05-30-2018, 07:38 PM
Catch, release, 21. Catch, release, 22. Catch, release....
The darkening woods try to hold onto their secrets, but the shadows witness all. They are not stagnant, they are fluid and flexible, porous and volatile. And they bend to her whim; their servitude to her know no bounds as they congeal and expand with the dying light. She's not entirely surprised when she begins to feel the pulsing vibrations of the shadows rippling against her ebony hide, signaling the arrival of someone approaching; though audibly to her delicate ears they manage to remain silent.
The Stygian girl had known it would only be a matter of time before her presence would be discovered within the autumnal woods. But that fact alone does not prevent her from sighing softly, at the newcomers words. The latest lasso upon the woodland creature constricts more than necessary, eliciting a new squeak of protest. Despite the intrusion, she continues with the repition of her practiced routine, though this time she verbalizes her count, "23.". Another catch and release then; the creature's will begins to weaken at last, its attempts at fleeing have begun to slow.
"No." she says blandly; the only response she offers to the stranger's inquiry.
The creature still moves to get away, but it's sides heave with strained exertion. When it scampers to the shrub this time, the coil wraps firmly around its bushy appendage, dragging it back to her waiting form. But this time, it is not released. Sibella's placid gaze finally turns slowly to the newcomer; the features upon her face remain expressionless. Slowly her golden stare drifts across his charred body, noting the red protrusion specifically.
Her yellowed gaze remains locked upon his, meeting his icey gaze evenly while she lets the creature rest, seemingly content with holding it within her inky grasp. Until the shadows heave and crane backwards, using the squirrels tail as a makeshift handle to whip around, causing an audible crack as it's small body launches upward and away from them. The bold stare she gives him never falters, even when the dull thud of a small, broken body is heard as it returns to the ground in the distance. The dark girl can practically hear her mothers laugh, giggling at the child's creation of a "flying squirrel."
"Mother told me about you," She says flatly. "She respects you. But I am not my mother. And so I wonder...why should I respect you." It's not a question, but a statement. But she lets her voice lapse into silence, allowing the Sylvan king to convince her to stay within the forest as she ages.
@[Modicum Mortem]
The darkening woods try to hold onto their secrets, but the shadows witness all. They are not stagnant, they are fluid and flexible, porous and volatile. And they bend to her whim; their servitude to her know no bounds as they congeal and expand with the dying light. She's not entirely surprised when she begins to feel the pulsing vibrations of the shadows rippling against her ebony hide, signaling the arrival of someone approaching; though audibly to her delicate ears they manage to remain silent.
The Stygian girl had known it would only be a matter of time before her presence would be discovered within the autumnal woods. But that fact alone does not prevent her from sighing softly, at the newcomers words. The latest lasso upon the woodland creature constricts more than necessary, eliciting a new squeak of protest. Despite the intrusion, she continues with the repition of her practiced routine, though this time she verbalizes her count, "23.". Another catch and release then; the creature's will begins to weaken at last, its attempts at fleeing have begun to slow.
"No." she says blandly; the only response she offers to the stranger's inquiry.
The creature still moves to get away, but it's sides heave with strained exertion. When it scampers to the shrub this time, the coil wraps firmly around its bushy appendage, dragging it back to her waiting form. But this time, it is not released. Sibella's placid gaze finally turns slowly to the newcomer; the features upon her face remain expressionless. Slowly her golden stare drifts across his charred body, noting the red protrusion specifically.
Her yellowed gaze remains locked upon his, meeting his icey gaze evenly while she lets the creature rest, seemingly content with holding it within her inky grasp. Until the shadows heave and crane backwards, using the squirrels tail as a makeshift handle to whip around, causing an audible crack as it's small body launches upward and away from them. The bold stare she gives him never falters, even when the dull thud of a small, broken body is heard as it returns to the ground in the distance. The dark girl can practically hear her mothers laugh, giggling at the child's creation of a "flying squirrel."
"Mother told me about you," She says flatly. "She respects you. But I am not my mother. And so I wonder...why should I respect you." It's not a question, but a statement. But she lets her voice lapse into silence, allowing the Sylvan king to convince her to stay within the forest as she ages.
@[Modicum Mortem]