way down we go; any

[Charlemagne]

charlemagne

You shout it out, but I can’t hear a word you say…

She moves toward the thicket, the lake at her back. She can feel the pull of the water as it laps lazily toward the bank. And then a crooning voice, so silky—like warm fudge sliding down your throat. Decadence. Care to join me. She does not expect it.

But she is no prepared to reject him, either.

Slowly, she turns back towards her shadow-man, into the wind. Her black hair falls behind her, and he looks up at him, leveling him first time with her gaze—those great grey eyes that have toppled kingdoms—and kings. She stares into his soul, gauging his worthiness. Charlemagne, the man-eater. She places a small smirk on her face, looking him over, and the way the waves kiss his body, lapping over his fine form. Like a glove, it surrounds him in an intimate hug that cannot be overlooked, and Carli wonders just how warm the water must be, if in the dead of winter, that this golden bird would have that kind of effect on her shadow-man. She purrs softly to herself, her entire body buzzing as she walks, no slinks towards him, wishing she could be that warm body that was wrapped around him thusly. Without magic, she does not know his name, or his status—or the size of his cock—but what she can see floating intriguingly from the top of the water makes Carli girl thrum with a quiet excitement, her feathers on edge.

They didn’t make them like this in her day.
The moon hangs low, casting a sheen across the golden bird’s back, throwing her shadow upon the pale sand that lined the lake. The land is quiet, and the like is like glass. Except for the male in her presence, all is as it should be. For Carli, his very presence was enough to make her quake back to reality. She should not be in this place. The meadow is in the other direction. And yet…
Charlemagne comes closer, stepping a delicately formed onyx hoof into the water, sending excited trembles of water in his direction. She moves with care, levelling him with her gaze. He was in a word--beautiful. But then, so was she.

“You wish me to join you for a midnight swim, and yet you have no idea who I am; I have no idea who you are, and under the light of the moon, you cannot even really see what I look like.” She steps out, the curve of her rump cast in moonlight as it cascades down her body. She is perfect, and she has set her sights on her next playtoy. She would have him. He was perfect. The meadow would keep. “What if you don’t like what you see when you wake in the morning?”

Shoot me down, but I won’t fall… I am titanium…