Queen Carcharias' photostream

Welcome in my universe, stranger! Don't forget to visit my blog written in French and English. You can discover my
world, full of dramatical stories...


Imaginary Bestiary :
•Maur (pullip Hello Kitty)
•Indochine (pullip Another Alice)
•Quilty Quilty (pullip Amarri)
•Chuck (pullip Lan Ake)
•Toussaint (pullip Blanche)
•Mephisto (pullip FC)
•CeeCee (pullip FC)
•Urs (pullip FC)
•Fastrade (pullip FC)
•Misenabime (pullip FC)
•Maelström (pullip FC)

•Daryl (dal Ciel Robin)
•Brutus (dal Ciel)
•Girouette (dal Dotori)

•Bartholomew (taeyang FC)
•Amaretto (taeyang Seiran)
•Averse (taeyang Scarecrow)
•Baron Samedi (taeyang Another King)
•Vancouver (taeyang Nosferatu)

•Monsieur Perpette (byul Humpty Dumpty)

Under Outside :
•Rosario (MSD Doll Leaves M)
•Mièvre (MSD Doll Leaves G)


# Under Outside

This place will remain unknown of you, whoever. Nobody goes to it of his free will, nobody knows it existence, even those who live in it. This place is nowhere, but everywhere at once. It has no name, except the one that we give it, and that nobody knows. It is empty, and full of a something that we do not feel.
It is the feelings which feed it. People in the too short life populate it. Melancholy, despair. It makes for it grey, grey, " clear black in all the universe ". But nobody realizes it, all cry, and laugh, and are nothing else only not living.

In the middle of this place, a greyer place still than the others. A wooden stage, or of metal, or nothing. A big frame surrounds it, something is written there, but nobody reads it, nobody can, and nobody would want anyway, everything is vain. When the evening falls, if it is possible to call the eternel resumption of this life which does not exist, characters move on this stage, showing their past life which interests nobody, which does not interest them any more they even. They laugh, cry, shout, jump for joy, in one completed pantomime of their " other I ". No consciousness, nothing. Just this eternal play which begins again every evening, and which will begin again, for centuries to come, if it is possible to count centuries.

This theater has no name. It roams in the mist of the grey of this place. Perfect small dolls of an unhealthy, cruel puppeteer, intending them for a future without future. They all died, and their life was unfinished. Each before a purpose, the end, but nobody of them did not arrive at this stage. Then, they are in the place, to play to, in the hell of this place.