Merry Christmas, you filthy animal
Ugh summer.
Why must you torture this poor, pretty, maniacal soul? Ruby eyes squint as she stands in a pool of sunlight like an irritated emerald angel. All legs and hips and frowns. Like a pretty pouting gemstone. Slaybell is not pleased with her choice of returning to Beqanna when she did.
She notices not much has changed except she is no longer in the Valley like she had been when the world imploded...all fire and brimstone. No, she was in the meadow...the good ole meadow with its braying mares and sniveling foals. The red haired woman looks over one slender shoulder to watch a pair of horses having some rather in depth conversation (or so she can tell) with all the fake giggles and rolling eyes and pathetically playful bats from the mare to the stallion. Gag me with a spoon. Slaybell in all her glory moves away from the shmoozing pair with a little too much enthusiasm.
Once far enough away, the jewel colored woman decides to indulge herself on a little bit to eat. After all, it felt like she had not eaten in ages. Green lips split to nibble on the tender bits of young grass, ears moving within the red hair to catch sounds of anyone who may fancy the green cloaked mare. She won't care either way really.
❄ Slaybell ❄
The Christmas Bitch