-Taken from the journal of a survivor
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By the time we got lost in the woods, we had already been found by a tribe of heathens who captured us and took us as prisoners. They fed us with enough food to keep us alive, yet that did not stop some of us from losing their lives. They were not hostile towards us, they never hurt us, they never abused us. They gave our fallen comrades proper burials, they let us out of our cages to say our last words for them. There was this one whom I can never forget. The one they all called 'Mother', the one I assume was their queen. She was the one who took my hand and walked me out of the woods, walked me back to my life. She was the one who gave life to the woods. She was their heart, their queen, their Mother. -Taken from the journal of a survivor Style Card
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The smoke from her pipe rose slowly as she carried her long legs across the room, eyeing each of the girls in front of her thin figure. She was their savior from their old pitiful lives as tavern wenches and beggars, she was their only chance of survival in this world. She owned the brothel, she owned the women. Now, they were nothing but her property, and they had nothing to fear when they were under her protection. They had nothing to fear except her lashing whip when they faulted her or one of her customers. STYLE CARD
The lights were off, though you could hear the crackling of the fire through the hallways, the hushed voices and then a bang from a hand slamming down on a table. Most likely the new queen, they called The Black Queen. She was pure evil, nothing but a black hole inside, blackened heart. She always took her time to sip her absinthe as her covered eyes still pierced your soul, she would smirk a bit before lifting her left hand slightly, leaving it in the air a minute before bringing it back down. You would know she sentenced you to death, she wouldn't move as her guards sliced into you, she would just sip her absinthe. STYLE CARD
Beams of light begun decorating the fresh spring sky as flowers blossomed once again. The smell of roses danced around the cold yet sunny days, the lovers who held each others hands roamed through the streets. It was the love, the pure and lovely state of heart that the mortals experienced so deeply. So once again, on a day named Valentines Day, she landed on land. She wore a dress in the color of passion, yet the flowers she carried reeked of innocence. She had blonde locks of healthy hair, yet her eyes were blind to see her beauty. Because she was the angel of love, and just like love, she was a blind who adorned herself in the disguise of passion yet actually gave one the purest of emotions. Style Card
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