Tignari, Mannequins

The Birth of the Self

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In the beginning, it had the exact same pose as the previous portrait. Looking at the face identical to hers, she was convinced that this was not her. "Impossible. How can two portraits be exactly the same?" She tweaked its joints, opened its eyes, and made its fingers softer. She looked happy when all the changes were done. "Completely different from yesterday. This is more like who I am today."

Collapsing Sky

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A drop of strength condensed from time itself. All the seemingly insignificant moments come together to form the magnificent choir of fate. "The death of all things is as natural as their birth. Time erodes everything, turning all tangible entities to dust."

Pioneering

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A drop of strength condensed from time itself. All the seemingly insignificant moments come together to form the magnificent choir of fate. "We will no longer fight alone. The IPC will stand alongside everyone in assistance."

Mutual Demise

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A drop of strength condensed from time itself. All the seemingly insignificant moments come together to form the magnificent choir of fate. "How does one make perfect the past of a planet? Now — immediately — rend the planet asunder."

Planetary Rendezvous

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She had no idea what to expect when she first started out on this journey. All she knew was that she could at long last be rid of the judgmental eyes and petty bickering of her family. She felt she finally understood what the poet was trying to say. "One day, we would grow wings and forget what it was like to walk." The light in her eyes became the glittering stars.

The Seriousness of Breakfast

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Though the table is set... Some people want a cup of tea first. Some people want to take a picture first. Some people want to read the newspaper first. Some people want to write a page in their notebook first. Some people want to play on their phone first. "All of you, eat while the food is hot!"

Arrows

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A drop of strength condensed from time itself. All the seemingly insignificant moments come together to form the magnificent choir of fate. "The hunter's eyes are the clearest when they pull back the bowstring with the arrow nocked."

Eyes of the Prey

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In reality, most prey don't realize when danger is encroaching. This one's no exception. The sniper's scope slowly centers on a man throwing banknotes stack after stack, who seems completely oblivious to his impending demise. "So that's what greed looks like. That amount is equal to several of my contracts already... No wonder someone wants him dead." As if these thoughts were broadcasted out loud, the man in the scope turns his head, looking straight into the eyes of the sniper. "I've been waiting for you. Would this much be enough for you to hear me out?"

Perfect Timing

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On a bustling street, he walks and walks. The sunlight closely follows his footsteps. He makes a stop and picks up an umbrella to shade himself from the sun ...and from that prying gaze.

Data Bank

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A drop of strength condensed from time itself. All the seemingly insignificant moments come together to form the magnificent choir of fate. "Human extinction is inevitable, but the library will live on: Lonely, immobile, and hidden from the public. Its vast collection is useless, yet pure from corruption."

Flame of Blood, Blaze My Path

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Cold dew congealed on the blade, sliding down in crimson streaks. The rust-tainted wilderness still flickered with embers of battle, flames leaping upon the ashes. "Mydeimos, that was a godlike fight just now!" A bare-chested warrior wiped his weapon clean, shouting in exhilaration. "Mydei, one day, I'll be as invincible as you!" A child gazed at him with reverence, clutching a broken sword in small hands. "Crown Prince, our return to Castrum Kremnos is within sight." An aged man smiled, raising his cup in a toast to him. He nodded silently and walked to the edge of the camp. The pain of rebirth still coursed across his skin. Tomorrow, he would lead the Kremnoan Detachment forth once again, migrating to foreign lands. Where this wandering would end, he did not know. The only certainty was this — he would bear the duty of a king until the blood and flames consumed him. As night deepened, he drank the bloodwine alone. A passing bard plucked at his strings, a wandering melody drifting through the air— "Home is the land of dreams, not a place one can ever reach."