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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    When Angels fall from grace (open!!)
    #1
    An endless dreariness poured down on the lands where the tiny nonchalant yearling flourished, flooding her with an imposing coldness. Everything seemed to be draped within a ghostly gray,a lackluster unpleasant colour with a certain kind of foreboding perseverance that had a tendency to unnerve even the strongest cores of equine nature. The way the trees steeples in skeletal poses reminded the pale fallen angel of some bygone graveyard where the dead unraveled themselves from the earth in a tangle of mixed bones, reaching up to the sky with desperation for relief. How they trembled and quaked gently as a subtle misty breeze combed through their wicked branches, forecasting a shadow to ebb its way inside ,caressing in a swooning, seductive croon. She had spent little time within the forelorned forest , being disjointed with what she had found in its spaces. There was something more profound to pursue and she knew deep within the catacombs of her being.

    That familiar pull to take a daring step into uncertainty.  Her sinew felt raw, aching  mercilessly as she tried to retain what little optimism she first felt earlier that day, arriving  and seeing the very robust place with it's towering statue with its ornate position which illuminated anything near by with an array of assorted colours. It was exotic yet frightening to her senses and oh so very beautiful. She had the desire to touch it. Even lick it if she was able to get close enough to the metallic being.  She walks as if her kisses are honey and her blood is wine, pure and thick with an intoxicating scent of regal exotic beauty. Her methods are slow, calculated with the mad genius of those that live on edge, that walk that fine line between the pure and the wicked. Nilaihah came on her own free will. Her wings tucked stiffly against her pale backside as her decrepit forms shifted weight from one side to the other with a lack of any emotion on her angelic facial features to signify what she was contemplating


    (( I hope this is alright to post her here. If not please let me know!).
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