10-19-2017, 11:28 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
The quiet is soothing to her.
The incessant noise of the gathering closest to the souther border had begun to wear on her, and she yearned for the solitude that she had come to claim as her own. Suffocating, stifling - the air is thick, but frigid and she has long since become accustomed to it in the depths of the dark, concentrated darkness. She is a part of it, her breath shallow while the broad hearth of her chest is barely rising with her baited breath.
She has never felt more at ease than she had amid the thicket, with dry and brittle bark clutching hungrily at the swell of her feminine hip - the jagged bone resting against the curve of aged oak as her breath is caught within the confinement of her throat.
The thickness of the blood that had splattered across the shadow of her indigo flesh had long since washed away, whittled beneath the rough and raucous current of the unyielding river, but she could still feel it across her skin - the metallic scent of it lingered still, leaving her breathless, roused from her usual stillness. It had brought life to her she once thought impossible.
Her skin is tingling and lit with the festering flame of the adrenaline that coursed vigorously through her lithe, petite body. It had not taken her brute strength to steal the life of another, but nonetheless, the blood spilt had become a part of her, fueling a blistering ember of ravenous longing that burned brightly within her chest. Her bloodlust never left her – always tucked away somewhere within the darkest recesses of her mind; roused spontaneously and with intensity.
Quietly, her attention is drawn elsewhere, while the gleaming mischief of her wayward, silvery eye is settled upon an enticing glimmer of gold - beckoning her from the shadow that had become her own. She is quiet and deliberate, observing the curve of hardened bone settled at the base of his skull - a shiver of intrigue traverses moves its way through her, plucking at each of her frayed, sensitive nerve-endings.
”You don’t belong here,” she muses, mostly to herself – her voice a soft echo, breaking through the oppressive silence, while her ivory forelock lay across her mismatched eyes – boring into his own. ”or maybe you do. ”
The incessant noise of the gathering closest to the souther border had begun to wear on her, and she yearned for the solitude that she had come to claim as her own. Suffocating, stifling - the air is thick, but frigid and she has long since become accustomed to it in the depths of the dark, concentrated darkness. She is a part of it, her breath shallow while the broad hearth of her chest is barely rising with her baited breath.
She has never felt more at ease than she had amid the thicket, with dry and brittle bark clutching hungrily at the swell of her feminine hip - the jagged bone resting against the curve of aged oak as her breath is caught within the confinement of her throat.
The thickness of the blood that had splattered across the shadow of her indigo flesh had long since washed away, whittled beneath the rough and raucous current of the unyielding river, but she could still feel it across her skin - the metallic scent of it lingered still, leaving her breathless, roused from her usual stillness. It had brought life to her she once thought impossible.
Her skin is tingling and lit with the festering flame of the adrenaline that coursed vigorously through her lithe, petite body. It had not taken her brute strength to steal the life of another, but nonetheless, the blood spilt had become a part of her, fueling a blistering ember of ravenous longing that burned brightly within her chest. Her bloodlust never left her – always tucked away somewhere within the darkest recesses of her mind; roused spontaneously and with intensity.
Quietly, her attention is drawn elsewhere, while the gleaming mischief of her wayward, silvery eye is settled upon an enticing glimmer of gold - beckoning her from the shadow that had become her own. She is quiet and deliberate, observing the curve of hardened bone settled at the base of his skull - a shiver of intrigue traverses moves its way through her, plucking at each of her frayed, sensitive nerve-endings.
”You don’t belong here,” she muses, mostly to herself – her voice a soft echo, breaking through the oppressive silence, while her ivory forelock lay across her mismatched eyes – boring into his own. ”or maybe you do. ”
@[feast]