.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
07-21-2013, 11:21 AM
|
Lady Death did not recoil nor blink nor shiver in surprise as Mother and Guardian of the Moon reappeared, with a graceful beat of her wings restoring the white disk to the sky; she cringed for the sudden and poisonous taste that stung her mouth, burning like someone had thrown a match on her tongue; aflame and eyes wet from pain, she plunged her face into the thick waters of the dead, and when they reached their hands for her, she pulled herself from the mud, and the fire on her lips was only a ghost in her mind. Confutatis was not infatuated with words; when she spokes, she spoke with the rolling lilts, promising deaths and strange, more eerie things; she whispered of nightmares stalking the night, of wolves on tails, of other feral beasts that roamed, waiting for the moment to strike. She was, by no means, a recruiter; she did not speak with civility nor give her promises. Clever, conniving, cruel, vindictive, all of this she was and more, and so perhaps it should be no surprise her hard eyes did not welcome the sight of strangers, when it was she who was the stranger, always, the wolf in sheep's clothing. Introverted and hard-jawed, she moved with the grace of a black leopard, with a swing of her scarred hips and a light step, following the bleeding mare who was Glassfox to her. There were reasons, peculiar ones, for her odd habits; being raised alone, fending for herself, being twisted and warped into a terrible parody of what she might have been, without her father being Oblivion. Oblivion, whose legend was Demon King for a very good reason. Rapist and conquerer, he led the world into shadow, and that was Confutatis' own dream. Her dreams are monstrosities of nature. Confutatis did not speak, nor open her bitter mouth, as Seele slowed before her. Instead, her nostrils flared as she breathed in the cloying salt of blood, loving it in the grotesque way a tiger licks the hide from her prey. For a moment, she let drift her iron eyes close and gloried at the marvelous blood, not caring for who bled. With a final exhale, Cruella de Ville opened her eyes and stared, without blinking, at the little gray stallion. |
don't hold your breath, don't wait for me, i'll eat you in your sleep
