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WHO IS WONDERLAND?
WHY IS THE MOON SMILING?
In the annals of grungy backchannels and libraries across the verdant face of Meranthe, there is a strange publication that shares no date nor origin known to it's holders. Something written in poor freehand, with tapestries and illustration written across its surface with ink that seems to dance upon the page. There is something wrong with these little grimoires: the stink of a knowledge that mankind was never meant to hold in its paws. The texts are most spoken of in strange rumors, but there are certain precepts that have found themselves trafficked freely;
and to those who pry too deeply, rumors of a sealed invitation to a party.
"REALITY IS ILLUSION," so wrote ▇▇▇▇▇▇.
If one is to assume that all things have opposites: that light and dark exist on a co-axial spectrum.
Then what is opposed to the presence of things and thought? The absence of things - which is the yawing space between. The air which bends light between the stars. The gaps beyond where no light further intrudes. Is consciousness and thought limited only to the realm of things, and not that is devoid of it? If the roots and the birds and the bugs have life and souls, and balance the world;
then what stands counterbalance to the absence of life?
If one is to assume that all things have opposites: that light and dark exist on a co-axial spectrum.
Then what is opposed to the presence of things and thought? The absence of things - which is the yawing space between. The air which bends light between the stars. The gaps beyond where no light further intrudes. Is consciousness and thought limited only to the realm of things, and not that is devoid of it? If the roots and the birds and the bugs have life and souls, and balance the world;
then what stands counterbalance to the absence of life?
"DREAMS ARE THE COLLATION OF WHAT IS NOT AND WILL BE," so wrote ▇▇▇▇.
The melding ground of the material and the immaterial. Dreams are a substantiation of what is beyond real: the fabric of thought, of old stories, of the world before the world breathed. We call this place WONDERLAND: simultaneously existing and not existing, woven with Human thought, but far predating it. The place all ideas come from and are woven together like the thousand threads of fate turning in their axis.
"STARS RESTRAIN OUR THOUGHTS, BUT THE MOON SMILES," so wrote ▇▇▇▇▇▇.
"WRITE THE NAME
ALICE
THREE TIMES IN THE MIRROR
AND SLEEP WITH A CLOVEN HOOF UNDER YOUR PILLOW."
Quote:OOC Note:
Semi-public plot hook for people interested in a Lunar/Void-themed coven.
If your character tries to follow up on the weird translations from a recent event, feel free to contact caeso#7798!