even a n g e l s fall
There is much about the chamber that spins an alluring spell. The way the inky shadows drape around, like s fine filigree against my good skin. The way the forgotten ash marks the ground, scarred with memories we least forget. Memories of pain, of something quite unforgettable indeed. I can only reminisce alongside the thrum of Atrox's heart. The way the gentle thud kills me to sleep (if only for a few hours, for I was a nocturnal creature, and a creature that thrives on little or no sleep.) the way it acts like some ticking clock, making few remember that there is an end, and a beginning.
I flick my gilt ears in the shadow man's direction, finely curved loves absorbing his words. 'The Chamber can be both an enchantress and a witch, either way she is certainly spellbinding.' my lips curl, dry from ash and the harsh summer sun. I dampen them with a flick of my salmon tongue. 'A stealer of hearts I dare say.'
Michaelis was an observant man, I gave him such scrutiny. He would have not failed to hear the dull thudding underfoot, that increased in tempo the closer you got to the heart, in the deep, dark realm of the woods. Towards the tree, of life, of death and if burning. I had dwelled here long enough to know the nooks and the crannies, the way the bark feels course against feverish skin in summer, and the way the leaves mulch down and sink against fighting hooves come winter. The Chamber was my home, and it delighted me that another could, perhaps, share such a personal thing. The way the chamber spun s spell of whimsy and obsession, and yet retain an unburdened grace.
'There is strength in numbers, I do dare say. However, it is delightful when the strength comes from those worthy. But I am not the lady of the night, that speaks to everyone. The Chamber has a way of claiming one, quite strongly I dare to admit, for she can be a mistress as well as a saviour...' my tone is lilting, a gentle lull upon the stagnant air. Sapphire eyes watch him quietly through the curtain of creamy forelock. 'Is there much to Michaelis, s story to be told, like the scars upon the chamber floor, there is always a tale, somewhere. That is if those are willing to tell...' the smirk broadens across my Ivory and pink lips, eyes lightening as the spires of light dance across, though the boughs of the pine. 'or willing to listen.'
engelsfors
advisor of the chamber