between the shadows and the soul - Engelsfors, Erebor

[Engelsfors]

{ that's quite alright! }

Engelsfors on tarnished golden wings Gossamer cream threads flick along my willowy neck, with ever stride they roll like liquid against every knot of sinew. The autumn air is still warm, the crust of leaves beneath my feet give way to satisfying crunches as I walk side by side with the painted Queen. She talks and I am all ears, swivelling like radar they capture each syllable like cobwebs to flies. Words were knowledge, knowledge was power. After all, the pen was far mightier than the sword. I listened intently, my sapphire gaze kept trained upon Straia as we walked from the field, through the rolling fields of dying green, the cascading waterfall that smelt delightfully menthol, and then towards the enclosure of pine. My nostrils inhale, deeply, fervently. The pine smell is rich, potent. And as I turn back my structured crown, I smell the soft pine on the painted lady. Rich, like an expensive perfume. It filled my nostrils, touched my skin. I gave a low nicker. 'the pine trees are delightful.' they are vast, regal in appearance, the spindles at my feet crunching with satisfying creaks and cracks. I turn my gaze around the Chamber as we enter. Keeping a golden ear to Straia. My sapphire gaze takes in the glory. I am still young, perhaps at times I forget just how cast the world is, just how many different individuals inhabit the earth and again, just how different the landscapes were. I noted the scars on the loam, burns that held memories for some. 'The scars are quite becoming. I'm sure there are many stories they tell. Secrets they hold.' I am quivers of whimsy and slithers of desire. A sponge, absorbing every little nook and detail of the chamber. I lick my lips, tasting the sweet pine, the rough earth and still the acrid ashy feel in the atmosphere. I turn my lofty head back to the Queen. 'I am a lady of words myself, Lady Straia. My preference would be one of diplomacy.' silver spun tapestry, etched with metallic good. They are words of a true lady in the making. A mould that is flawless in every way. I dip my head, my velvet muzzle twitching into a smooth, sophisticated smile. 'You have my gratitude, for this opportunity.' my mother's image appears in my line of sight. Golden eyes, golden words. I am almost a carbon copy, every little thing the same. Except the beating organ in my chest, hers struck against her rib age with passionate blows, mine, mine beat a shallow, almost there cadence. Pretty on the outside but the heart within me beat black as night. I turned an eye to Straia as she called for another. Her son. I idle for a few moments until he appears and a debonair smile etches my lips, a steady glow settles in my eye. A facade as beautiful as the Chamber. Hauntingly so. 'Pleasure, Erebor.' calm, collected, a mystery shrouded with elegant lace and rich satin, I noted he was a little younger than I, perhaps not by much. But he was a delightful star to look at. I'm reminded once more of my mothers words. Beauty, it gets you everything yet destroys you all the same. I turn back to the painted Queen, a respectful incline of my muzzle, 'I won't keep you, my lady. I bid thee adieu.' floral, like thorny roses, my tongue is rich, my words smooth. I turn my attention back to the ebony steed, my sapphire gaze hauntingly precise an unmoving. 'Do you know the tales of the Chamber, Sir Erebor?' honeyed words, sickly sweet with a beautiful smile to match. My cream tail glided gently over my loins, swatting away rogue flies, the crisp leaves that marred my palomino coat. even the angels start to fall