- Posting Speed
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- NEVER
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Douche
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Female
- Genres
- Surrealism, Surreal Horror (Think Tim Burton), Steampunk, Sci-Fi Fantasy, Spaghetti Westerns, Mercenaries, Dieselpunk, Cyberpunk, Historical fantasies
For the first time in years, Sahar had no witty come back. She had no desire to kill or to show off.
"I wish…I wish I could live a life like that. People have all kinds of bad desires for me. They don't treat me like I'm anything but a tool. If I could trade places with any of other countless girls in this Empire, I would so do it."
Her red eyes continued to look at Zion. Sahar had never had a close bond to anyone in her life besides for Dr. Sherriden. Sure, there had been that one young man many years in the past but she was only eight then. Memories fade over time and those early years of sheltered life were a lonely flicker that she no longer wanted to remember. Trauma has a way of blocking out things people don't want to deal with; leaving one with a series of events that may not be the truth of what actually happened, rather what one believes is the truth.
"However. That is something that will never come to pass. I am destined to be this world's last prophet." Sahar said.
Zion continued to look at her, "So what are your goals as Prophet?"
"For all my followers…. Rule One: Everyone will be happy. Rule Two: Everyone shall always have a chicken in their pot. Rule Three: Everyone shall be equal. Rule Four: There will be no more suffering." Sahar recited.
"Cool! But how are you going to prevent suffering?"Zion asked.
"It shall be outlawed. I will make sure only sinners suffer at first. But soon even they will be welcomed into the nation."
She then smiled, "Do you have any other games, Mr. Zion?"
"I wish…I wish I could live a life like that. People have all kinds of bad desires for me. They don't treat me like I'm anything but a tool. If I could trade places with any of other countless girls in this Empire, I would so do it."
Her red eyes continued to look at Zion. Sahar had never had a close bond to anyone in her life besides for Dr. Sherriden. Sure, there had been that one young man many years in the past but she was only eight then. Memories fade over time and those early years of sheltered life were a lonely flicker that she no longer wanted to remember. Trauma has a way of blocking out things people don't want to deal with; leaving one with a series of events that may not be the truth of what actually happened, rather what one believes is the truth.
"However. That is something that will never come to pass. I am destined to be this world's last prophet." Sahar said.
Zion continued to look at her, "So what are your goals as Prophet?"
"For all my followers…. Rule One: Everyone will be happy. Rule Two: Everyone shall always have a chicken in their pot. Rule Three: Everyone shall be equal. Rule Four: There will be no more suffering." Sahar recited.
"Cool! But how are you going to prevent suffering?"Zion asked.
"It shall be outlawed. I will make sure only sinners suffer at first. But soon even they will be welcomed into the nation."
She then smiled, "Do you have any other games, Mr. Zion?"