.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
10-04-2015, 08:36 AM
She hadn’t missed the way the monster turned towards her song: distracted, almost somber, completely shocked and befuddled when the notes sank into treachery. Shame and humiliation conjured deep in her core, and she nearly knelt into the slim pockets of sorrow; for she’d been so misguided, so maligned, so entranced by the thought of horror, of terror, that she’d conjured hatred and contempt for a being who’d done nothing to her… But her eyes searched over the valley, over the puddles of water, along to the bodies thrashing and unwinding from the art of fire, bleeding, buried beneath columns of ash and choking barbs of indignation; and she felt just as scorched as them, so confused, so beguiled, so enticed by the allure of battle, but not the reasons for why and how this was all happening. Her comrades bled, her God roared, the world howled against her ears, and she was surrounded by the melancholy, by the threat, of doing naught and becoming nothing. Something was amiss. Something wasn’t registering. There was an enigma, a mystery, floating high above their heads, twisting and turning in the midst – and they were all so blind, couldn’t see, there was a pull, a lure – Imogen hissed in the rush of figures and outcry, insisting on destruction, just as tempted as the rest of them towards the outlet of danger and desecration, reaching forward to point her tails at the melee. Lena couldn’t tell her yes or no, couldn’t speak, couldn’t mold anything but agony, because there was torture in every avenue: facing monsters, unwinding foes without cause or reason, but not trying to chase them down when they threatened the lives of those she cherished. So while the ivory kitsune unleashed her fiery tirade, her fervent zeal, her penchant for the taste of disaster, directing it towards the underbelly of the great beast, Lena did the opposite – and spun a vivid, bright, unyielding song for those nearby, to heal, to nurture, to goad them onward and upward, to fill the world with hope and conviction instead of despair, pain, and torment. The fight was on, and it haunted her more than she could ever express. [Imogen unleashes a fiery blast, intending to hit along the crocodile’s belly. Lena casts a healing song for anyone around her (so if you need to be tended to for minor wounds..? J).] her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
