I'm an invisible monster,
and I'm incapable of loving anybody.
You don't know which is worse.
She needed to let the stress out. Between Dahmer's missing, and return. The babysitting of Smoak, Scyla's life had gone from footloose and feather free to trying hard to fit into a kingdom and a social hierarchy that Scyla had never developed skills for. Maybe Dahmer was right and her social skills needed work. The party had sounded like a good idea, and she watched in wonderment as food manifested itself from the soil, and that flowers came dancing out, braiding themselves. Her eyes widen, watching with merriment and laughter erupted from her mouth. She danced back from the apples coming towards her. Delicate pink nostrils flared and she picks up the apple, crunching quickly. The taste was tart, and there was a distinct buzz to them. Fermented.
She watches the walking lettuce before dancing away from them, and making her way over to the flower crowns. Quickly she scooped one onto her crown, made mainly with black eyed susans. The bright colors only emphasized her sticking out from the yellows and browns of the golden forest. She was the white flame for the moths, and though the mind was broken, her own body was still pristine. The white priestess while the monster lurked beneath the glossy exterior. She watches the others, dancing, drunk on the mirth and the smell of the season upon them all.
The invisible monster was a virgin, no one had dared to tempt the beast within in her, to breach the walls of her ramblings. Instead they kept her at arms length except her beloved Dahmer who could never truly leave her mind. She suddenly missed her brother and wished he could see the joy here. There was still beauty and happiness in the world! If only he could see it! But the Dark God that he had made her promise to leave alone had stolen his boyish grins, and replaced them with a solemn, broken man. Scyla would tear his immortal throat from his neck if she could. She would watch him gasp as the blood flooded his lungs, and listen as the heart beat faster and faster until the muscles were too weak to continue, and the oxygen gone from his blood. She would cut him open to watch his intestines writh on the ground like snakes. She would peel the skin from his muscle so that he understood how raw he had made her Dahmer.
Lost in thought, she runs into Gryffen at the gatherings edge. She squeals in anger, and staggers back, the alcohol in her system making her unsteady. Damn the apples. She realizes quickly that it was her host that she bumped into him. "My apologies. I'm not used to the apples and my mind was...elsewhere." She wouldn't reveal her dark fantasies, the ectasy pumping in her veins from envisioning the death of Carnage. Perhaps she should continue to make polite conversation but she was never a particular sociable creature. Instead her eyes wander towards the masses again, still enamored with the idea of the festival.
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@[Gryffen] Permission for rape, and as much blood/wounds as you want as long as nothing truly life threatening!
