04-02-2017, 11:17 PM
i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
The gentle caress of summer weaves its way through her ruffled feathers as a quiet breeze touches delicately along her pale golden skin, eliciting a long and drawn out sigh from her parted, whiskered lips. She is alone, pressed against an old, brittle oak with her tightly bound wing scratching an insatiable itch against the dry bark – a quiet presence hidden away within the thicket; seeking solace for her rampant mind.
An uncomfortable anger stirs beneath the usual stoic intensity of her feminine features; her hazel eyes laced with arsenic and her tongue lined with cyanide, lying in wait. There was a part of her – however small – that felt betrayed; deceived in a way. She had not been given any regard, nor notice as to what the thought process was of the one who held her heart. There was no grudge beneath the surface of her frustration – Lucrezia was more than suited to lead, to guide, and she herself did not care for the crown of thorns in any capacity. It had been the right decision, but one that had blindsided her nonetheless.
Such fact did not take away the raw, tender hurt that lingered in her chest in the days following, and still her heart aches, bruised from the burdensome weight of feeling estranged. Invisible in a way, though it only serves to infuriate her further, as she had never craved anything but to be a looming shadow tucked away in the background.
The shadows beckon her forth and she falls into temptation, savoring the way the temperature drops as the sun struggles to peek through the heavy pines that shelter her. She prefers the dim, dark rhythm of the night, in which she is unrestrained and able to move swiftly, yet the thick brush and tightly wound foliage of the forest is a beckoning mistress to her in the heat of the day. Alas, the sun has been ensnared in the delicate entanglement of dusk, slowly falling behind a yawning mountain, its bleak light giving way to the drapery of a darkened, starlit sky.
The scent envelopes her long before her mind can comprehend the complexity of it – stagnant, wretched - death, and though her heart seizes for a moment within the wrought iron cage of her breast, a faint rumbling of delight stirs inside of her. Death, a scent she had long been well accompanied with. She had manipulated many a corpse in her youth, articulating her ability to twist and bend bones, admiring their density and the tender (delicious, though she had never admitted it to anyone) marrow that lay within.
As her lungs fill with oxygen and her senses become overwhelmed with the heavy stench, her dark hazel eyes search the descending darkness – and her breath hitches in the tightness of her throat, recognition of a broad, menacing figure causing her heart rate to steadily rise.
”You,” she breathes, with nary a rustling leaf to interrupt the pregnant silence, her tone oozing malice. ”I should have known you might be skulking around in the dark with nothing better to do. Get out of my way.”
An uncomfortable anger stirs beneath the usual stoic intensity of her feminine features; her hazel eyes laced with arsenic and her tongue lined with cyanide, lying in wait. There was a part of her – however small – that felt betrayed; deceived in a way. She had not been given any regard, nor notice as to what the thought process was of the one who held her heart. There was no grudge beneath the surface of her frustration – Lucrezia was more than suited to lead, to guide, and she herself did not care for the crown of thorns in any capacity. It had been the right decision, but one that had blindsided her nonetheless.
Such fact did not take away the raw, tender hurt that lingered in her chest in the days following, and still her heart aches, bruised from the burdensome weight of feeling estranged. Invisible in a way, though it only serves to infuriate her further, as she had never craved anything but to be a looming shadow tucked away in the background.
The shadows beckon her forth and she falls into temptation, savoring the way the temperature drops as the sun struggles to peek through the heavy pines that shelter her. She prefers the dim, dark rhythm of the night, in which she is unrestrained and able to move swiftly, yet the thick brush and tightly wound foliage of the forest is a beckoning mistress to her in the heat of the day. Alas, the sun has been ensnared in the delicate entanglement of dusk, slowly falling behind a yawning mountain, its bleak light giving way to the drapery of a darkened, starlit sky.
The scent envelopes her long before her mind can comprehend the complexity of it – stagnant, wretched - death, and though her heart seizes for a moment within the wrought iron cage of her breast, a faint rumbling of delight stirs inside of her. Death, a scent she had long been well accompanied with. She had manipulated many a corpse in her youth, articulating her ability to twist and bend bones, admiring their density and the tender (delicious, though she had never admitted it to anyone) marrow that lay within.
As her lungs fill with oxygen and her senses become overwhelmed with the heavy stench, her dark hazel eyes search the descending darkness – and her breath hitches in the tightness of her throat, recognition of a broad, menacing figure causing her heart rate to steadily rise.
”You,” she breathes, with nary a rustling leaf to interrupt the pregnant silence, her tone oozing malice. ”I should have known you might be skulking around in the dark with nothing better to do. Get out of my way.”
Ellyse
@[Pollock] - you have full permission to do whatever you'd like to her during the course of said thread. :|