12-04-2017, 12:06 AM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
He is unveiled, and she is breathless -
(a ghost, standing before her)
From the deepest and darkest recesses of her memory, the image of him transfixing himself into the boundary that had very nearly been her own demise - the image of the felled pine and the rumbling of the ground beneath her, it all causes her heart to stir, to race. The adrenaline is surging recklessly and seamlessly through the length of her body, while the abysmal black of one eye and the shining silver of the other stare at the vision of death and decay standing before her. She had thought him dead. She had thought him lost to the roiling river of magma, lost to the rising brine of the ravenous sea that crawled along the distant shoreline of Taiga, swallowing all it could beneath the boiling heat of its fervor.
”Deimos,” she says finally, the astonishment fading slowly as each corner of her wry mouth is turned up in a delighted, albeit wicked smile. ”where have you been?” she muses (as if she hadn’t thought him dead at all - as if he had only been gone a fortnight, and not an eternity). Her legs carry her closer to him - her breath caressing the ridge of his shoulder, where raw energy and muscle lay just beneath the blackness of his flesh.
”I do like to take what I want,” she murmurs with a glint of impish mischief in her eye, while her gaze roves over the darkness of his skin to the broad line of his jawbone and the emptiness of his eye - staring back at her. She can hear his ire laced between each word, pressed through gritted teeth, and she can feel the anger in each punctuated word - and it only rouses enthrallment in the hearth of her tightening chest, where her heartbeat is thrumming loud enough for him to hear. Her cheek caresses his neck, then, reaching beneath the entanglement of matted dreadlocks to grip the root of his mane, tugging it tightly between her teeth before releasing him. ”but there is illicit beauty in being wanted.”
Then, she encircles him - the predator drawn to the forefront yet again, as the metallic scent of blood envelopes her, reminding her that it had been too long - too long! - since she had spilled the blood of another. The feminine curve of her hip catches along the hardened muscle of his, as she comes around his hind end, her sharp teeth nipping at the curve of his barrel while her shoulder becomes aligned with his again. There, she is staring into his other eye, as dark and as insidious as the other.
”He is nowhere to be found,” she says with an edge - disdain etched into the silver flecks of her eye, staring out into the dark woodland before her. Disinterested in discussing the absence of the one that had let her down; of the one that had promised so much only to fall short (is it not said that a daughter often pursues the image of her father?). She pauses then, searching the rigid shadow of his face, amusement tainting her tone.
”You’ve been following me,” she says - a statement, not a question - as her teeth graze the column of his neck. ”did you miss me?”
(a ghost, standing before her)
From the deepest and darkest recesses of her memory, the image of him transfixing himself into the boundary that had very nearly been her own demise - the image of the felled pine and the rumbling of the ground beneath her, it all causes her heart to stir, to race. The adrenaline is surging recklessly and seamlessly through the length of her body, while the abysmal black of one eye and the shining silver of the other stare at the vision of death and decay standing before her. She had thought him dead. She had thought him lost to the roiling river of magma, lost to the rising brine of the ravenous sea that crawled along the distant shoreline of Taiga, swallowing all it could beneath the boiling heat of its fervor.
”Deimos,” she says finally, the astonishment fading slowly as each corner of her wry mouth is turned up in a delighted, albeit wicked smile. ”where have you been?” she muses (as if she hadn’t thought him dead at all - as if he had only been gone a fortnight, and not an eternity). Her legs carry her closer to him - her breath caressing the ridge of his shoulder, where raw energy and muscle lay just beneath the blackness of his flesh.
”I do like to take what I want,” she murmurs with a glint of impish mischief in her eye, while her gaze roves over the darkness of his skin to the broad line of his jawbone and the emptiness of his eye - staring back at her. She can hear his ire laced between each word, pressed through gritted teeth, and she can feel the anger in each punctuated word - and it only rouses enthrallment in the hearth of her tightening chest, where her heartbeat is thrumming loud enough for him to hear. Her cheek caresses his neck, then, reaching beneath the entanglement of matted dreadlocks to grip the root of his mane, tugging it tightly between her teeth before releasing him. ”but there is illicit beauty in being wanted.”
Then, she encircles him - the predator drawn to the forefront yet again, as the metallic scent of blood envelopes her, reminding her that it had been too long - too long! - since she had spilled the blood of another. The feminine curve of her hip catches along the hardened muscle of his, as she comes around his hind end, her sharp teeth nipping at the curve of his barrel while her shoulder becomes aligned with his again. There, she is staring into his other eye, as dark and as insidious as the other.
”He is nowhere to be found,” she says with an edge - disdain etched into the silver flecks of her eye, staring out into the dark woodland before her. Disinterested in discussing the absence of the one that had let her down; of the one that had promised so much only to fall short (is it not said that a daughter often pursues the image of her father?). She pauses then, searching the rigid shadow of his face, amusement tainting her tone.
”You’ve been following me,” she says - a statement, not a question - as her teeth graze the column of his neck. ”did you miss me?”
@[Deimos]