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12-04-2013, 08:13 PM
The lake was smooth and glossy in the dim glow of the moon, her round and pale face obscured by the passing of many lazy and deeply grey clouds. The seasons were shifting again, though the trees of the Basin gave few cues, most of them the sort to bare green needles all year round, but throughout the surrounding ring of trees, a few leafy crowns could be seen burning orange and red in the onslaught of the cold. The most eminent sign that the cold was coming was found in the breeze, though so faint was it’s bitter whisper that the broad water behind her was undisturbed and pristinely flat, as if frozen. Not that she had ever seen it so, even when the Sun had failed to rise for a whole season. Her loneliness was settled, replaced with a rancorous hatred that had consumed her soul ever since the meeting, the subsequent failed attempts to find a kinship with the black devil she led alongside, and the even more inflaming issue of his gross disuse of his magic upon her. Still haggard, she hadn’t been about much – and her delay had cost her much precious time in the warm season of Tallsun as it ebbed into the bitter chill of Orangemoon on the various tasks that had been explained by Kelec at the disaster of Deimos’ and she’s first gathering of the herd. She also hadn’t seen Crowley between then and now; inquisitive and without shame as she usually was, she had already barged in to examine the man’s usual cave and found it to be recently visited, and so she just assumed that she had missed his presence. Now, D’artagnan’s cave on the other hand… the thought drew a frown to her lips that lingered as she turned her gaze about to look out over the waters behind her, wishing the mad doctor was still around to concoct her a poison to easily do away with the useless hunk of man flesh that she had been stuck with as a co-leader. She wondered if Mirage hated her counterpart so deeply, also; probably not. She doubted Mirage hated anything aside from those on the mountain. Fucking bleeding heart, her mind grumbles, before resuming on it’s dreary trek through all the dismal aspects of her life as Lady. @[Crowley] There was a river once, with many round stones enchanted by shallow hopes of embracing the ocean; water is peculiar this way, how its life is a line that cannot bend or change without the approval of its bed. |
