Brought to you by: October Knight and Fluffy; Partners in Crime
[bg=#006633]This challenge is to help strengthen your vocabulary. You'll learn new words and how to use them in roleplay posts, stories, poems, etc!
Instructions: 1. Aim for a minimum of 1-3 paragraphs. If you'd like to write more than that, then go for it! 2. Make sure you use each word in your post. Be as creative as you'd like. 3. Style the writing like you would for a story. It can be describing a setting, or written from the perspective of a character. Whatever you feel would work the best. 4. Have fun with this, of course!
Abhorrence- The feeling of extreme repugnance; Utter Loathing. (Noun)
Congeal- To change from a fluid to solid state. (Verb)
fatuous- Foolish or silly, in general, but especially in a smug or self satisfying way. (Adjective)
foreshore - An area of sea shore that lies between high tide and low tide. (Noun)
nugatory- of no real value. Worthless. (Adjective)
It varies a lot depending on my schedule, unfortunately.
Preferred Character Gender
Primarily Prefer Male
The breeze was so acutely chilling that he could almost feel his blood congeal in his veins. The salt spray choked him, bitter and sharp with just a hint of fish, as he turned to look down the foreshore where the waves were ebbing back into themselves, rolling away and snatching up bits of debris from the sand as they went. Nighttime strolls at this time of year and in this locale were not strictly advisable, and he wasn't quite convinced himself of what it was that had brought him to come down to the beach that night; it certainly wasn't the well-creased square of paper tucked into the pocket of his denim cutoffs. He'd received too many such letters- each one read, crumpled, smoothed out again, folded up carefully, unfolded, read again, and finally tossed into the wastebin- for that alone to draw him out.
It couldn't be because of the letter, for it would be the most fatuous of wishful thinking to believe a word of it.
The wind quickened and filled his ears with a dull roar. Somehow, he knew then that as much as he would regret making this midnight excursion in the morning, and as much as he might discredit the cloying, nugatory vows intended to lure him here, he simply could not bear to go on as he had been these past months. Always there was an ashen coating in his mouth, a writhing and struggling dark mass festering below his breastbone, and especially in late hours such as these, his consciousness delved into dark and hollow depths. Some days he barely recognized the man he'd become. And so tonight he must face the instrument of his undoing, must find closure- one way or another- lest his self-abhorrence drag him out to sea like so many broken, jagged shells.
She stood at the foreshore, fearful to peer down into the crystalline waters that were shadowed by overcast skies. The rippling effect produced by lightly blowing winds would distort a reflection she couldn't quite bring herself to see, for gaunt features weathered with age was to her, a countenance of great abhorrence.
The skeletal female gazed upon her hands, palms upturned. Her fingers rigidly bent, each of them tipped with a brittle, yellowed talon. Her arms were heavily scarred, long ago battles she fought with the kitchen left her with such disfiguring marks upon the canvas of skin that barely clung to her frail form.
The geriatric woman observed herself as a collaboration of anatomical parts that didn't seem to work right anymore, an impaired physical structure she saw as a collapsing pillar of waning strength. Her blurred gaze shifted back to the undulating tide, she thought to the days she was blessed with great beauty. Milky orbs then rose to the heavens, and she meditated upon her youth. Garbed in attire beaded with pearls, hands clasping voluminous skirts, her body moved almost mechanically in a perfect curtsey.
She was so alluring that many men became her suitors. It was all nugatory now, as she was left to reflect upon her crumbling vanity. She hadn't achieved much in life, had enough of an existence forged of the fatuous dreams of when she was but a foolish girl. As she succumbed to mental destruction, her station changed from royalty to cook.
It was not until she last aimlessly stared into a large pot of what was the essence of soup, left to congeal upon a cold stove that she realized she could no longer allow herself to become ravaged by the prison of her decrepitude, her mind and heart exhausted by what seemed an illusion of anything other. She would face her fears one last time, if only to make her way to the depths she could not escape.