even a n g e l s fall
The magic thrummed beneath my feet sat the chamber, whispered truths, told lies and spun a glorious web of tales. I stand within the pines at night, Vercingetorix not far from my heel, silently watching my earthen knight scout the borders. There was contentment etched upon my face, something, something I thought never would engrave my polished gold features ever, Not in this existence anyway. Oh, but one can be so very wrong, and my mother dearest. She, she was dreadfully wrong.
My golden limbs arch, an ache to stretch, to run, to let my willowy form bound through the crunchy leaves. There was just so much room in the chamber to walk, to stroll. but through the path between field and chamber, I could open up. Long, arching legs propelling me forward. Like a sharp glimmer of gold through the burnt out trees, I flicker. I come to the field with an open mind, a mind focused solely on the chamber, solely on the future. It was something, years ago, I was not sure that I would ever feel. Contentment in life, contentment where I was -- oh but I could always strive for me, everyone could strive for me. That is why, even though the Chamber pulsed with new life, I was here, in the field. Trying to pick out the ones that stood out.
And this one, he definitely stood out.
The claret clung to my nostrils, a memory strokes my mind with tentative fingers yet I shake it off -- now is not the time for diving into recollection. I had done far too much of that whilst pregnant with Vercingentorix, and it will be something I will not do, with this pregnancy. Killdare, that man, that glorious, glorious man. The thought is gold and silver upon my mind, cherished, treasured, something I hold onto dearly, even as the scent of blood knocks me, I continue onward, clutching at the memory with secure hands.
I see him then, as I break from the shadows of the trees. A vessel of a man, torn up, bleeding. My nostrils pique, my lips part and I allow my salmon tongue to dampen my dry lips. The twang of metallic upon the air, mixed well with the earthy, moist scents of autumn. I remember the bittersweet taste, but pocket that memory also. Instead, my gilt frame marches through the colourful field, straight to the bleeding man. I outstretch my muzzle, as if attempting aid, but a smooth smirk dances upon my lips.
'You'll attract unwanted attention, bleeding everywhere.' I say, my tone bittersweet, woven black magic and sultry appeal. Creamy tresses dance upon my neck as I weave a few steps ever closer. 'If you look this bad, I'd hate to see how the other looks.' there, a dark chuckle, smooth and like lace, adorns the air with a coil of breath. My smirk does not leave, it never does, but my silver tone returns, all debonair, all sophistication. 'I'm Engelsfors. And you are?'
engelsfors
advisor of the chamber