10-20-2017, 10:15 AM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
”You,” she breathes, a tinge of amusement lacing the single syllable as he emerges from the shadow from whence he came. Her mismatched gaze traces his broad, muscular frame, roving over the thick and defined muscle beneath his pied flesh, along the columned ridge of his long and graceful neck where the flawlessly layered surface of his impenetrable scales lay gleaming beneath the pale moonlight. ”what a pleasant surprise.”
She is drawn closer, not only by his allure (he is handsome swathed in darkness, without his trembling Queen nestled against the masculine ridge of his shoulder) – but also by her intrigue for the way his own gaze bores into hers, deeply seeking meaning, purpose. The dried leaves rumble and break beneath her weight as each limb carries her closer to him, while the sinew and bone beneath her indigo hide slowly shifts methodically with each forward stride. He does not shy from her as many do, despite the given flinch of his throat when she seamlessly moves closer to him – a predator and its prey, but which held the upper hand?
She knew not of his capabilities – but he is akin to her; there is a hunger in his eyes that tells of a beast lurking beneath the surface. She had sensed it then, when he had guarded a precious Queen too fragile and too delicate to withstand the truth of her failure. There was nary a sign of affection as he boldly stood forth to shield her from the perceived threat; she was a possession – something to be kept; a porcelain figurine to be preserved, protected – and she can see it now, hidden within the mischievous glint of his dark and voracious eyes.
Boldly, her lips brush across his cheek, the warmth of her breath caressing the crook of his neck as a wicked smile is drawn across her dark mouth, where sharp teeth lay.
”Torture is not my thing, sweet Ivar,” she croons, the dark gray of her eye meeting with the bronze of his own. ”I do not need cruelty to be feared. Crushing babies -” she pauses then, remembering the dark, pitchless colt, with his sac and afterbirth still clinging to his hide, while his mother lay still and lifeless, covered in her own blood and the drying sheen of sweat of her exertion. ”that would be too easy. I prefer to kill those who can see it coming.”
Slowly, her teeth brush across his neck, raking over each individual scale crossing her lips.
”Don't you?”
She is drawn closer, not only by his allure (he is handsome swathed in darkness, without his trembling Queen nestled against the masculine ridge of his shoulder) – but also by her intrigue for the way his own gaze bores into hers, deeply seeking meaning, purpose. The dried leaves rumble and break beneath her weight as each limb carries her closer to him, while the sinew and bone beneath her indigo hide slowly shifts methodically with each forward stride. He does not shy from her as many do, despite the given flinch of his throat when she seamlessly moves closer to him – a predator and its prey, but which held the upper hand?
She knew not of his capabilities – but he is akin to her; there is a hunger in his eyes that tells of a beast lurking beneath the surface. She had sensed it then, when he had guarded a precious Queen too fragile and too delicate to withstand the truth of her failure. There was nary a sign of affection as he boldly stood forth to shield her from the perceived threat; she was a possession – something to be kept; a porcelain figurine to be preserved, protected – and she can see it now, hidden within the mischievous glint of his dark and voracious eyes.
Boldly, her lips brush across his cheek, the warmth of her breath caressing the crook of his neck as a wicked smile is drawn across her dark mouth, where sharp teeth lay.
”Torture is not my thing, sweet Ivar,” she croons, the dark gray of her eye meeting with the bronze of his own. ”I do not need cruelty to be feared. Crushing babies -” she pauses then, remembering the dark, pitchless colt, with his sac and afterbirth still clinging to his hide, while his mother lay still and lifeless, covered in her own blood and the drying sheen of sweat of her exertion. ”that would be too easy. I prefer to kill those who can see it coming.”
Slowly, her teeth brush across his neck, raking over each individual scale crossing her lips.
”Don't you?”
@[Ivar]