The golden one speaks boring truths, truths that can been seen, and touched, and tasted. The harder the realm of one’s residence the harder they became, and the mountains could be spied even from here, she can see them violet and indigo in the distance, white and dappled with starlight, strong and towering. And as all his words have been until now, they continue to bend and weave, their pitch switching and their tone a dance of verbal blade, and after a while she decides that it isn’t so bad, this one who talks so much, whom leans so hard on the supple flesh of his tongue.

The glass crowned beast answers her first, as is proper, as is her due. The maddened one lowers her eyes, glazed and emotionless, back to him as he speaks, her smile growing in its vastness that never touches her soul as he speaks more truths than the golden one had in more rapid succession. He wants motives, as she wanted motives when asked for her name before she was willing to give it, as she wanted motives when also being called a gift.

She sucks in a breath of cool air, tasting the decay of the leaves heady and luscious against the satin of her maw, lining her nostrils and mouth with its flavor.

She is horny, she always is; the scent of their blood so close beneath their thin veils of silk is too tempting in too many ways, the richness of the night intoxicating as the company of two men and their pheromone stench. He doesn’t need to know that.

"He has a nice ass, shame to waste him," she retorts, girly voice echoed with her eerie laughter, "and you? You are strong, however daft. It marks you now, or you gored an already dead thing." This time, the giggle that takes her is soft, a whisper, haunting and dead even as its first notes meet the air, her crown tilting hard to the right, a hideous pop sounding in the sudden wrongness of the bend. "Beloved would not blame you. Blood smells sweet."

As if the truth of her statement draws an irritable urge to the surface, her pale nostrils expand, the contorted way she holds her crown reinstating its proper positioning as she leans forward ever so slightly to drink in the smell of the drying smut upon his brow. Metallic, luscious, she can taste it on the back of her throat, a low purring noise guttural and wrong slipping from her lips as she descends into silence for the continuation of the man’s words.

He’s now talking to the golden one, the one with the delectable hind end and the annoying chitter chatter that is useful if only to distract the man from the deranged nature of the pale woman. She hisses at the roll of the dark stag’s eyes, disliking this secondary display of disrespect, holding retaliation at bay for the simple fact that he had not been so uncouth to she.

Still, he accuses her of being rude, and she spits and sputters audibly at the ground between their hooves in restrained aggression, tiny hooves dancing gracefully beneath her lithe frame. Blindly? Blindly?! She’d show him fucking blindly when she poked out those arrogant little eyes from his head and dried them as baubles to hang from her mane. Her neck curls up, her horn pointing with shivering resilience in the darkness at the ground, silver eye flashing while the dark swallowed the world in its burning fury. "We told you once," she whispers, dark and broiling in tone and temper, ears flat upon her head.

But the words continue, her anger losing edge as it seems that the golden one has struck a chord of harmony with the arrogant idiot who doesn’t listen and doesn’t know where he is and that he has a giant sign blinking above his head that reads “bother me.” Her rage escapes in a snort, ivory hoof scraping impatiently at the earth before her as her emotions ride the maelstrom they are so known to course upon.

"Unicorns, too many for counting, one of bronze tall as our bodies combined, his fledgling brother learning to stand," she croons, obliging the foolish one with his pride vast and without bounds, "a Lord of darkness incarnate, ruling among snow and stone, beneath a prismatic sky; children, lovers, black knights and wicked damsels, but mostly a throne, a throne of ice that watches all of this land from its heights."

She sighs, the soft utterance fading into peels of laughter that usher gently upon each other, her expression vapid and empty as the haunting melody that strikes from her pale lips. "It is good to be wanted by Beloved, truly."



Beloved
rust every place that I touch