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", "writing": "A Beautiful Sacrifice\nThe sunrise over the foggy horizon spills through my windows, the pink sky and the gray clouds of another morning are thinly veiled by the fog that's settled on the village. The sweet song of morning songbirds stirs me from my sleep and at the moment I awake, the realization of my decision washes over me in a wave of excitement. Today's the day I've chosen to die.\n\n I sit up in my bed quickly and blink, rubbing sleep from my tired eyes with both of my palms. I turn my head and face a window at my bedside, the glass radiating with cold from the outside and the dusk light bathing me. I smile. I have chosen a beautiful morning to pass. I swivel to the other side of my bed, my feet peering from under the covers that hung from my mattress, and leap down out of bed and readjust the sheets. If anybody were to investigate my home after my death, I would want it to be known that I left behind a pristine and tidy cottage to prove that I am truly a model example of a child of Alray. I make my way to the bathroom, the floor creaking under my feet.\n\n My morning ritual starts with me rinsing off my face. I collect water in the palms of my hands from the sink and splash it over my face, rubbing it into my skin and eyes to wash off all the crusted sleep. I lift my head to stare at my face in the mirror. I am beautiful. I look over to a brush resting on the sink's marble frame and move on with the next step. I start to brush my hair, brushing out all the knots and tangles from my mane, transforming the mess to a straight curtain of course hair. It's the same color as the clouds slowly drifting across the sky. \"I am beautiful.\" I repeat again to myself.\n\n The final step to my ritual is getting dressed. I head out of the bathroom, but not before drying off any dampness from my face with a nearby towel. I make my way to my closet with a calm pace, I am in no rush. I open the wooden doors and reveal my clothing to myself, hanging from a metal pole by wire clothing hangers. I reach for a familiar white blouse and an ankle length skirt, the same color of dark cedar bark. I strip myself from my sleep dress and neatly folded it, placing it upon my tidied bed. I push my arms through the thin sleeves of my blouse, their cuffs hugging my wrists, and buttoned it up to my collar bone, the familiar grip of the blouse's collar around my neck is tight, but not uncomfortably so. I pull my skirt up to my waist and tuck in the end of blouse into it's waistband. I turn around to my nightstand and retrieve a hair-tie that's been waiting their patiently and tie my hair up into a bun with such expertise, anyone watching would think it's as easy as breathing. With my morning ritual complete, I retrieve a small leather satchel hanging by the straps from my bedpost and approach my door, slipping my feet into my shoes and opening the door.\n\n As I take the first steps outside, I savor the view of the stables and the shed and my garden that rests underneath my window. I take a good long look at the sky, for today will be the last dawn I'll ever see. I'm not scared, in fact I'm still as excited as I was when I awoke. Gravel crunches under the soles of my shoes as I walk towards my shed. I open the door, the hinges creaking with old age. I walk into the darkness and retrieve a metal watering can from a shelf and close the door with my foot. I brought the can to middle of the village where a well sat, and filled the can with the water in the bucket and returned to my cottage to water the flowers growing under my windowsill, nourishing their life one last time. I return the watering can where it came from and walked to the back of my house, towards a large wood that I used to frequent to gather kindling. Leaves and sticks crunch underneath me, the birds in the canopies of the oaks chirping. Their songs are delightful and the ambiance of the wood puts me at ease.\n\n Finally, I am here. The area I picked out yesterday morning is a small clearing where a powerful and tall oak stood in the middle. It is my old friend, a familiar acquaintance. I remember when I always brought Ysmeina to this tree to sit and talk with me. We'd spend hours under it's open canopies, sometimes having picnics in the afternoons of last year's summer. Just like how I lived to the fullest underneath this tree, I have chosen to die underneath it. It's a comforting feeling, the memories of sisterly love linger in the air. I sit myself against the oak's trunk and sigh, closing my eyes and sitting in the shade. The sun has come up gradually during my time of getting ready, the rays of sunlight filtering more brightly through the trees' leaves, the branches swaying and the wonderful song of the wind blowing through the wood rolls in my head.\n\n Finally, I open my eyes. I looked over to the satchel that was patiently waiting by my side and reach for it, hoisting it onto my lap and flipping over the leather flap. All that was kept within it was a sizable dagger, the handle carved from wood and the blade freshly sharpened. I brandished it in-front of me and turned it to an angle, the light of the wood reflecting from it's blade. I realize I'm breathing quite loudly, my heart beating quicker in instinctual fear. \"It's time..\" I say out-loud to myself, my voice nearly cracking. It was time. It was time to finally initiate my beautiful sacrifice. With a shaky unsteady hand, I bring the blade to the flesh of my neck. I flinch as I press the blade to my skin. It's cold and intimidating;a dreadful instrument of death. I am willing, though. I longed for it's cold unforgiving touch. I take a moment to calm myself, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly, thinking of all the things to come when I pass on. It's too stressful here, I deserve this. I'm doing myself a favor. I feel immensely happy and not one thought is a lie. I smile. My hand is no longer trembling and the dagger stands still in my grasp. With a mental count down from three, I slash through my throat, severing multiple veins and arteries. My blood spills out heavy and quick and weakness washes over my body, my arm falling to my side. I breathe heavily, my heart beating out quick and fast. \"Hhhuu..h-hnngh..\" I groan. The pain is stinging and agonizing, uncomfortable and drawn out. My fingers dig into my palms. In the midst of my miserableness I feel a burn in my loins. I enjoy this, to my weak surprise. The arousal quickly grew like a raging wildfire until the need for release was unbearable. I whined and lifted up my soggy skirt to reveal my groin, a pair of simple white panties were wrapped around my crotch and a large wet stain in the middle of it. Without realizing it, my hand slips into my soaked undergarments and my fingers start going at my clit madly, eliciting weak whimpers and moans from my mouth that differentiated in pitches, my body twitching and my legs stretching stiff. My toes stretched out in my shoes as I neared my orgasm. I clenched my teeth behind a tightly closed frown. The pain is starting to dull as powerful tingles of arousal mask it, as well as my nerves fading. I can feel myself dying, which only arouses me more. Then, my stomach lurches forward as I reached climax, my orgasm squirting out cum into my panties. I let out a weak rasp of bliss, my eyes squeezing shut until I have weakened the muscles in my eyelids. I breath heavily and lazily take my hand out of my panties and it lays limp next to me. My vision is growing darker and darker as the minutes pass. How long as it been? It's felt like an eternity. I'm so weak. So, so weak. Despite the morning being a little warm from the fog, I feel cold as a chill of death shivers throughout my dying body. My chest heaves weakly until it ceases suddenly, my frantic heart suddenly stops beating. There's no blood left to pump, as my organ had pumped out all of my blood, my life force, out of my fatal wound during its furious dance.\n\nThe song of the birds in the canopies are getting harder to hear now, the wood being much quieter than it was before. I hear a voice, however. It's building louder and louder until It's unmistakably recognizable. It's Ysmeina. I can hear her. I see someone coming closer. Is it one of Alray's angles? It's Ysmeina, I can see her. I can see her warm smile and it makes me powerfully ecstatic. I'm coming, Ysmeina.\n\nMy death, finally complete.\n\nMy beautiful sacrifice, complete.\n\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "A Beautiful Sacrifice
The sunrise over the foggy horizon spills through my windows, the pink sky and the gray clouds of another morning are thinly veiled by the fog that's settled on the village. The sweet song of morning songbirds stirs me from my sleep and at the moment I awake, the realization of my decision washes over me in a wave of excitement. Today's the day I've chosen to die.

   I sit up in my bed quickly and blink, rubbing sleep from my tired eyes with both of my palms. I turn my head and face a window at my bedside, the glass radiating with cold from the outside and the dusk light bathing me. I smile. I have chosen a beautiful morning to pass. I swivel to the other side of my bed, my feet peering from under the covers that hung from my mattress, and leap down out of bed and readjust the sheets. If anybody were to investigate my home after my death, I would want it to be known that I left behind a pristine and tidy cottage to prove that I am truly a model example of a child of Alray. I make my way to the bathroom, the floor creaking under my feet.

   My morning ritual starts with me rinsing off my face. I collect water in the palms of my hands from the sink and splash it over my face, rubbing it into my skin and eyes to wash off all the crusted sleep. I lift my head to stare at my face in the mirror. I am beautiful. I look over to a brush resting on the sink's marble frame and move on with the next step. I start to brush my hair, brushing out all the knots and tangles from my mane, transforming the mess to a straight curtain of course hair. It's the same color as the clouds slowly drifting across the sky. "I am beautiful." I repeat again to myself.

  The final step to my ritual is getting dressed. I head out of the bathroom, but not before drying off any dampness from my face with a nearby towel. I make my way to my closet with a calm pace, I am in no rush. I open the wooden doors and reveal my clothing to myself, hanging from a metal pole by wire clothing hangers. I reach for a familiar white blouse and an ankle length skirt, the same color of dark cedar bark. I strip myself from my sleep dress and neatly folded it, placing it upon my tidied bed. I push my arms through the thin sleeves of my blouse, their cuffs hugging my wrists, and buttoned it up to my collar bone, the familiar grip of the blouse's collar around my neck is tight, but not uncomfortably so. I pull my skirt up to my waist and tuck in the end of blouse into it's waistband. I turn around to my nightstand and retrieve a hair-tie that's been waiting their patiently and tie my hair up into a bun with such expertise, anyone watching would think it's as easy as breathing. With my morning ritual complete, I retrieve a small leather satchel hanging by the straps from my bedpost and approach my door, slipping my feet into my shoes and opening the door.

  As I take the first steps outside, I savor the view of the stables and the shed and my garden that rests underneath my window. I take a good long look at the sky, for today will be the last dawn I'll ever see. I'm not scared, in fact I'm still as excited as I was when I awoke. Gravel crunches under the soles of my shoes as I walk towards my shed. I open the door, the hinges creaking with old age. I walk into the darkness and retrieve a metal watering can from a shelf and close the door with my foot. I brought the can to middle of the village where a well sat, and filled the can with the water in the bucket and returned to my cottage to water the flowers growing under my windowsill, nourishing their life one last time. I return the watering can where it came from and walked to the back of my house, towards a large wood that I used to frequent to gather kindling. Leaves and sticks crunch underneath me, the birds in the canopies of the oaks chirping. Their songs are delightful and the ambiance of the wood puts me at ease.

  Finally, I am here. The area I picked out yesterday morning is a small clearing where a powerful and tall oak stood in the middle. It is my old friend, a familiar acquaintance. I remember when I always brought Ysmeina to this tree to sit and talk with me. We'd spend hours under it's open canopies, sometimes having picnics in the afternoons of last year's summer. Just like how I lived to the fullest underneath this tree, I have chosen to die underneath it. It's a comforting feeling, the memories of sisterly love linger in the air. I sit myself against the oak's trunk and sigh, closing my eyes and sitting in the shade. The sun has come up gradually during my time of getting ready, the rays of sunlight filtering more brightly through the trees' leaves, the branches swaying and the wonderful song of the wind blowing through the wood rolls in my head.

  Finally, I open my eyes. I looked over to the satchel that was patiently waiting by my side and reach for it, hoisting it onto my lap and flipping over the leather flap. All that was kept within it was a sizable dagger, the handle carved from wood and the blade freshly sharpened. I brandished it in-front of me and turned it to an angle, the light of the wood reflecting from it's blade. I realize I'm breathing quite loudly, my heart beating quicker in instinctual fear. "It's time.." I say out-loud to myself, my voice nearly cracking. It was time. It was time to finally initiate my beautiful sacrifice. With a shaky unsteady hand, I bring the blade to the flesh of my neck. I flinch as I press the blade to my skin. It's cold and intimidating;a dreadful instrument of death. I am willing, though. I longed for it's cold unforgiving touch. I take a moment to calm myself, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly, thinking of all the things to come when I pass on. It's too stressful here, I deserve this. I'm doing myself a favor. I feel immensely happy and not one thought is a lie. I smile. My hand is no longer trembling and the dagger stands still in my grasp. With a mental count down from three, I slash through my throat, severing multiple veins and arteries. My blood spills out heavy and quick and weakness washes over my body, my arm falling to my side. I breathe heavily, my heart beating out quick and fast. "Hhhuu..h-hnngh.." I groan. The pain is stinging and agonizing, uncomfortable and drawn out. My fingers dig into my palms. In the midst of my miserableness I feel a burn in my loins. I enjoy this, to my weak surprise. The arousal quickly grew like a raging wildfire until the need for release was  unbearable. I whined and lifted up my soggy skirt to reveal my groin, a pair of simple white panties were wrapped around my crotch and a large wet stain in the middle of it. Without realizing it, my hand slips into my soaked undergarments and my fingers start going at my clit madly, eliciting weak whimpers and moans from my mouth that differentiated in pitches, my body twitching and my legs stretching stiff. My toes stretched out in my shoes as I neared my orgasm. I clenched my teeth behind a tightly closed frown. The pain is starting to dull as powerful tingles of arousal mask it, as well as my nerves fading. I can feel myself dying, which only arouses me more. Then, my stomach lurches forward as I reached climax, my orgasm squirting out cum into my panties. I let out a weak rasp of bliss, my eyes squeezing shut until I have weakened the muscles in my eyelids. I breath heavily and lazily take my hand out of my panties and it lays limp next to me. My vision is growing darker and darker as the minutes pass. How long as it been? It's felt like an eternity. I'm so weak. So, so weak. Despite the morning being a little warm from the fog, I feel cold as a chill of death shivers throughout my dying body. My chest heaves weakly until it ceases suddenly, my frantic heart suddenly stops beating. There's no blood left to pump, as my organ had pumped out all of my blood, my life force, out of my fatal wound during its furious dance.

The song of the birds in the canopies are getting harder to hear now, the wood being much quieter than it was before. I hear a voice, however. It's building louder and louder until It's unmistakably recognizable. It's Ysmeina. I can hear her. I see someone coming closer. Is it one of Alray's angles? It's Ysmeina, I can see her. I can see her warm smile and it makes me powerfully ecstatic. I'm coming, Ysmeina.

My death, finally complete.

My beautiful sacrifice, complete.


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