08-25-2016, 09:11 PM
Gunsynd
I wanna chain you up I wanna tie you down
With winter fast approaching, he takes to the skies, relishing in the sharp chill that sets through his cellophane and leather wings. From the ground he must look like some beast from hell fast approaching, ready to draw you down to the murky depths. He circles the Valley before drifting off in the direction of the field to see what it may have in store. His lover called for more, more blood, more bodies, more strength. He would provide for her, he would be her savior.
During his flight he quickly transforms his translucent appendages into large black feathered ones. The black merges seamlessly into his dark pelt and long tangled locks. With this done, he pulls himself higher and higher into the sky, savoring the bite of the cold against his skin and deep in his lungs. He feels a thin layer of frost form on his large body and with one final, deep breath (hold it, thrill in the sensation of he frost stinging the organs) he dives down to earth into the field. He lands and takes in his surroundings, surveying his options.
He in vastly unimpressed. The Valley would need more than what the field could offer today. Begrudgingly he heads to the lake, crushing the thin layer of ice (not unlike the thin lacy layer that has formed on his pelt and feathers) with his foreleg and plunging his maw into its icy depths to refresh himself before heading home. (He would thaw himself in his lover’s warm embrace.) When he rises, something catches his eye; a glint, from sleep-filled eyes peering out from a grove of pines. A fugitive? Well, that had his interest.
He tears himself apart, down to his most basic components. Invisible to the naked eye he floats, his atoms and particles mingling with the coniferous trees where he reforms, deep within their bows, just enough of his body to create sound. His voice comes quietly, eerily disembodied from within the trees themselves. “What do we have here?” And then with a crack he is standing before the mare whose pelt matches his own. His dark eyes do not meet hers, but rather swivel around the field as to not attract much attention to her hiding place. “Who are you hiding from darling?”
I M J U S T A S U C K E R F O R P A I N