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Choose your ingredients and mix a Cocktail for you and your friends.
Hier findet ihr nützliches Zubehör für Rollenspiele.
Einfach einen Würfel auswählen und das Ergebnis erscheint im Chat :)
The next time you want to go shopping on Amazon, you could do it with this link:
Amazon for Belletristicans
(Only works for amazon.de at the moment)
... because if you get to Amazon via Bellatristica, we get up to 10% of the value of your shopping cart, without making it cost more.
The same thing works from everywhere on Belle, no matter if it's a book recommendation in our Blog or an Amazon link in a profile.
Everything we earn this way, will be added to Belletristia's development budget.
Thank you very, very much! :)
- Ben & Sebastian
Adelaida was antsy for sacrilege.
With her long bleached her, she had never seen a butterfly, except in photographs. However when she saw that particular butterfly, she felt a mixture of disgust and sexual pleasure. The idea of someone being turned on by her decapitation made her want to vomit, from the death of a loved one in a car crash just a few weeks prior. And yet, there was something in the butterfly she wanted to poke its wings. A gamer of sorts, she had been raised on games all her life since her birth at the turn of the century. Through the century, she had known nothing but battle systems. But life was its own kind of dangerous game, she had known this since she had had to force herself to leave the Cult Of The Flying Angel.
With her new life taking increasingly bleaker and stranger angles, she found herself willing to experiment with getting to know someone from "the other Union" that itself had lost the rest to break up into smaller states since the end of the civil war.
Her country was a land of supernatural lore mixed with the contrast of city life et countryside along the coast. But she only came there occasionally, and spent most of her high school career caught up in lots of studies, along with a boyfriend in her own country she would always kiss. Yet she had the desire to leave this country, and move up North where her family had always joked were notorious for incest. Whether she could get a better life, she knew not. But she would do her best to make do with a country she had only barely been familiar with.
Like the blood butterfly, would have a period she would not to adjust to the new culture and lifestyle, even if part of their language was based on Latin even though the other was Germanic. She wore two Boston Clogs, not realizing these were the kink of the butterfly overseas. She would wear them taking off her rest shoes, her bare feet needing a break from the black high heels she would always wear to please somebody, even if that wasn't men. The men here were pushovers and subservient. She desired no subservience in herself and others, and wanted to lay on one side of the bed, and the other on the other side of the bed. One can only guess whether she found about her own country like the blood butterfly did about hers.
What is true is that the blood butterfly felt no affinity for her homegrown life, and grew tired of her parents always insisting on packing her bags for her, indeed the only way to not show them she smoked tobacco was by buying Virgina Slims once she reached Smyrna. She was unsure her Adelaida would accept her smoking, or try to get her to quit. There are always unknowns in meeting friends, and sometimes silence for a little while is all you need to restore all the smiles in the world again.
Adelaida wanted to be a butterfly with all her heart, even despite never knowing one. In dreams she would become a swarm of butterflies as numerous as locusts under the glow of the lunar light, and wanted to be a princess on the moon, just like her sailor friends in Japanese anime written in the 90s, recently being rebooted and trying to stay true to the source material. She wanted to hop into the photographs of the blood butterfly, she could meet someone she felt more interesting than her boring life. For there was nothing worse than after school night clubs, and despite being way to skinny would be made fun of for having a little bit of chub.
But for now she showers in the darkness, under the glow of flickering L.E.D. lights. A rub a dub dub. She groaned, she cackled, and she writhed in disgust.
She need someone to trust.
When Adelaida reached Smyrna, Tennessee she was unsure what to expect. The blood butterfly told her that her parents would be out of town. She offered cigarettes to Adelaida, while the blood butterfly smoked nothing but cigarillos under the shade on the moonlight night. "I would say what I wanted to, but I was burned by saying it before with my last room mate. I'm not even sure why I even found myself wanting to go with her to Seattle. Now I have these black clothes, and an upside down cross choker."
"Then don't say anything, let's just watch the stars." As polite as she was direct, indeed that watched nothing but the star on that night in October of 2017. Adelaida didn't like the idea of being in a city she did not recognize, even in her own country sometimes the panic attacks would be to much to handle. She dealt with her younger sibling listening to nothing but dubstep Handle, and use her pigtails for handle bars for a swing set. This was while her younger sibling relied on her not to fall, because Adelaida was so airy she could float to the top of the sky.
But she had not seen them for a while, and wanted to stay here while the blood butterfly went to support group in Chattanooga, that was known for hipsters while Nashville was the home of awful country music stars.
"Could I have a cigarillo?" asked Adelaida.
"Sure I'll break this next one in two." said the blood butterfly.
"No, give me a whole cigarillo."
Adelaida went into town, and found that like the blood butterfly said, Smyrna was becoming almost like a small city. This must of have inspired NashChat. She noticed a sign when she walked to the local smoke shop. It said South Park. She had seen South Park in her native language, and wondered if this was what influenced how the butterfly thought of the imagination intruding into the real world. And intrusion of the mind.
She was back before the butterfly got home.
She got her feel of people, for people were simply to much to handle. While she reclined in her Birkenstock sandals, and watched reruns of 1970s sitcoms and soap opera. Adelaida never understood the butterflies distaste for television.
She loved herself some TV.
She walked into the room the butterfly stayed in, and found it neatly made. She wondered if it was especially made for her. She wanted to rest in bed, and wait for her homesickness to melt away. She wanted to have those blood butterfly wings, and fly once more to the top of the sky.
The butterfly got home with Groceries.
She would have offered to cook for her, but she didn't want to wake up Adelaida. So she kissed her goodnight, gently closed the door, and then took a shower in the guest bathroom. After all it was never fun to be woken up.
No morning in a cup.
No taste of bitter coffee.
Adelaida was almost eighteen, at seventeen she wrote a Halloween story for her friend. She was nervous about what she may think of it, after all writing was something she had never shown on the inter webs, though she wrote plenty of it on her own time in the hours she would be home from school. But for now she wanted to do her own thing, and got tired of translating things.
When she got up, she poked the butterfly in the air. Because she never want to a touch a butterfly's wings. "Let's learn us some French grade 1."
Basic French, for a basic butterfly.
The butterfly is so basic. As basic as Tuna casserole made by her mother when she still lived at home. As basic as a pair of Birkenstock sandals, as basic as an otherwise Jolie la femme.
Basic was the butterfly's life.
Her life, her story.
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