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08-29-2014, 09:16 AM
The stench, it bleeds around her, smothering and dense. It smells like death, like rotting things; decay wrinkles her nose, narrows her searching eyes that flash dangerously in the low light that gleams in from the starlit skies above the shelling of ice that encapsulates the wintry cavern. Like a creature of the dark, she slithers in search, each shadowed corner probed with eyes that glisten eagerly in the promise of finding bones and flesh slipping from their smooth ivory surfaces. Surely it rots slow in this snow and ice, surely it is nearly whole, with the haggard wounds that festered and spewed forth still slaked with the dry crust of blackened blood, and she licks her lips anxiously in desire for the pristine visage that awaits her. But the source of the odor moves when she finds it, slumped in the darkness as if already dead, though it breathes and lives still. Delicate ears rise, her nostrils draw deep and long the smell of his masculine musk beneath the rancor that mars his ebony pelt, but most curious is the flash of white and the crown that adorns his face. Greedy, her wet eyes glaze the appendages that curve and jut into the air, the bone smooth and old and worn by the passage of time and weather as it has lain across his features. She crawls, slowly, hooves the smallest clinks and clips upon the frigid stone. Will he die? Is he already dead, though he still breathes for the moment? She hopes so. Covetous, she draws ever closer to the one who reeks of infection and pain, her eyes never drawing away from the prize that rests on the future corpse before her. "Death sees you," she whispers to herself, though the words are for him - her tongue draws harsh and rough across her ivory lips, the redness of the flesh cryptic and wrong in the dim, blue tinted light that rides astride her flawless form, "do not hide, you cannot hide. It sees you." rust every place that I touch |
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
