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I JUST WANT TO RP
Clouds began to collect upon the horizon – a shoreline of springtime hues darkening with a pregnant sluggishness, as though the nebular deities were purposefully painting an impression of foreboding. A brutish wind brazenly licked across the supple plains of her features, vaporous fingernails tangling in the unfastened whorls of her pearlescent mane – tendrils whipping across her pallid gaze – and the variegated pigments of an elongated tail, wrapped fitly in ribbon. Moisture pervaded her nostrils, the crispness of the breeze burning the vacuous, salved pockets of her lungs, persuading her to evadingly tuck her chin into the flexure of an oscine neck. The sharp motion – coupled with the startling chill – reflexively made her gasp, her teeth unhinging from the disentangling fabric of her makeshift rucksack (and as though the wind were sentient) it opportunistically plunged into the fresh aperture, ripping the bag open and spilling out its contents onto the ground. A collage of the deceased scattered across the greensward, and she snapped her incisors together with dismay, her façade of stoicism momentarily dismantled with furrowed brows and a worried frown.
Papa!
His skinned skull lay on its side, jaw slacked with disappointment. “Oh, this will not do,” she murmured, starting to hurriedly seek and collect every precious piece of her beloved cadavers. It was clear a storm was approaching – how would her father feel if he were caught in the rain!
