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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    the lord will smite thee with madness; arithmetic
    #2


    The forest had been his hiding place for far too long. The reaching of its branches grazed along his body as he strode confidently through the tangle of naked limbs. Why he had returned, he could not say. Winter time was cold and bit into him, carrying him back into the moderately warming cacoon of trees.

    Weaving through the branches he knows that he is not alone. Her scent is carried upon the breeze, urging him forward. Almost always trouble awaited him at the end of the trail, but he was happy to meet it - even if only to steal a moments flirtation.

    She saw him first, the mass of her looking to be the very image of death. By the standards of many she was not what most would consider beautiful. Freezing to examine her he felt for a moment that his mind was playing a cruel game on him. It was not often that one was granted the chance to stare directly into the face of death. Tilting his head he took a cautious step forward, attempting to make sense of the ruin of flesh and bone that compiled together to create the being before him. Spying him from a distance she does not hesitate. Confidently she approaches, almost as though unaware of the horror that was her form. It was beneath that he saw the glimmer. A beauty that was both dangerous and beautiful.

    Her purr reaches up and entwined itself within the depths of pleasure, grabbing his attention fully. Smiling, his ears followed the sound of her- his body tense with excitement.

    "Gorgeous and smart," he remarked playfully. It was a comfortable shift to be met with such immediate wit - entirely different than the forceful conversations he had been subjected to recently. "Let's say that I am, lonely, that is. Have you come to relieve me of it?"

    Arithmetic
    I Don't Make Love


    @[chantale]
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    RE: the lord will smite thee with madness; arithmetic - by Arithmetic - 07-09-2018, 09:22 PM



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