12-08-2020, 11:19 AM
open hand or closed fist would be fine
--rosemary
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
Oh, she loves him. Loves him immediately. Loves him to the marrow of his bones.
Molech is so dark and striking and that black gleam he gives off reflects in the sparkle of Rosemary's eyes. She wants to wrap herself in his silvery aura, inhale it until it poisons her lungs and leaves her breathless, lifeless. She wonders if he wants her to drink him up, to choke on the shadows surrounding him. And what she thinks as she imagines dying on the forest floor before him: oh, how Father wouldn't approve and mother would worry.
"Little shadow . . ." Rose purrs back at him, batting long, navy eyelashes at his nickname. Her cheeks grow hot but not with some true bashfulness, no. The little gemstone sense their game, plays her naivety like a chess piece. (If only she knew - if only - how her knowledge of games dwarfed compared to his.) Rose tilts her head to the side and smiles, flicking her head just enough to throw a piece of mane out of her eyes.
"How I would hate to disappoint," she murmurs, holding Molech's gaze with the steady daring of a petulant girl. If only she knew how she sounded like her father - she might be disgusted. She might toss her head and turn away, finding out her parents have lives and personalities and years of mistakes she can't begin to understand; but she doesn't know, unfortunately for her, and she tumbles into the darkness like her father did years and years before. (Though Litotes never knew something so sinister, such innocent desire for darkness, and he'd weep for his daughter if he could.)
"I'm Rosemary. It's such a pleasure to meet you, Molech," Rose answers confidently, lifting her head and shaking out the soft tendrils of her mane. The locks fall like feathery waterfalls, glittering and fluffy. The tickling against her nape makes her giggle to herself and a jolt of arrogance presses her a few steps closer to the dark stranger.
"I can see your aura, Molech. It's black and it glitters. What do you think that means?" Her question is coy, followed by an almost teasing tilt of her head. She smiles, small and suggestive, lips curling hesitantly like she's keeping a secret.
Molech is so dark and striking and that black gleam he gives off reflects in the sparkle of Rosemary's eyes. She wants to wrap herself in his silvery aura, inhale it until it poisons her lungs and leaves her breathless, lifeless. She wonders if he wants her to drink him up, to choke on the shadows surrounding him. And what she thinks as she imagines dying on the forest floor before him: oh, how Father wouldn't approve and mother would worry.
"Little shadow . . ." Rose purrs back at him, batting long, navy eyelashes at his nickname. Her cheeks grow hot but not with some true bashfulness, no. The little gemstone sense their game, plays her naivety like a chess piece. (If only she knew - if only - how her knowledge of games dwarfed compared to his.) Rose tilts her head to the side and smiles, flicking her head just enough to throw a piece of mane out of her eyes.
"How I would hate to disappoint," she murmurs, holding Molech's gaze with the steady daring of a petulant girl. If only she knew how she sounded like her father - she might be disgusted. She might toss her head and turn away, finding out her parents have lives and personalities and years of mistakes she can't begin to understand; but she doesn't know, unfortunately for her, and she tumbles into the darkness like her father did years and years before. (Though Litotes never knew something so sinister, such innocent desire for darkness, and he'd weep for his daughter if he could.)
"I'm Rosemary. It's such a pleasure to meet you, Molech," Rose answers confidently, lifting her head and shaking out the soft tendrils of her mane. The locks fall like feathery waterfalls, glittering and fluffy. The tickling against her nape makes her giggle to herself and a jolt of arrogance presses her a few steps closer to the dark stranger.
"I can see your aura, Molech. It's black and it glitters. What do you think that means?" Her question is coy, followed by an almost teasing tilt of her head. She smiles, small and suggestive, lips curling hesitantly like she's keeping a secret.
@[Molech]