Difference between revisions of "Allison Thorn"
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"The buzzing is always with me now. it is part of me. Or, more accurately I am part of it, part of the collective. Like the low hum of a radio in the back of my mind, barely audible, has been tuned to a specific station and set at a specific volume for a reason. Just beyond what can be heard clearly, there is a voice, a pattern, I can grasp at the faint words to form the meaning. The lessons are there but not easily understood. This is Gaia and her 'education protocol', her attempt to awaken my potential. Potential for what? Light or Dark? Order or Chaos? I am not sure." | "The buzzing is always with me now. it is part of me. Or, more accurately I am part of it, part of the collective. Like the low hum of a radio in the back of my mind, barely audible, has been tuned to a specific station and set at a specific volume for a reason. Just beyond what can be heard clearly, there is a voice, a pattern, I can grasp at the faint words to form the meaning. The lessons are there but not easily understood. This is Gaia and her 'education protocol', her attempt to awaken my potential. Potential for what? Light or Dark? Order or Chaos? I am not sure." | ||
| − | "I remember when it happened. It happened while I slept. The vortices of synchronized membranous wings struck like a tempest on my skin, followed by the prick of tiny claws across my face. That horrid sensation of suffocation as the bee crawled inside my nasal cavity. Was this metaphorical, my dreaming brain's attempt to process the information I was gifted with? Or, perhaps it was all too frighteningly literal. I don't know. That is when the bee injected the raw nectar of knowledge into that honeycomb of gray matter I call a brain, where it was digested and reconstituted over the following week while I slept. No. That isn't how it was. I was digested and reconstituted over the following week | + | "I remember when it happened. It happened while I slept. The vortices of synchronized membranous wings struck like a tempest on my skin, followed by the prick of tiny claws across my face. That horrid sensation of suffocation as the bee crawled inside my nasal cavity. Was this metaphorical, my dreaming brain's attempt to process the information I was gifted with? Or, perhaps it was all too frighteningly literal. I don't know. That is when the bee injected the raw nectar of knowledge into that honeycomb of gray matter I call a brain, where it was digested and reconstituted over the following week while I slept. No. That isn't how it was. I was digested and reconstituted over the following week." |
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| + | "Before all that I was an ordinary small-town kid. Well, at least I thought I so. I thought my parents were normal. Well as normal as a couple of quirky hippies with a good grasp of druidic magic, alchemy, and other assorted occult knowledge can be. I didn't know they were former Illuminati. or at least they thought they were. The reality is secret societies don't see things that way. Once in there is no getting out, as least not while you are still alive. The Illuminati was nice enough to let them pretend for a while." | ||
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| + | "there were signs that I was not quite normal." | ||
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