10-11-2017, 04:10 PM
THANA.
(as black as your soul)
She does not say a word – not yet.
She does not need to – his authority is enough to keep each of their wandering eyes to themselves; the very same bloodlust and desire for destruction that stirs her own heart into a frenzy lies within theirs, too. She can see the yearning in each of their gleaming pupils – dilated, as enthrallment and the awakening of darkness roils within their restless souls as if it were an opaque, tumultuous storm, threatening to covet what little light remained at the frayed edges of their mind.
Her own lips, dark and smooth, are twisted with a wry smile, though there is little humor within the pitchless black and the dreary gray of her two-toned stare – she is observant of each of their awkward twitches, their involuntary flinches, anxious - nervous, rife with anticipation for what may be in store. There is Loey, quivering with exhilaration, with a nod of acknowledgement given to her – of respect; Thana does not return it – Loey would prove to her in time as to whether she was worthy of it – would she sate the desires of Gryffen, of all he yearned his kingdom to be? She held promise.
Only time would tell.
Modicum Mortem does, as well – the darkness of his cheek turned downward in a show of reverence for the Nightmother – she is unflinching; her wicked smile lingering still across the impiety of her feminine features. There is a murmuring of murder upon his stagnant breath – has he known the illicit pleasure of ending another; of taking a life? His appetite has not yet been sated, and thus, hers has not been sated – she yearned for them each to know the delightful way in which bone and brain matter feel under their weight.
Her glowering stare is a warning: word alone would only carry him so far.
And then there is Aditi – a swell of darkness stirs inside of her empty, vacuous chest as Gryffen beckons her forth to accompany him – a small shred of envy occupying her small and pitiless heart, but Thana is aware that he only entrusted her with the kingdom he had coveted for so long, and so she is silent. Her gaze is heavy and piercing – and the curt nod of her head does not go unnoticed, though she is hard pressed not to sneer as her feminine, roundly pregnant body trails after Gryffen’s own.
Karaugh is foolish enough to think that Thana is not among the group – but she is always watching, moving quietly within the darkness of a shadow cast by dense foliage and a wayward, unforgiving sun. Karaugh is the only one to see past her, to see through her, and for that, she can see only weakness - her ego would inevitably be her downfall. For a quiet a moment, she cannot keep herself from contemplating how her tender, gilded skin might taste under her own – as her sharp, canine teeth puncture her flesh, and leave her gasping for air. It is fleeting – her reverie is interrupted by her incessant talking.
Crevan – she is curious, her interest piqued by his confidence and vigor. She would find him – she yearned to pry into his wickedly sharp mind, and pry she would. He, too, held promise.
At last, another unfamiliar face – Voltage, a telepath - oh, how the idea of his knowledge agitates her interest, luring her sordid curiosity to the surface as her wicked smile becomes one of fascination – the stories he could tell; she could only imagine what he might be able to retrieve from the darkest recess of one’s mind. She would find him, too.
Finally, her voice rises through the thick tension in the air, ”I am Thana. Let him down, and I will find you, and I will kill you.”
And then, as quietly and as quickly as she had come, she is gone.
She does not need to – his authority is enough to keep each of their wandering eyes to themselves; the very same bloodlust and desire for destruction that stirs her own heart into a frenzy lies within theirs, too. She can see the yearning in each of their gleaming pupils – dilated, as enthrallment and the awakening of darkness roils within their restless souls as if it were an opaque, tumultuous storm, threatening to covet what little light remained at the frayed edges of their mind.
Her own lips, dark and smooth, are twisted with a wry smile, though there is little humor within the pitchless black and the dreary gray of her two-toned stare – she is observant of each of their awkward twitches, their involuntary flinches, anxious - nervous, rife with anticipation for what may be in store. There is Loey, quivering with exhilaration, with a nod of acknowledgement given to her – of respect; Thana does not return it – Loey would prove to her in time as to whether she was worthy of it – would she sate the desires of Gryffen, of all he yearned his kingdom to be? She held promise.
Only time would tell.
Modicum Mortem does, as well – the darkness of his cheek turned downward in a show of reverence for the Nightmother – she is unflinching; her wicked smile lingering still across the impiety of her feminine features. There is a murmuring of murder upon his stagnant breath – has he known the illicit pleasure of ending another; of taking a life? His appetite has not yet been sated, and thus, hers has not been sated – she yearned for them each to know the delightful way in which bone and brain matter feel under their weight.
Her glowering stare is a warning: word alone would only carry him so far.
And then there is Aditi – a swell of darkness stirs inside of her empty, vacuous chest as Gryffen beckons her forth to accompany him – a small shred of envy occupying her small and pitiless heart, but Thana is aware that he only entrusted her with the kingdom he had coveted for so long, and so she is silent. Her gaze is heavy and piercing – and the curt nod of her head does not go unnoticed, though she is hard pressed not to sneer as her feminine, roundly pregnant body trails after Gryffen’s own.
Karaugh is foolish enough to think that Thana is not among the group – but she is always watching, moving quietly within the darkness of a shadow cast by dense foliage and a wayward, unforgiving sun. Karaugh is the only one to see past her, to see through her, and for that, she can see only weakness - her ego would inevitably be her downfall. For a quiet a moment, she cannot keep herself from contemplating how her tender, gilded skin might taste under her own – as her sharp, canine teeth puncture her flesh, and leave her gasping for air. It is fleeting – her reverie is interrupted by her incessant talking.
Crevan – she is curious, her interest piqued by his confidence and vigor. She would find him – she yearned to pry into his wickedly sharp mind, and pry she would. He, too, held promise.
At last, another unfamiliar face – Voltage, a telepath - oh, how the idea of his knowledge agitates her interest, luring her sordid curiosity to the surface as her wicked smile becomes one of fascination – the stories he could tell; she could only imagine what he might be able to retrieve from the darkest recess of one’s mind. She would find him, too.
Finally, her voice rises through the thick tension in the air, ”I am Thana. Let him down, and I will find you, and I will kill you.”
And then, as quietly and as quickly as she had come, she is gone.
Better late than never. :|