give my worst to the curse

the Rift

[OPEN] give my worst to the curse

Beloved Posts: 121

Aurora Basin Soldier atk: 8.5 | def: 10 | dam: 3

Mare :: Unicorn :: 14.3 :: Appears 6 HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE

Orphan :: Ragdoll Cat :: None Bunnie

#12

05-16-2017, 10:21 AM

B e l o v e d

She does not remember the other one, even when she answers the God in her own turn. Beloved sees only the trinket, the pillar, and the unseen shimmer of her Master’s presence. His words fill her, retrieve her eyes from where they stare at the gift he has bestowed her, so that they flicker and dance upon the smooth, rising face of the obsidian pillar, looming in the shadow realm of the marsh.

When the time comes, he promises, and she nods, gurgling her consent, and delight. Though she has “served” within the north, her heart was fickle as it was fetid; she held no loyalty to the Boy Lords of the Winter Realm, nor did she truly care for what became of Helovia anymore than she did the other kingdoms which had fallen to ash and ruin around her. She would walk away, as she always had, or she would rise, rise, rise, until her shadow stood taller than the rest, and her lips were ever rested upon the throbbing, heady pulse of power.

Chosen, he calls her, and within her whole body a hot rush of longing and sated desire wells within her, fulfillment and need entwined into one throbbing sensation that draws a moan from her lips, which are wetted by a tongue pink and supple.

"Yes, Master," she pledges, waiting until she is told to depart: the perfect bitch, if the wolf were suitable, as a God of Many Lives most assuredly was. She had, after all, once served a mere mortal man as Master, and though his heart was as black as the pillar which rose before her, now, and his teeth eternally red with the blood of his foes, Oblivion had been nothing more than flesh. She had had considered, too, heeding the whims of the Reaper, for a time, before she had slipped into the comfort of the cool ever-dark... but was glad she had not. As had her skull-crowned Lord of Shadow, so too had the Lord of Death died. What pitiful things she had chosen to follow, or take heed in. Such mistakes she would not make again, surely, if she chose to walk beneath the wing of Kaos, the Many-God. "As you wish."

The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to kill.

Image & Table by Me
Quote from Keith Douglas' How to Kill

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