• Logout
  • 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


    your hips on my jawline; scythe
    #1
    karsi
    The stench of the beach has long left my oily skin. My home of bone and skin is surely swallowed up by the blood thick waters and decaying black sand. I sometimes wonder if I should go see but then I realize that I do not give a fuck. The lump in my chest steadily rocks back and forth in it's bone cage. It does not let me feel anything.

    No pain. No pleasure. No amount of fucking can make me move mountains. I exist simply because I must. I am the darkness that shrouds and cools. I am the bad to your good. I am the balance-keeper.

    The forest has proved to be disappointing yet again. All is dead and cold and wasting. I can feel the edges of my lips curling upward as a smile flits across my lips like a ghost before it is gone and my expression slacks once again. The cold is starting to make my bones ache.

    I fasten a small structure with the use of my abilities, moving dead limbs into a half domicile. Steadily thatching till the skeleton exists and I am pleased. I move fallen fir branches across the small creation to provide shelter from the sopping wet forest. This all takes me almost no time to create.

    I clear the snow with my whim, replacing it with dry pine needles. I prefer to not stand in the mud. Once this is done I enter the small structure and inspect it for a moment before I feel something relatable to satisfaction. At least I am not freezing my ass off anymore. My pale eyes stare out as the fat snowflakes fall like little drunken bumblebees. I move the white of my hair away from my brow so I may watch as the equines drift by like ships on the tide, enjoying my little hut. Smugness coats my dark lips before I drop my head to nibble at some of the grass just beyond the pale blue of my legs.
    your hips on my jawline
    Reply
    #2
    karsi
    I feel satisfied with this barrier for now but it is not my home. I do not have a real home anymore nor do I think I think I really require one. But against the decay of gray and bone whites is a burnt boy, tawny and black. My pale eyes do not attempt to overlook him but instead settle and feast upon his young frame.

    He is but a few years my junior but the touch of puberty has just begun to grow him tall and lean. He is much too young to satisfy the ache between my legs so I regard him as such. "Not hard." I murmur the words from between the ink of my lips, poison syllables lolling of my pale pink tongue. I eye him a moment longer before gripping a swath of frozen grass to ingest while he looks upon me and my frigid kingdom. "Care to join me?"

    I am the old crone in the gingerbread house.
    The wold in grandmother's clothes.

    I do not wish to consume him. No, I do not care much for the flavor of my own kind but I am curious of this boy. Will he take a bite of my apple?
    your hips on my jawline
    Reply




    Users browsing this thread: 2 Guest(s)