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12-25-2013, 05:09 PM
Zuriel the Seraphim</style> i fought the angels here today. </style> The girl's such a quiet thing, little grullo mouse standing helpless in the minx's paws. Zuriel is not accustomed to slaves, those who would cast their lives at the hooves of another and let themselves be ruled- but as the girl curls into her perfect bow, the angel finds it fitting, an appropriate stance for one so low. This butterfly is better than she could have hoped, and the white mare smiles where the girl can't see, a cold glint of cruelty playing bright in her gaze. In the silence a twig cracks beneath her hooves, shattering into splinters of cold white ice and broken dreams. Zuriel is stalking now, elegant form arcing around her prey, and in the mottled light the unicorn leers, ready to claim the gift she has found. Then another enters, and the world grows... complicated. Her ear flicks backwards at the murmured hello, a scowl invisible beneath the lines of her skin, flickering darkly like shadows on the sea. And the day had started out so well. With the careful poise of a dancing swan, the sculpted neck arches out, tilting ever so slightly to capture his form. The corner of her eye marks gold and cream, a horn in the light that saves him from wrath. She wonders if he will disappear, vanish into insignificance at her ignorance of his form. A glance at the girl proves satisfying indeed; still kneeling in submission, the angel does not catch her furtive gaze, but sees instead some misplaced promise of obedience and faith. It makes her strong, the unexpected gift; it makes her smile again, and when the stranger speaks she turns that smile on him, letting her voice take on a dangerous purr. "Faelon, you say? What a charming name." She wants to say more, to warn him that now is not the moment to cross her path; she wants to say more, but another stallion comes barreling in, preceded by a dog. Now the the mare pins her ears, eyes narrowing dangerously as she spins to stare him down. The buckskin is ugly, with his grizzled face and hornless skull; Zuriel does not know that he is Nieque's most devoted follower, but she hates him on impulse, hates him for being born, hates his eyes and his stupid, loud dog. Most of all, he hates how he speaks to her butterfly. "Rude, to demand a name without offering your own, stranger," Zuriel drawls, glaring mockingly at the brute. She glances at the others; Faelon stands silent (thank goodness), while her butterfly shakes. Well, we can't have that. "You are scaring my friend," the angel decrees, bright voice glittering with a sharp, diamond ice. She turns to the girl, dismissing the stallions in the arc of her mane (and how remarkable, she still kneels, ignoring the stallion in this allegiance to her. This strange little treat!). "Come, darling," she states to the butterfly, and the angel's voice is authoritative, but not cruel, never cruel. Curiosity plays in the depth of her mind; will it follow, she wonders, or stay cowered in fear? She hopes her butterfly follows as she turns away, taking a simple step down the shaded path from whence she came; she hopes the stallions give her no more trouble, though she would love it if they do. Let them meet the heir of Cinnoru in all her glory. Even better- let them meet her brother. |
