—Severus Snape
—Severus Snape
More Posts from A-lady-and-her-quill and Others
—The Golden Apple of Discord 🍎
In the spirit of holy week ♱, I've decided to drop this, if this post doesn't resonate with you, feel free to skip....
𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑑, 𝐴 𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑎 𝑏𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑡 𝑠𝘩𝑒’𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑑. 𝑃𝑢𝑟𝑒-𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟, 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑟.
𝑇𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑑, 𝑊𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑎 𝑏𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑛 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑, 𝑎 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑. 𝐻𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑜𝑟, 𝐴 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑜’𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡, 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒.
—A lady and her quill, Courage Worn in Scarlet and Green
“In my restless dreams, I see that town. Silent Hill. You promised me you'd take me there again someday. But because of me, you were never able to. Well, I'm alone there now… In our “special place.” Waiting for you…" Waiting for you to come to see me. But you never do. And so I wait, wrapped in my cocoon of pain and loneliness. I know I've done a terrible thing to you. Something you'll never forgive me for. I wish I could change that, but I can't. I feel so pathetic and ugly lying here, waiting for you...
I look my mum to see The Last Supper part 3 because it was almost Mother's Day.
She thought Jesus wandering around in the garden dragged on too long and that The Chosen was too long and too depressing to watch. I think she's right.
I didn't like how Jesus lied to his disciples at the last supper. "It's nothing," he lied. I also didn't like that Jesus falsely accused the father of asking too much.
My mum said The Chosen focused too much on the other characters, and not enough on Jesus and Judas.
I haven't watched the last supper scene of the chosen. I believe its out in cinemas alone but maybe when I see it I'll probably understand what you mean.
Lately the only thing I've been taking seriously in my life is this blog.𓇢𓆸
Beauty is terror, whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. -The Secret History
"𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝘩 𝐼 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩𝑡; 𝑂𝑏𝑠𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝐼𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑊𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘩𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟. 𝐼'𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝐼'𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑠, 𝑀𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑏𝑦𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑙 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼'𝑑 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑."
― Benedict Smith
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