Zandora

Yes, dear, I'm smiling
Inside I'm dying

She was particularly happy for all the events that had been plaguing the lands. Perhaps it was her acceptance of herself, acceptance that the devil(her father), although fearsome he was, couldn't touch her here unless she let herself fall to his haunting hand. Still, Zandora was by no means okay. Going around and fucking Rohan and Caleb had helped--it was true, but the eerie feeling of something always watching her had not yet ceased to nonexistence. And then there was Ashamin. Oh god. He was a wound still sensitive, the bonds of their friendship ripped by a battle in the twilight of the night. Her mood soured as she realized that she was far from happy, she was a mess, although gathered slightly, she did not have herself cleaned up. Would she ever? 

Fuck these thoughts. She hissed at herself, letting her violets refocus on one of the newer lands. She had been driven here by it's name, blood falls. It seemed interesting enough, the warm taste of  her own blood daring to bring her back into the dark deliriums of day dreams. No. She once again told herself, not wanting to deal with the side of her that would not--could not just fucking let it go. Yes, you broke, and no, Zandora would not break again. After all, she was Zandora, the vixen of the night and the soldier of the day. With a newfound determination, she marched on, further in the moonlit crimson canopy. 

The arabian did not expect company in the late hours of the night, or early hours of the morning, which ever way you prefer it. Her orbs of stark purple drug across his toned hide, noticing the dirt and blood that mixed with the familiar whites and browns. It took her a second as she dug within the depths of her mind to recall the name of the body, but as she landed on his horns, he was instantly remembered. Panzram. His body was a mess, blood streamed down the points and curves of his weaponry, lining his brown face with crimson paint. Burned fur and skin aged the silks of his cloak, and she guessed that the fights with the Gods could be to blame. Zandora steered far away from the battles, she already didn't like most, and planting herself in the middle of a war with most of Helovia was deemed unnecessary. She respected Panz for that, her loyalty casted to him yet to be regretted. 

"Now now, that's no way to greet your little Shadow now is it?"  She chuckled, sultry lips speaking in sweet silks and dark honeys. She started forward, careful with his wounds as to not further hurt him. The siren let her horn touch the corded muscle of his barrel allowing it to drag around until she once again faced him, their sacred touch. 

"Did you miss me, my Panz?"  

"Talk?"

OCC: It's hella late, so this is sort of lame, BUT HELL YES ZAZRAM <3