10-13-2017, 06:36 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
The thickness of the blood that had splattered across the shadow of her indigo flesh had long since washed away, whittled beneath the rough and raucous current of the unyielding river, but she could still feel it across her skin - the metallic scent of it lingered still, leaving her breathless, roused from her usual stillness. It had brought life to her she once thought impossible.
Her skin is tingling and lit with the festering flame of the adrenaline that coursed vigorously through her lithe, petite body. It had not taken her brute strength to steal the life of another, but nonetheless, the blood spilled had become a part of her, fueling a blistering ember of ravenous longing that burned brightly within her chest. She longed with an unquenchable thirst to take another life – to steal the breath away from the undeserving, to maim the unworthy, and it had stirred an inch somewhere deep within her that she longed to scratch – nothing, not even sex, could come close to the delectable euphoria she had experienced in the wake of her carnage.
She has been watching her, for some time. Quietly, stealthily - she is one with the darkness, slow and unblinking. A predator sheathed within the carcass of prey – a wolf cloaked in the skin of a sheep, watching, waiting. The river is ravenous and angry, swallowing the shoreline with thick, roving strokes of its raucous water, and though she is soothed by the hypnosis of its churning rotation, but drawn like a fluttering moth to a tantalizing flame by a vision cloaked in darkness. She is slender, and lithe, and drifting far too close to the edge of the water, tempting fate and mocking nature.
A wry smile finds its way to her dark lips, tugging half-heartedly at the corner while her two-toned gaze bores into her, tracing the slope of her spine and the curve of her hip with an insidious gleam in her eye smoky eye. She has been discovered - a single twig has given her away, snapping feebly beneath her weight (oh, how she longed to do the same to her skull, to crush it beneath her weight and spill her scarlet blood across the smooth river stones).
A low and dangerous chuckle emerges from her breast – humorless; dry.
Nonetheless, she had found what might soothe the beast within – what might bring her entertainment, and she can hardly conceal the wry and wicked smile from her dark lips.
”Foolish girl,” she croons as her sleek and agile silhouette is birthed from the darkness of the twilight painted woodland – as dry and brittle branches around her crack and tremble with the sheer force of her mental will, falling dully to the soft and fertile soil below. An omen of what was to come. ”you have chosen the wrong riverbed tonight.”
Her skin is tingling and lit with the festering flame of the adrenaline that coursed vigorously through her lithe, petite body. It had not taken her brute strength to steal the life of another, but nonetheless, the blood spilled had become a part of her, fueling a blistering ember of ravenous longing that burned brightly within her chest. She longed with an unquenchable thirst to take another life – to steal the breath away from the undeserving, to maim the unworthy, and it had stirred an inch somewhere deep within her that she longed to scratch – nothing, not even sex, could come close to the delectable euphoria she had experienced in the wake of her carnage.
She has been watching her, for some time. Quietly, stealthily - she is one with the darkness, slow and unblinking. A predator sheathed within the carcass of prey – a wolf cloaked in the skin of a sheep, watching, waiting. The river is ravenous and angry, swallowing the shoreline with thick, roving strokes of its raucous water, and though she is soothed by the hypnosis of its churning rotation, but drawn like a fluttering moth to a tantalizing flame by a vision cloaked in darkness. She is slender, and lithe, and drifting far too close to the edge of the water, tempting fate and mocking nature.
A wry smile finds its way to her dark lips, tugging half-heartedly at the corner while her two-toned gaze bores into her, tracing the slope of her spine and the curve of her hip with an insidious gleam in her eye smoky eye. She has been discovered - a single twig has given her away, snapping feebly beneath her weight (oh, how she longed to do the same to her skull, to crush it beneath her weight and spill her scarlet blood across the smooth river stones).
A low and dangerous chuckle emerges from her breast – humorless; dry.
Nonetheless, she had found what might soothe the beast within – what might bring her entertainment, and she can hardly conceal the wry and wicked smile from her dark lips.
”Foolish girl,” she croons as her sleek and agile silhouette is birthed from the darkness of the twilight painted woodland – as dry and brittle branches around her crack and tremble with the sheer force of her mental will, falling dully to the soft and fertile soil below. An omen of what was to come. ”you have chosen the wrong riverbed tonight.”
@[Ciri]