.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-14-2012, 09:41 AM
|
Flitting radiance. Each individual snowflake that fluttered in breathless ecstasy through the rush of bitter air twinkled in the incandescence of the sun’s warmest kiss. Although her heat was not enough to entrap, crush, destroy… For winter’s hold was a mighty and ruthless fist whose embrace was suffocating and ever formidable. As the wonderland it created was a delusion of perilous beauty in its finest forms. Every rose does have its thorn, does it not? The bark of the surrounding trees seemed to be peeling under the grand pressure of arctic bliss as it drew down upon the earth in a commanding way, pressurizing its authority; those limbs twisted and coiled in a menagerie of directions, as if they had become crippled and frozen in place for all eternity. Timbre, a rumbling echo that was thrown through the labyrinth of magnolia hypnotism, as if some sort of ghastly phantom’s fabrication. Shuffling. Grandeur pillars of sinew moved faintly, muscles rolling through the unknown creature of the dastardly fantasy world. An angel, an angel perhaps! For it was a fabrication of pious glory, that man. Frame the structure of dominion that was painted with the robust of strength and youth, and about was flecked the many stories of battles long passed. Cloaked in the glorious insignia of the powers above; unalloyed ivory which was accompanied by the endowments of heaven which thumped at his sides, feathered, beautiful, and splendid. Ah, but what lies…what lies… for if one were to come closer, to inspect, the discovery of more would be made. Beneath thick and cream eyelashes that cast deepening shadows down the handsome cheek bones, were the oculars of scarlet. Hell born insignia. As marking the spinal column to neck to rump is a dorsal of the same vermilion saturation. Stained red. Oh, but only the dastardly wolf trapped in sheep’s wool! Chill nipped harshly at the beast’s nose as the skull receded to the earth below, proboscis bumping roughly into the blanket of snow that covered the soil. Eligor snorted vigorously as the cold and decayed grass beneath his lips seemed to lash back with sourness, and the stallion jerked his cranium back. The mane was a banner of alabaster which fell in twisted, knotted, wind snarled escapades of a vagabond’s toils. Hearken crown flicked to and fro in a sort of boredom before the pillars of sinew beneath moved the creature forth, hoof after hoof, leaving thick prints in the ivory blanket of vixen winter’s bequest. ”!!” |
