lives, all mortal lives expire, souls go to their doom in flames forever more.

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    More prompts from rylaa

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a mouthwatering perfect photo of a otoro fatty tuna nigiri, served on an artsysqure black plate with a knob of freshly grated wasabi. the ray skin grater and the wasabi root are neatly arranged on a wooden board together with tiny bowl of soy sauce
    Hwær cwom mearg? Hwær cwom mago?
Hwær cwom maþþumgyfa?
Hwær cwom symbla gesetu?
Hwær sindon seledreamas?
Eala beorht bune!
Eala byrnwiga!
Eala þeodnes þrym!
Hu seo þrag gewat,
genap under nihthelm,
swa heo no wære.
    the liquid time of shut summer afternoon, through the window shades sunbeams trickle into the room, illuminating the lazy dust partcles in the air, so they seem like miniscule fireflies. the shadow of the ceiling ventilator makes its way slowly along the floor and the walls. on the table is a near empty bottle of whisky. a hand holds a full glass of it with a big melting icecube.
    lives, all mortal lives expire, souls go to their doom in flames forever more.
    Es neigte ein Schwanenkönig
Seinen Hals auf das Wasser hinab
Sein Gefieder war wei﷿ wie am ersten Tag
Rein wie Sirenenton
Und im Glitzern der Morgensonne
Sieht er in den Spiegel der Wellen hinein
Und mit brechenden Augen wei﷿ er
Das wird sein Abschied sein
Wenn ein Schwan singt, schweigen die Tiere
Wenn ein Schwan singt, lauschen die Tiere
Und sie raunen sich leise zu, raunen sich leise zu
Es ist ein Schwanenkönig, der in Liebe stirbt
Und es began der Schwanenkönig
Zu singen sein erstes Lied,
Unter der Trauerweide
Wo er sein Leben geliebt
Und er singt in den schönsten Tönen
Die man je auf Erden gehört
Von der Schönheit dieser Erde
Die ihn unsterblich betört
Wenn ein Schwan singt, schweigen die Tiere
Wenn ein Schwan singt, lauschen die Tiere
Und sie raunen sich leise zu, raunen sich leise zu
Es ist ein Schwanenkönig, der in Liebe stirbt
Und es singt der Schwanenkönig
Seinen ganzen letzten Tag
Bis sich die Abendsonne
Still ins Dunkelrot flieht
Lautlos die Trauerweide
Senkt ihre Blätter wie Lanzen hinab
Leiser und leiser die Töne
Bis das letzte Licht im Gesang verglüht
Wenn ein Schwan singt, lauschen die Tiere
Wenn ein Schwan singt, schweigen die Tiere
Und sie neigen sich tief hinab, raunen sich leise zu
Es ist ein Schwanenkönig, der in Liebe stirbt
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a smiling female receptionist in her red uniform at the reception of a kyoto grand hotel. on her neat hair she wears a beret and her skirt reaches down to her knees.
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a mouthwatering perfect photo of a otoro fatty tuna nigiri, served on an artsysqure black plate with a knob of freshly grated wasabi. the ray skin grater and the wasabi root are neatly arranged on a wooden board together with tiny bowl of soy sauce
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    a woman with absurdly long black hair and clad in a semitransparent white gown is riding a pitch black horse on a pittoressque beach in full gallop without a saddle. her hair is flowing in the wind as the horses hooves splash into the shallow waves at the waterline. her face is happy, almost ecstatic, as the wind and sun fight for enhancing her otherworldly beauty. in the background jagged rocks and cliffs hit by enormous waves give the image a hard contrast with the gebaute of the riding girl. the scene is both ethereal and menacing at the same time.
    an undead monster  stitched together from human an animal body parts
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