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11-07-2012, 10:53 AM
Cool air slithered against her skin like a clandestine kiss – gently, with a deliberate slowness that caused a shiver to start from her poll down to the end of her spine. It was winter’s atmosphere that caused an ache in her bones. Her joints, though juvenile, creaked like an old door as the chrome nymph delved deeper and deeper into the Spectral Marsh. Mists enveloped her and she melded – a phantasm and a wraith like her mother had been. That witch had skulked about in nefarious landscapes as though she strolled along the quaint scenes of a softly rolling meadow. Keres was comfortable here despite the lingering dangers: the ichor that would swallow her whole with one fatal misstep, the lurking predators just beneath the surface of the dingy water. She’d done most of her growing beneath the shadow of a bitter shrew in a soggy mess of a bayou.
That shrew had perished long before the shadows ravaged Anarore. Her world had been destroyed only months after her first breath – she a darling babe that could have flourished some in the coddling embrace of her mother. Like it was to most, life had been unfair to the medusa and it had hollowed her to crave the crumbling of other’s silky existences. ’Why should they have everything and I nothing?’ she often wondered selfishly. She had grown up with no family, with no camaraderie. Isolation. It was a sob story but she would sooner gore you with her horn if pity marred your features on account of it.
Her past had made her strong (albeit skewing her morals). She wasn’t ashamed of her alienation. Cinnoru and Imiq would have been proud of her daring resolve.
