Femme slinks through Umbra. Feral curtains of ebonite sways against nape. Arched appendages dance across the topography. Diadem suspends aloft as audits tower and listen to the songs of the forest. Moist loam cakes flint not like the sandy shoals of gemstone ridge. Fatale memorized background. Oceanfront and spray clung to ebony bodice. Now femme stinks of burning. Chaos was around. He was growing, femme was unbiased with her pride. He coped well with one eye. Ebony femme exits the trunks, rough bark against her barrel. Femme enters the empty clearing. She wondered where the other residents were. It seemed awfully lonesome that femme wondered if she shouldn't have left the ridge. Neir was nowhere and blue was somewhere. Femme was here dancing through the Chamber by the nights song. we are the f a l l e n angels |
Assailant -- Year 226
"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
f a l l e n Angel
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07-21-2015, 04:31 PM
07-23-2015, 04:58 AM
(This post was last modified: 07-23-2015, 04:58 AM by Engelsfors.)
drink the poision lightly there are deeper and darker things than you
07-23-2015, 09:55 AM
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