09-20-2017, 07:24 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
She hungered for him.
It is an insatiability she is not used to – a craving, deep within, stirring and festering like a gaping, open wound inside of her chest, leaving her breathless and wanton with a lust that went beyond power, beyond control. She had begun to feel possessive of him. She cared not who had him as a lover – (she, herself, had not yet taken him as such) – sexuality was meant to be shared, to be had by many, but there is a strange knot slowly developing near to her thrumming, violently beating heart that rouses whenever she is near to him and she can no longer ignore it.
It is not to be spoken aloud – there would be no startling confession, nor any declaration of devotion (did he not already know that she was his and his alone?). He has always preferred action over spoken word, and he had simply known her from the very beginning, without excessive explanation needed to vindicate the rush of adrenaline that surged through her sinew and bone when his yellowed teeth raked over her spine, or the crooning drawn from the dark confinement of her throat when he spoke of something particularly troublesome, or illicit.
It had simply always been –
And the irrational, unexplained agitation that had risen within her at the sight of another writhing against him, cooing to him their own promise and potential – ah, well, that was another thing entirely. She was unwavering, and there was no darkness she would not tread for him. She had found a kindred spirit, so much like her own sister Isra (oh, how she missed her so – and father too, hidden somewhere deep within the woodland shadow as he always was) and she was loath to release him into the clutches of another so easily. It stirred the bloodlust within her again; it roused the beast that lurked underneath the soft indigo of her skin and she longed to taste the blood of her enemy beneath her once again.
It would have to wait. There were more pressing matters –
Thana, his voice softly echoes in the shrouded darkness of the dense and heavy fog drifting through the thicket. She is still, then, her heart beating roughly once more, her two-toned gaze heavy and laden with impish mischievousness, and his scent is upon her – it does not take her long to find him.
”Gryffen,” she croons softly, brushing her dark mouth along the ridge of his jaw and lipping gently at the tangled mess of his mane, laying haphazardly across the paleness of his neck. ”here I am.”
It is an insatiability she is not used to – a craving, deep within, stirring and festering like a gaping, open wound inside of her chest, leaving her breathless and wanton with a lust that went beyond power, beyond control. She had begun to feel possessive of him. She cared not who had him as a lover – (she, herself, had not yet taken him as such) – sexuality was meant to be shared, to be had by many, but there is a strange knot slowly developing near to her thrumming, violently beating heart that rouses whenever she is near to him and she can no longer ignore it.
It is not to be spoken aloud – there would be no startling confession, nor any declaration of devotion (did he not already know that she was his and his alone?). He has always preferred action over spoken word, and he had simply known her from the very beginning, without excessive explanation needed to vindicate the rush of adrenaline that surged through her sinew and bone when his yellowed teeth raked over her spine, or the crooning drawn from the dark confinement of her throat when he spoke of something particularly troublesome, or illicit.
It had simply always been –
And the irrational, unexplained agitation that had risen within her at the sight of another writhing against him, cooing to him their own promise and potential – ah, well, that was another thing entirely. She was unwavering, and there was no darkness she would not tread for him. She had found a kindred spirit, so much like her own sister Isra (oh, how she missed her so – and father too, hidden somewhere deep within the woodland shadow as he always was) and she was loath to release him into the clutches of another so easily. It stirred the bloodlust within her again; it roused the beast that lurked underneath the soft indigo of her skin and she longed to taste the blood of her enemy beneath her once again.
It would have to wait. There were more pressing matters –
Thana, his voice softly echoes in the shrouded darkness of the dense and heavy fog drifting through the thicket. She is still, then, her heart beating roughly once more, her two-toned gaze heavy and laden with impish mischievousness, and his scent is upon her – it does not take her long to find him.
”Gryffen,” she croons softly, brushing her dark mouth along the ridge of his jaw and lipping gently at the tangled mess of his mane, laying haphazardly across the paleness of his neck. ”here I am.”