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Vincent
The arm-pit of hell wrought stony bruises in dinner-plate soles, leading limping Vincent desperately in search of better footing. The glimmering lake-water tempted him like rubies on a mermaid's bra, but one could only guess what kind of devilish siren lay below the surface. Vincent knew of Helovia's cumbersome deception, and he was not going to let anything shove harm in his way. The hulking mass makes his way, unsure where he is, unable to turn back into the growing darkness. It seemed routine to him, at least, to submerge into the unknown. Fear was never absent, and it grew as the light of the heart's core behind him began to reach its last stretch. Beyond golden eyes and bald face, he thinks of Archibald. He wishes the night never claims him, and that the face of fear never speaks to him. Riddled with worry and inner calamity, Vincent shudders in his own cage. The lack of sun pours inky sweat over his hide, and doesn't dry it. Eventually aside from dismal stone, the slate rock recedes before chalky hooves and they plunge into the familiar, beautiful taste of spongy earth. Hooves savor the feeling, and lips meet the glowing grass. He's too hungry to question his surroundings. The taste lingers in his throat and bliss overwhelms him as a glowing canopy reaches his hide, tasting the sweaty terror that so quickly evaporated. Hunger, the one real instinct that can overthrow fear, devours him. @[Alysanne], I didn't have much time to write this! Expect better next time :P |
I raised myself.
My legs were weak.
I prayed my mind be good to me.
