she/hers
​trespasser
weary | looming
cannonball tree, Hymenochaete luteobadia,
​cordyceps, strangler fig
moths
community familiar
rainforest floor | forest biome
location tbd

story & personality

gruff, rough-around-the-edges, unforgiving (especially towards herself).
tobacco-scratchy grandma voice. a woodswoman.
if a tree falls in the forest...
tbd; wip

appearances

You may create art of 457 freely, but please ask before including her in esk interactions. Please no writing yet, thank you!

transformations

Currently 457 is unavailable to be used for transformations or as a creator esk.

the moths, Mary Oliver

There’s a kind of white moth, I don’t know
what kind, that glimmers
by mid-May
in the forest, just
as the pink mocassin flowers
are rising.

If you notice anything,
it leads you to notice
more
and more.

And anyway
I was so full of energy.
I was always running around, looking
at this and that.

If I stopped
the pain
was unbearable.

If I stopped and thought, maybe
the world
can’t be saved,
the pain
was unbearable.
Finally, I noticed enough.
All around me in the forest
the white moths floated.

How long do they live, fluttering
in and out of the shadows?

You aren’t much, I said
one day to my reflection
in a green pond,
and grinned.

The wings of the moths catch the sunlight
and burn
so brightly.

At night, sometimes,
they slip between the pink lobes
of the moccasin flowers and lie there until dawn,
motionless
in those dark halls of honey.

inspiration & playlist

rewards

August 13th, 2021
x

credits

header image: seenyurr
profile pixel: chartermark
poem: Mary Oliver
large pixel: zoomutt