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    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    there is never a day that goes by; spink pony
    #4
    so you want to play with magic?
    you should know what you're falling for.
    She startles. His voice is as raspy as hers is. Like a the wind that blows, he is a storm in his own right. An angry swirling beast that does not know how to control his own strength. As such, is name perfectly suits him. She sees the thoughts conflicting in his swirling eyes, and knows his name before he gives it. And yet, the Grey Lady dips her head in acknowledgement of his name, her eyes lighting knowingly when Hurricane accuses her of prying into his mind without permission. She simply shrugs her tilts her head to one side, shrugs her shoulders, and..

    “Guilty as charged. But when one is as old as we are, there is little time for games. Or intrigue.” Her eyes rove over his body wantonly, measuring his stature. Testing his quality. Would he do? She tilts her head the other way, his scratchy voice mentions the poltergeist. At this, she drops her pretense, just for the moment, lowers her nose to her chest, and gives an easy, breathy laugh—with this, her mask and tainted crown slips from her head just a bit, and all sense of her color falls. A mottled grulla grey, black points, and green eyes. It is a flash of the woman beneath. And she speaks, unknowing of her appearance change—still as yet, unable to fully control her magic. “I am afraid I have to claim responsibility for that as well. I do not deal well with most company these days. It is said that I am a fallen woman, bereaved of all prior grace.”

    “So then. What has brought you out here, all alone? Certainly not the company. I am a witch, a ghost, you say.” An ironic smile twists on her lips as her eyes flash from emerald green, back to a stony silver grey, swirling with flecks of aquamarine. Her skin is a dappled blue to match. She takes a step closer to him, to bridge the gap… To feel his warmness. It has been so long since she has felt the warmth of another creature. The predator inside her is hungry.

    The woman inside her wants more.


    Reagan
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    RE: there is never a day that goes by; spink pony - by Reagan - 06-06-2017, 11:21 AM



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