleeping on the couch or anywhere within the room. The dwarf and the half-elf had probably long gone, probably ere the crack of dawn.Sanguinis Vulpes - Chapter Two by TheMadmanwithaScarf
Amelia walked out of her house to see two shadowy figures striding into the woods -- one tall and thin, one short and strong. Amelia rocketed back into her house -- her father was not awake, still fast asleep in his comfortable bed. She did not want Eoin to go without saying goodbye. She rushed around the house to find an ashen cloak and a tall, oaken walking stick. She fastened the cloak upon herself and she gripped the walking stick in her hand. She casted
Hoi. Welcome to the void because I have work and university so I can draw pretty rarely.
Love me plz