and i descend from grace, in arms of undertow; aurane

[Aurane]

She smirks, and it twitches at the corners as if containing some mighty excitation. As if it means to collapse inwards with teeth and hot breath. She moves closer, pressing into the warm and raw scent of the tattered mare. She eyes her with that dark, starless gaze like a pollinator does a flower — with hunger, and obsessive duty; a duty to pick apart, piece-by-piece, to feed itself. “Oh really?” The red woman's voice trembles. Give me a reason. “Do you now?” (This is our game: Eyes, Quiet, Death and Dying, Shadows and Fire. This is our playtime.) *****These are her curios. Her little things. *****Some more agreeable than others. She doesn't bite. *****Death and Dying would love the smell... “Well then, go ahead.” There is caution and irritation, at the suspense and at the boldness. (Our game.) Aurane's lip curls, her eyes falling flat as she traces the borders and inland seas of the continents mapped out in raw, red flesh on her body. A wretch. An unfortunate. (Eyes, Quiet, Death and Dying, Shadows and Fire. And Meat.) She extends her neck a tiny bit, nostrils pulsing as she pulls in short and sharp drafts of air. Raw flesh, maybe some blood, infection. A queer and heady perfume. The red mare draws her head back, making small, displeased noises under her breath. “Oh,” She tuts with compassion and pity, or perverted variations thereof, “Life has not been kind, has it?” How very unfortunate, indeed. (Do the buzzards try and pick at it do you think?) “I imagine so,” She mutters to herself, slowly moving around Anhedonia, inspecting her over. *****Death and Dying would love this. She blisters with jealousy quite suddenly, and reaches out to clamp her teeth between two patches of peeled away flesh on her hip, before pulling her chin back towards her chest. Aurane. ****Death makes angels of us all, and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claw.

Hope the light nip (or attempted nip if you want) doesn't bother you.