.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
11-11-2012, 10:49 PM
|
The indigo damsel moved like a wraith across the snow-laden Earth, her lungs rising like a pair of balloons with each inhalation, ribs sliding beneath her skin like rods of iron. White fog breathed slowly through the twisted forks of the barren trees, asphyxiating the celestial dame like moist clouds of livid dust. It suffocated her, enveloping her in a swath of mystery as dished hooves fell trepidly onto the filament robe of snow. It cloaked Earth's dark bosom beneath a layer of glimmering alabaster, and dim eyes beheld the wintry artwork with restrained esteem—beautiful though it was, Reverie did not enjoy not knowing where she was; her wanderings were aimless. Which, this would have been all fine and dandy, had it not been for the cold; it permeated the air like an invisible mantra, thick as a cloud of smoke. The slender tassels of her tail swayed through the air in the starry woman's wake, and a barrage of diverse aromas wafted their way unto her. She inhaled them with indifference, and continued onward, silvern eyes acting as her perfidious navigators: the haze was thick, and the sunlight caught on the airborne vapors like a light swash of a fine powder. The mare stained of sooty cobalt, the color of midnight, flicked her ears forward as a feminine voice came dancing through the mist. It reverberated amongst the obnubilate vapors, making it hard for Reverie to discern the exact location of its orchestrator. Her eyes became narrow, and the voice sounded once again, this time louder; fuller. 'Oh, come on then. Better two than one, if you can keep up.' A silhouette manifested before her, and Reverie became still; statuesque. She appeared to be talking to someone else. "How 'bout three?" She egressed, somewhat rhetorically. |
