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09-22-2014, 10:43 AM
Fireflies wouldn’t guard her.
The ivory damsel prowls slowly the wood of beginning, the rooted roots of all who had not been born to the perverted loins of this land. She had seen enough already to know that all places harbored darkness, she had crossed realms vast and powerful that crumbled as swiftly as those small and meaningless, and what ever this kingdom was named (for she did not know, she did not – did it really matter if it was to become nothing as well?), it was broken. She had seen the black blood when the sky had rained dead things, when the water had taken offense to being stared upon and ignored for all its knowing, the prelude to an end times that would delight and horrify the masses.
Perhaps… only she would find delight, or a scant few, for such things were usually taken poorly by the mortals who so greatly feared the death that awaited them all. To her, the image of their silvery bodies bloated and dead upon the earth and water, gleaming in the ruddy light of the Moon draped in murderous hues alongside the horrific corpse of a being she had not known in its life, was among the most beautiful things she had ever seen; albeit dark and rancorous, distasteful to any who would stumble upon it in the times to come, she would again and again return to speak to the bones that had died en masse around her, for her. Even if they were no longer there in reality, suspended in the alternate time that had gleamed before her like a shard of lost pasts or futures, she would know them, they would hear her whisper…
She loved them, oh, how she loved them.
Her giggle, mundane, usual from her lips, maddened and babbling and sweet as poisoned sugar to the trees that bent their dark crowns to her passing, sounds and echoes, fills the air – but there is another laughing with her, and it is not herself, for she does not have two voices that are real in the air as this one.
"Oh?” she asks the Moon, who gives no answer as she silently corrects her path to follow the sound. Her face is eager as a hollow thing may be, dark eye coursing with an undercurrent that promised death and the silver madly dancing in its thick, midnight encompassment in the sheer joy of meeting another. She knows the laws of her land, she revels in them, truly – for they have given her license to be herself, to be bold and beautiful and gleaming and to be cruel and malevolent and without a heart as she has always been, and they would love her for it, praise her, offer her alms and security!
But who will suffer her now? Who laughs into the shadow, who mocks her with false sounds?
The tiny damsel stops and peers ruthlessly at the second rise of the voice, so near that she can almost make out the dark shape of her ass in the red night – but it is her head that gives her away, pale and naked as bone, and while a hiss of disgust, the woman notes the horn atop her head, feels the recoiling of her blasphemed hope that the poor darling would be prey.
But what she says darkens her soul, sours her innocent sweetness, for the she bitch in the shadow knows her, but is entirely wrong as to the physical status of whom she probes with her arrogant words.
From her trees she emerges, silent on her hooves but allowing the branches to rustle and coo along her curves, her slight size almost comical in the towering stature of the one who calls her demon and weak.
She has met no demons, apparently. Beloved smiles, her laughter soft, haunting, a promise of the cruelty that lies waiting and hungry. "Never have I been worthless, and never was a demon truly small…” she sings, she swoons, drunk on the hunt and the bitter hatred that roils in her belly, lashes fluttering over her frenzied gaze that searches every inch of the mammoth before her, "things wicked know no size. What of spiders that crawl? Of sickness - invisible?”
She titters, a laugh that is meant to teach, a laugh that mocks. So many arrogant fools in this wood, so many bodies who deny their lack of worth and knowing… "I rename this the forest of fools. It is all I find here, idiots to taunt devils, idiots who do not know what devils they taunt.”
The ivory damsel prowls slowly the wood of beginning, the rooted roots of all who had not been born to the perverted loins of this land. She had seen enough already to know that all places harbored darkness, she had crossed realms vast and powerful that crumbled as swiftly as those small and meaningless, and what ever this kingdom was named (for she did not know, she did not – did it really matter if it was to become nothing as well?), it was broken. She had seen the black blood when the sky had rained dead things, when the water had taken offense to being stared upon and ignored for all its knowing, the prelude to an end times that would delight and horrify the masses.
Perhaps… only she would find delight, or a scant few, for such things were usually taken poorly by the mortals who so greatly feared the death that awaited them all. To her, the image of their silvery bodies bloated and dead upon the earth and water, gleaming in the ruddy light of the Moon draped in murderous hues alongside the horrific corpse of a being she had not known in its life, was among the most beautiful things she had ever seen; albeit dark and rancorous, distasteful to any who would stumble upon it in the times to come, she would again and again return to speak to the bones that had died en masse around her, for her. Even if they were no longer there in reality, suspended in the alternate time that had gleamed before her like a shard of lost pasts or futures, she would know them, they would hear her whisper…
She loved them, oh, how she loved them.
Her giggle, mundane, usual from her lips, maddened and babbling and sweet as poisoned sugar to the trees that bent their dark crowns to her passing, sounds and echoes, fills the air – but there is another laughing with her, and it is not herself, for she does not have two voices that are real in the air as this one.
"Oh?” she asks the Moon, who gives no answer as she silently corrects her path to follow the sound. Her face is eager as a hollow thing may be, dark eye coursing with an undercurrent that promised death and the silver madly dancing in its thick, midnight encompassment in the sheer joy of meeting another. She knows the laws of her land, she revels in them, truly – for they have given her license to be herself, to be bold and beautiful and gleaming and to be cruel and malevolent and without a heart as she has always been, and they would love her for it, praise her, offer her alms and security!
But who will suffer her now? Who laughs into the shadow, who mocks her with false sounds?
The tiny damsel stops and peers ruthlessly at the second rise of the voice, so near that she can almost make out the dark shape of her ass in the red night – but it is her head that gives her away, pale and naked as bone, and while a hiss of disgust, the woman notes the horn atop her head, feels the recoiling of her blasphemed hope that the poor darling would be prey.
But what she says darkens her soul, sours her innocent sweetness, for the she bitch in the shadow knows her, but is entirely wrong as to the physical status of whom she probes with her arrogant words.
From her trees she emerges, silent on her hooves but allowing the branches to rustle and coo along her curves, her slight size almost comical in the towering stature of the one who calls her demon and weak.
She has met no demons, apparently. Beloved smiles, her laughter soft, haunting, a promise of the cruelty that lies waiting and hungry. "Never have I been worthless, and never was a demon truly small…” she sings, she swoons, drunk on the hunt and the bitter hatred that roils in her belly, lashes fluttering over her frenzied gaze that searches every inch of the mammoth before her, "things wicked know no size. What of spiders that crawl? Of sickness - invisible?”
She titters, a laugh that is meant to teach, a laugh that mocks. So many arrogant fools in this wood, so many bodies who deny their lack of worth and knowing… "I rename this the forest of fools. It is all I find here, idiots to taunt devils, idiots who do not know what devils they taunt.”
you've lost your demon.
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
