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burn your kingdom down

@[Euryale] 10-21-2019 @ 09:51 PM (This post was last modified: 11-06-2019 @ 05:06 AM by Euryale.)
#1

Euryale

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightMare, 16.1hh
Age & Season3 Winter ❅
Crystals 100  ✦
WriterIvy, 12 posts
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out

WHEN SHE WAKES; SHE WAKES, IN THE EMPTY, CERULEAN MISTS OF A STILL-SLEEPING FOREST.  WITH LEAVES IN HER HAIR AND THE EARTH EMBRACING HER FLESH FROM BENEATH. THE SOIL; DARK, COOL, SWARTHY WITH FETILE DREGS AND FRAYED LEAVES; SMOOTHES ACROSS HER FRAME WITH ALL THAT SWEET ROTTING, OF DECAYED WILDFLOWERS. AND THEIR SNAKES, CURL BY THE LENGTH OF HER LEGS; SWIMMING AROUND THE SCARLET CONTOURS OF HER FRAME, WITH SUCH VENOMOUS RECKONING; HOW WELL DO YOU REALLY KNOW YOUR, EURYALE? WHEN SHE WAKES, SHE IS COZIED BY THE MUSKY FRAGRANCE OF PINE NEEDLES, AND THE SCENT OF MIDNIGHT JASMINE, FLUTTERING UPON HER RED, RED LIPS. SHE WAKES NAUGHT IN THE LUSH, EXTRAVAGANCE OF MONARCHIAL WEALTH AND FEMININE GLAMOUR; NOR THE REPOSING SOFTNESS OF DELICIOUS, CRIMSON VELVET, SMOOTHED LUXURIOUSLY ACROSS THEIR VICTORIAN BEDFRAME. ALL SILK TOUCH, BRUSHING HOT AND RAGGED, AGAINST HER BREAST.

O, SHE IS FAR FROM THE PURITAN SNOW OF HER HURRICANE PALACE. FROM THE COLD COFFIN OF A DESOLATE BED. SHE IS HERE BY THE RAW, MOIST EARTH; BETWEEN SHADOW AND THE FIRST STIRRINGS OF NIGHTFALL. SHE IS HERE; AMONG THE RICH, LOAMY PENUMBRA; THE WILD, SIREN CURVES OF HER BODY, BATHED IN THE SOFT LUMEN RAYS OF THE COMING, AUTUMN MORNING. SCARLET, WEAVES THROUGH MARBLED BLACKNESS. A VERMILION FRAME, CURVED AND LITHE. SWIMS LIKE SAVAGE WILDFIRE AGAINST THE DUSKY ILLUMINATION OF A BLACK RAVINE. THE LILAC HAIR, FALLS AS A VEIL OVER HER BODY. THEIR COLD MIST, ON BARE SKIN; SWIMMING DOWN HER SIDES, WITH ALL THAT CARESSIVE LANGUAGE AND GENTLE MOTION. SWEET, EASY MOTIONS THAT MAY SUGGEST OUR GORGON MAIDEN COULD BE FEELING SERENE THIS EVENING. AND IT IS IN THESE VERY WOODS, THESE VERY MOUNTAINS, THESE VERY CAVES, THAT SHE FINDS SANCTUARY; HER EDEN - HIS EVE.

SHE RISES FROM HER EARTHEN BED, DECORATED IN BONES. DECORATED IN BLOOD. THE VIOLET STRANDS, SLIP OVER HER FLESH. DESCENDING THE CURVE OF HER SHOULDER TO SMOOTHE ACROSS AN ELEGANT RIBGCAGE. AND SHE MOVES, QUIETLY, IN THAT INVITING, CRIMINAL SAUNTER. BURNING, THROUGH THE STONEY PATHWAYS OF GLOOM GROTTO WITH A LOW GROWL.  EURYALE, IS THAT BURNING IMAGE OF VIOLENCE; OR WAS IT, EUPHORIA? THE FIERY, CLANDESTINE ARMAGEDDON, CAGED IN FEMALE FLESH. AS IF VIOLENCE COULD NOT ESCAPE HER; NOR, SHE -  ESCAPE THE VIOLENCE. SHE HAS LONG DESTROYED HER OWN PATH TO SALVATION; AND THE FIRST VIRTUE SHE HAD DESTROYED, WERE THE HUMANITY IN HERSELF.

SHE LEAVES HER FORESTED EMPIRE IN THE PAST OF A SINGLE AFTERTHOUGHT. THE FERAL WOODLANDS, FADING BACK INTO THE BLACKNESS OF THE CAVES. ENTERING ANOTHER REALM IN PASSING, AS SHE YET SATISFIES HER WANDERLUST. THE LIGHT, SMOOTHES LOW ACROSS THE EARTH, CARESSING SOIL. FADED, IS THE SUN. AN ENGORGED BEACON OF LIGHT, SHATTERING LOW.  DRIPPING AMOROUS GOLD THROUGH THE SWARTHY INTERIOR OF THE ELABORATE SUBTERRANEAN. FADED, IS THE LIGHT; SLIPPING INBETWEEN THE COLOSSAL, OBSIDIAN BEAMS THAT LAVISHED PALE SILVER AND HIGHLIGHTED THE CHAOTIC, ROVING PALACE OF A BEAUTIFUL UNDERWORLD; NOW LAVISHED IN THE LAST SILKEN BREATH OF DAWN. ILLUMINATING THE LAST HOURS OF LIGHT, BEFORE SUNLIGHT WANES OVER ITS COFFIN ALONG THE EDGE. IT POURS THROUGH THE SOMBRE TUNNELS, THE BODY OF DEEP EARTH EMBRACED IN HALF-SHADOW, BEFORE SURRENDERING UPON MOONLIGHT AND NIGHTFALL AND COMPLETE BLACKNESS.

EURYALE MOVES SILENTLY BENEATH THE EARTH, TILL SHE SURRENDERS HERSELF INTO THE CONFINED GARDEN-PATHWAYS OF THE SUBTERRANEAN, ALONE. THE JADE-BLUE RIBBON HOVERS AGAINST THE LITHE, CRIMSON CURVES OF HER PHYSIQUE - DRAPED, ACROSS HER SKULL, ENIGMATICALLY; LENDING A SOFT, MYSTERIOUS SHROUD TO HER FEMININE PROFILE. UPON HER TEMPLE LAY THE MITHRIL TIARA, WITH ITS MATCHING BANGLE GLINTING ICILY AGAINST HER DELICATE ANKLE; its ornate filigree shimmering LIKE GLASS THORNS beneath diamond moonlight. IT IS THE FIRST TIME SHE HAS STEPPED OUTSIDE FROM HER PAST, AND SHE SOAKS UP THE AMBIENCE OF GLOOM GROTTO WITH ANIMAL-LIKE INSTINCT. TASTING THE AIR AND SIGHING WITH A HUNGRY PURR.  THE BEAUTY OF THE SUBMERGED LAKES, FILLED WITH DARKNESS, DREW THE SULTRY HISS FROM HER LIPS; AND SHE DRAWS DEEPER AND DEEPER INTO THE UNDERWORLD, PAVED OF MIDNIGHT DREAMS. paved of shadows. carved OF HELL. THE FRAGRANCE OF IRON AND JASMINE, EVER FOLLOWING THEIR MISTRESS' WAKE.

I don't want your money, I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down


─ she pins you to hotel doors, not a goddess anymore ─
but she still looks like religion in high heels; she kisses you, godless
whispers, we dress like princesses to go out and kill kings.

@[Mathis] 10-23-2019 @ 05:24 PM
#2

Mathis

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassBattle Magus
Gender & HeightStallion, 17.3hh
Age & Season15 Autumn ☁
Crystals 40  ✦
WriterSoupi, 12 posts

Mathis

rather be feared than loved

Clandestine motives never vanished but Mathis knew when exploitation gave way to pause, and little were those moments sedentary. Hallows lost and be damned, new worlds lay at the precipice of his midnight flints and lo the fool for not investigating. Curiosity killed felines not phantoms so oilslick daggers struck ancient stone and carried him to the lands first spied upon entrance. Company halted his potential for investigations previously, debate taking place of the pique that had tickled the flesh of his dorsal and leaving him hungry. Insatiable and unshackled Mathis uncharacteristically leaned to the siren song of inquiry and exploration and thought best to quell the rumble of his desire.

When first this wraith crossed the threshold and passed beneath bows they were alight with cyan, teal, and lime; fresh and pungent from spring rain. Begone were the cool hues of warmer seasons, burned at the hands of autumn as crimson and citrine stained-glass canopies glowed softly with sleepy, morning light. Dew sparkled in the breaks, announcing the dappled shafts of gilt light that filtered through to the sodden forest floor. The loam clung to the alabaster marks of his cornets like nagging wives, bidding him stray his attention elsewhere, anywhere but the caves. Their only answer was silver plumes from his nostrils, gentle vibrations that shook away the close of slumber and ushered in the eves of day.

Spying eyes sat nestled in azure and bone, their relentless surveying painting this fiery landscape on the mind's canvas and consulting his internal cartographer. Internal cogs and compasses hadn't failed him previously and this consistency promised him the gaping cave mouth before him. It stretched, fatigued and frozen in the pit of the autumnal wood. Moss hung like fine linen to conceal the slate below, halos of sunlight cresting the trees where their encroachment halted, and shadows beckoned him to the depths below. Only once he paused in the debris of rotting, umber leaves with a steady gaze that seemed to assure guarantee threats to anything that chose the opposition. But fleeting it was, and the dried discards of branches high crumbled to powder beneath his hooves as they descended into the bowels below.

Blackness enveloped him. Shadows had always felt home, darkness his only friend. From their veil he operated covertly for years, thriving typically unseen and unheard. He is not wraith-like for his features, no, but his affinity for the sable, addicted to the possibilities it provides him. His harks burrow into the threads of his mane as deafening clacks reverberated from the damp walls about him. At times an abyss greeted him while others the pale haze of sapphire lingered along the growth of deep moss and fungi. Little did he stop to investigate, though they reminded him of his Rue. Surely their potential properties would have been enticing; she and Regan could have picked at them for hours. Maths has little interest in the flora. The labyrinth alone provoked critical thinking, a mesmerizing song slipping icy fingers into his soul and tugging at it, leaning upon his intentions with yearning. He'd been prey to this unseen thread before and it's enchanting enigma. Was it what had persuaded him to satisfy his curiosity?

Effigies loomed in crags, haunting catacombs whispered silence, and shadows vowed death with the wrong step. Mathis continued, unassuaged from his exploration and relenting to the seductive promises of magic deeper in these caverns. While a man of intellect and deduction time lapsed without measure. When he first spied the supple, rubine curves alit by ribbons of cyan he hadn't an educated estimation for his vacancy here; and little did it matter here-thereafter. Silently the figure prowled forward, discernible through the inky gardens by the sharp, azure gleam of mithril decorated along their hide. Nostrils twitched and flared, tasting her jasmine perfume on the thick, damp air, so refreshing beneath the musk. A low hum rumbled in the back of his throat, ghostly visionaries slant around corners to keep the lilac of her banner in sight as she too moved through the maze, finding pleasure in the aroma.



TAGGED: @[Euryale]
WC: 687
MUSE: 3.5/5
OOC: apparently he's just going to stalk her ¯\_(ツ)_/¯



@[Euryale] 10-26-2019 @ 08:03 PM (This post was last modified: 11-06-2019 @ 05:06 AM by Euryale.)
#3

Euryale

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightMare, 16.1hh
Age & Season3 Winter ❅
Crystals 100  ✦
WriterIvy, 12 posts
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out

her youth is her deceit.  lupine jaws, hide her beauty.  beneath intoxicating lashes, those red eyes reveal their violence.  her soul is ancient scripture. her heart, every lovers' apocalypse.  draw close to her, and you shall read their tragedies.  they lace with immortal blood, between the shrine of her ribs.  as ancient as the relationship between moon and sea. as cold as time and death, itself.

she is the sensuous dark angel, descending the Byzantine stairwells of sheol. she bathes in its darkness. its labyrinthine ruin. behind the vampiric maiden, flows a silken veil of lush tresses. their heavy, lilac strands, dripping with luminosity; trailing, a priestess' burial gown, against the deep gloaming of wormwood, of soil.  her hair dances like a funeral veil, floating, against the misty contours of her alluring visage. luminous curls, tousled around soft, female shoulders; their tendrils, a sateen cadence glossed against the caramel edges of her jasmine-kissed skin.  as the intimacy of the evening folds around her, her lips shall curl with devilish rapture. feline bliss, roving against the chill of their embrace.  these stygian realms, as old and as ancient as time itself, fills her, completely. they scream for her needs. her wants - her darkest desires. 

a living, breathing phantasm, bending to her sirenic heart.  it's the trickling hymm of liquid, cascading over brusque limestone, that echoes against these desolate chambers. the laconic radiance of water, pooling black liquid against hushed crystal;  their iridescent opal stones, shining in the darkness of a long fogotten realm.  when euryale dances through their amethyst shadows, she imagines herself draped over a gilded throne; the obsidian castles in her dreams.  their water temples, lying deep underground.  rumbling, like a god in sinister dormancy. there were visions of lust, greed and deadly attraction.  a shattered throne, a broken crown; they were all intimate memories of an exiled queen.  o, and how long has it been? since she first tasted power upon her lips? to feel the narrow blade of a sword, pressed to her breast - to relish the visceral copper along their stained silver, that which her enemies spilled? o, she feels the dark earth, moving against her body - and when the earth pulls its ragged caress along her flesh.  she knows the earth to be as alive and as ancient, as she. breathing, against her heart with all the promise of an immortal lover. 

against the jowls of its feral touch, she sighs.  against the wicked lawlessness of its primordial promise, her blood sings. her soul, siren whispers of black ritual that dance passionately in their mortal coil.  she is scarlet beauty, drenched in sable lace. she is sweet, sweet sin, and her heart belongs to their infinite darkness.  deeper, she descends.  hungry for release.  salivating, to taste a violent, bitter end.  the grotto's jagged walls, how they'd immaculately hug the sinous curves of her vulpine figure.  stalagmites, precariously, whistling up above her.  ebon rocks, towering before the subterrean underworld like some twisted, funeral pyre - a Babylonian citadel, for all their wicked angels and sinners. their pillars carved of stardust, salt, and limestone, would echo the great vastness of space. their faceted edges, laced in sharp angles, roaming hungrily over her body as though they'd worship only beauty and grace. their salivating points, sliding bone-teeth over supple, feminine skin. how they claw for her flesh. dancing, towards her neckline; shoulders; hips - her sloping backside, wildly sensual in their endless invitation raked by sable talons of need.  lacing her in a thick, tantalizing web of shadow.  it's intoxicating, to be engulfed by so much darkness.  to feel the stony caress of the caves, brush their clandestine jaws against her.  to feel the earth, one with her flesh.  she never wants to leave - o, why would she? why would she?

euryale has always been a maiden of the moon.  she, who so loved the earth, the wilderness, the forests. a priestess of feral perceptivity, and the iron breath of her predatory intuition, always, seeking its spectral blade against the warmth of her blood-red curves.  o, and is she not the devil's mistress? does she not dance in the curves of a serpent; hourglass curvature, and come-hither, womanly prowess laced in elegant beryl. all that femininity; all that crimson. her visage, angelic; and yet, her heart is all hunger - all demon.  enter, the red queen; "come away with me," her voice is swan-soft and ethereal. cooing against silken lips in their heavenly lull.  she sings, softly, ushering lyrical melodies past her lips with every sultry hiss of indignation.  "come away with me, into the water," silvery purrs, croon from her tongue.  singing honeyed notes, as she descends into a shallow pool, languid and languishing.  her long hair, trails against svelte limbs. their tendrils, fanning upon their sleek, onyx surface, as she saunters yet into their moist depths.  she pulls a bone comb from the swell of her lilac curls, running its ivory teeth through the tangled lengths of her mane; brushing each unearthly strand.  teasing their ends, delicately.

she sings with swan's abandon.  gracing the black pool  with her elegantly, mysterious aura.  a siren, succumbing, to the hush of trickling fountains; their wandering desolation, an underground music of riveting melancholy.  it's only then - between the first breath of suspicion - does she feel the covert stirrings of wintry trepidation. the sinuous omen of danger. the impeding jaws of deadly, promise.  they were the orchestrated silence of the devil.  serpentine.  calculating.  she will feel their ice first, as a shiver coils invisible, clammy digits over her spine.  she will taste their raw masculinity; smouldering, hotly against the dank haze.  their sinister concealment, a looming gargoyle exquisitely hid amongst the gnarled, spiraling catacombs. the archaic incense of worn-parchment; the musk of wax and candle; ancient smells of the damned, the wicked, permeating like iron through the musky air. their dust and ruination will brush past delicate, ivory nares as she yet drinks the sleuth-approach of their entity.  they are primeval, otherworldly.  if evil did have a taste, it would taste just like this.

"soothing, isn't it?" euryale's sultry voice, taunts with angelic softness. she does not turn around as she croons, but continues to brush her hair, languidly.  before slipping the bone-comb, back within fluttering, tender lilac. "for one, to be surrounded in complete darkness," the hiss leaves her tongue. her arctic femininity, lacing each bewitching syllable in a sea of insufferable chill.  when at last the maiden turns around to face her veiled devil, a coldly, alluring smile ghosts the slender curvature of her jaws. ivory fangs, gleaming against such girlish, silk-white visage.  her audits cup forward, greedily receptive for any given sign of life.  her eyes, blazing to devour flesh;  discerning smooth, raven threads and swarthy, facial contours, far too saturated in nebulous ink to truly unravel their mystery.  she seems to eat at the blackness, for the bestial way her gaze, consumes. carmine pupils, razing molten fire; climbing over nightfall skin and shadowy enigma. "and yet, two bodies in the dark;  one can only imagine, the many possible endings ..." her whisper is delicious.  she wants to lure them into her path.  tempt them from the tenebrous shade, and into the swollen glitz of liquid that hums with crystal illumination.  she wants to put a face to this darkness.  she wants the devil's name. "so.  which ending are you?"

~ Mathis

I don't want your money, I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down


─ she pins you to hotel doors, not a goddess anymore ─
but she still looks like religion in high heels; she kisses you, godless
whispers, we dress like princesses to go out and kill kings.

@[Storyteller] 10-26-2019 @ 08:03 PM (This post was last modified: 10-28-2019 @ 07:34 AM by Spoupi.)
#4
Moderator

Storyteller

RankFate
LevelVirtuoso
ClassEquine
Gender & HeightStallion, 10hh
Age & SeasonImmortal Spring ✿
Crystals 960  ✦
WriterNPC, 182 posts
Ooh, shiny! You have happened upon an Autumnal Ruby! All characters receive +1 event currency.
@[Mathis] 10-28-2019 @ 03:07 PM
#5

Mathis

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassBattle Magus
Gender & HeightStallion, 17.3hh
Age & Season15 Autumn ☁
Crystals 40  ✦
WriterSoupi, 12 posts

Mathis

rather be feared than loved

Nature has a way of adapting to handicaps, both temporary and permanent. Little help was offered by the crystalline shadows and their dull, tepid ambiance, squeezed from their shells by an invisible sufferer craving luminescence. But not everywhere has desperation purchased clarity and it is those shadows, his otherworldly and eldritch friends, that consume the paths. He lost the carmine figure to the obscurity of phantasms but only in sight. Alabaster harks twitched atop his visage, listening intently to the sensual cadence of the vixen's progress - she too was unafraid of the shadows, of the darkness. It was to the tempo of their hoof beats clattering and resonating against the damp walls that led him. Corridors narrowed until raking earthen nails scratched at his sides, bidding him stay and relinquish his surface dwelling, while others this ruptured into the chasms and the echoes of their yawning progress danced with their origins.

Where the threads that had spun 'round him conjured by the female - a witch, sorceress, enchantress? Committed so, he could no longer tell. The yearning tug had retreated and left only a tight, lacerating vice of inquisitiveness. It reminded him of yonder years, long grown exhausted now, of his boyhood. Through the tickle of nostalgia his hooves followed, relying on instinct to navigate him through the deep dark, as clarion images of his youth marqueed. He recalled the lime glow of cauldrons that his tutors slaved over washing his face in haunting light, of it melting into the visceral alabaster and transforming him from boy to man beneath the weight of their teachings. Another propped the still growing patriarch of scare, webs, and tricks against the reaching shelves of a gothic library, it too obscured to darkness and lit with only scarce, dim candlelight. The tomes had seemed so impossible to surmount than, the weight of their secrets and words literally baring the tonnage to crush him. And, like now, as the siren's swan song echoed through the dismal labyrinth, Mathis had been accompanied by his dear friends, the shadows, even then.

It was the melancholic but angelic spools of sweet song that shook away the brume of yesteryears and enraptured Mathis back to present. On the precipice of the fissure which they filled he spied her. Silken, lavender threads curved to the weight of a bone brush, dripping opaline tears back to the waters in which she bathed. False sky glows danced along the surface, betraying the hidden, luminescent treasures at the siren's soaking daggers. A veil of that same lilac touched strand slipped along the mirror-like surface of the pond behind her. Quietly he observed, an audience silenced by the aria of their performer, admiring her coat that clashed with his own; crimson and azure, a tangled rivalry never to end until perhaps color, light itself fails to the ether of oblivion. He'd not ventured here for the concreto of a woman but was slave to no master, especially time, and found it agreeable to linger. But her song faded and she kept her back to the mute party as she addressed him, direct and unworried.

Her honeyed lyrics seemed touched by crimson silk and drunk with provocation. Unafraid Mathis lazily stepped into their antechamber so he no longer danced with his friend the shadows and offered some structure, but approach the pool he did not. Cool, haunted visionaries watched her. There was a disinterest on the sharp edges of his skeletal mask that spoke of distance, of a strength and resolve few men had when confronting a specimen like she. "It has yet to be decided," he offered her in return, speaking to life an auditory comparison to keep company with their visual. There was a low, monotonous way in which he spoke. It seemed to take hovel in the back of his throat where it was unhurried to vacate. Not unlike a predator Mathis proceeded forward at a leaden pace, following the curvature between the high arching walls the the lady's bath. Another hold, another physical manifestation of his reserve. He knew of many men who would have slipped into those waters, orchestrated sonnets of bullshit dressed in sugary coatings, all to win the affections (temporary or not) of the femme. But no hooves of his tarried to the water's edge. No mind of his debated on needless words to impress her. Rather, a supine end of his waltz ceased, and his white mask turned to her. "Have you decided on an outcome?"


TAGGED: Euryale
WC: 687
MUSE: 3.5/5
OOC:...



@[Euryale] 11-05-2019 @ 10:52 AM (This post was last modified: 11-05-2019 @ 10:54 AM by Euryale.)
#6

Euryale

RankPathfinder
LevelOne
ClassSorcerer
Gender & HeightMare, 16.1hh
Age & Season3 Winter ❅
Crystals 100  ✦
WriterIvy, 12 posts
Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out

her heart is filled with violent songs. how her ancient blood, hums with rituals of the occult.  every curve of her is bound in beautiful, lascivious sin.  even her flesh, all crimson, curvaceous and hauntingly soft, shall whisper their songs of poetry and eternal hunger.  her tenderness, is a guise.  in her wickedness, she desires to pull you under her enchantment.  she lures you with the jasmine of her skin.  the scent of her swan-soft hair.  the taste of her cherry lips, swathed in roses and poison and the promise of eternal damnation.  how would it feel - to surrender to her lips? to drown in those eyes, where a hundred more men, have drowned before you? how would it feel - to settle within her arms? to embrace both darkness and tenderness, in the form of a serpent? in the form of a woman?

crystalline droplets, serenade the pool's ebon surface. in the stillness of the caves, it's a haunting aria, that echoes throughout the blackened melancholy, dotted with predatory glowworms. it bathes in the shadows of a subterranean song.  she will hear every ascending noise, echo throughout its bottomless labyrinths.  every whisper of rain-water, sliding away from their jagged ceilings.  dripping below, into a great abyss of smoke and vacant nothingness.  laced, amidst the unsettling tranquility, it's the very demonic essence that suddenly embraces the lilac-haired maiden.  every sliver of masculine heartbeat and rugged waning of breath, that spills like poisoned elixir into the midnight atmosphere.  she almost feels alone, for the quiet way the earth devours her.  for the ghastly emptiness, that drifts across her body as she lies in a river of shadows, waiting for them to come.  am i alone?  but like darkness, he is silent and haunting.  he finally pours into her peripheral vision.  all cobalt-obsidian, elegantly fleshed in chiseled, male muscle.  his scent fills the tight ambiance.  his ash, smoke and cathedral candles, bathing her in primordial ribbons of musky virility.  he fills the emptiness with his chimerical physique.  his muscular body, long and serpentine, as the towering hessian prowls towards her; the feral conviction of a predator, smouldering in his glacial stare.

when he nears her watery den, she can almost taste the heat of his flesh, upon her lips.  her head turns, as her eyes trail over his dark skin.  their sable hide, washed in azure; gleaming threads of bone-white, where chaotic stitches travel like bolts of webbed lightning wrapped around his tendons.  his hair falls upon his face. a darkness, that smothers his jawline.  his mouth, an elongated shadow rimmed in jagged slate, making him appear all the more savage and alluring.  he is so different to her vermillion curves, her sensual crimson, her perfectly pale face.  and yet, where the porcelain crawls over his physique - she, too, possesses the same ruinous symmetry.  upon her neck, along her shoulder, and supple breast and thighs; the white crawls, there. vein-like, toxic.  effortlessly, spidering into her sinful curves.  the maiden, purrs.  she eats him the way a prowling lioness eats at a silhouette in the sparse, desert moonlight.  from the darkness, she will watch as the outline of his form, traverses.  she will undress the ivory contours of his face, first; their chiseled, bone-white audits cupping forward, like horned devil's.  the winter of his steely visage, conveying no emotion; their masculine features, swathed in tendrils of nebulous ink, were far too cloying to discern their true nature.

yet already, apart of her (the wolf that lives in her heart), knows what he is.  he is iron.  he is power.  he moves like the coming storm.  every tendon along his viperous torso, executed with patient lethality.  she will see the chill in his otherworldly gaze.  she will hear the steel in his voice.  even his meandering steps, possesses a leonine edge, that promises the hunger of kings.  but where is your kingdom? where is your crown, o king? there is wisedom in his aged, yet handsome face. his ominous features, now gleaming against crystalline hues; refracting bioluminence, that bounces from the lake's surface and rippled in soft, ethereal waves above them.  when he finally halts in his saunter, euryale feels her slender bodice turning towards the behemoth.  her lupine tail sways behind her hips.  lilac tendrils, feathering against the surface of the pool, and flicking back and forth like a wildcat.  a gesture that might have been considered playful, were it naught for her moonlight fangs.  are you afraid to get wet, darling? a soft smile curls the maiden's jaws, yet her gaze is vampiric, hollow. somewhere in their ruby depths, she will find him bewitching.  a hunger to be near him, shall silently possess her.

"perhaps, it's not the ending, but rather our beginning,"  her voice is low, a sing-song hiss, laced in the sirenic melody of almost-laughter, almost-echo.  euryale feels her heart flutter beneath her porcelain breast; beating a monarch's crescendo.  a butterfly wing, that pools hot and flush.  bathing, beneath delicate, crimson skin with the taste of lust and avarice.  her ancient magic begs for release.  every part of her body screams for the ocean. one day, i will be free to sing. perhaps, it's the promise of blood and iron; the underlying destruction, that would flourish from two starving hearts.  perhaps, it's all that physical heat; all that distance, that stretches out like an eternal road, labouring before them.  the burning anticipation, wrestled amongst predators (amongst strangers), lathering like sticky sin upon the unbridled air.  there were but many roads; yet all roads, shall lead to one end.  the night was all but young, and like a slothful mermaid wrapped in her sensuous vanity, euryale languishes against a nearby boulder.  her delicate shoulder, pressed to its cold surface.  her long mane, draping elegantly over stone.  their tendrils a wild cascade of endlessly, beautiful lavender that stumbles like silk-water over sharp rocks.  her devilishly feline eyes, khol-lined and heavily lashed, lazily flicks up at him like a forbidden prayer.  like an angel that has strayed too far from the grace of god, and now sought the adulations of the devil. 

"and yet, why keep away from the water's edge?"  her silky breath, glides over their honeyed tongue.  her eyes climbs the hard muscles of his chest, till they inched their delicious way along his throat.  a sudden yet soft breeze sweeps from behind him.  it is as tender as her curves, as delicate as her song, and as wild as the darkness that howls in her blood.  her aerial kiss, will seek to tangle like gentle fingers through the lengths of his mane.  playing with their long, obsidian ends, until the sigh of her witchcraft subsides as swiftly as exhaled breath.  her lips darken from smile to ardent smirk.  an elegantly-sculpted brow, lifting with challenge. utterly feminine, impossibly devious, provoking him with the hellfire of their come-hither gaze. "surely, a man like you, does not shy from the water; nor the creatures in it."

Mathis

I don't want your money, I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down


─ she pins you to hotel doors, not a goddess anymore ─
but she still looks like religion in high heels; she kisses you, godless
whispers, we dress like princesses to go out and kill kings.


Current time: 11-13-2019, 01:08 AM.
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Omne: A Fantasy Animal Roleplay BIANDRI.