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Plumes curl from the nefarious slits of her nostrils, the blood pulsing in the tender, pink flesh of her muzzle until it is red, red as the water that it drives into again and again. Little heed is given to the shadow, or the encircling wood, for Beloved fears none; no notice, then, is bequeathed on the watcher, at least not until the watcher devolves into prey.
Snap! sings a staccato rupture, and the singing song of water raining back into itself stills; the howl and murmur of her outrage is devoured in a single inhalation, and the battle against the treacherous pool is stayed. Her pale legs still, the cold crimson again pooling, smooth, mirror-like, about the remnant wakes of her assault, ears again flicking, searching, atop her perfect crown, as her gaze slowly looks over her shoulder, into the shadow. A shuddered inhalation of breathy delight rises as the maiden of mayhem pivots, her tiny blades striking in cacophonous grace against the damp shore with slaps, bi-chromatic stare eager as it dances in search about the bracken, and trees. Her pale plumage, aloft in her delight in the hunt, is a ghost that ripples behind her, ethereally floating on absent breeze, and as she approaches the trees, her muzzle lowers, to gust the powdered snow across the earth before her with hot, steady breaths.
The song of her laughter, tittering, small, peculiar, ricochets upon the nearby, frosted trunks.
"Little mouse, little mouse, such a tiny, frightened thing," softly sings the banshee, the bloodied darling, her hooves now breaking the silence of the shadow with her pace with the clicks, pops, and shhhs of the wood breaking as she passes, "in your house, in your house, little mouse do come out…"
Throwing herself about the boughs of what she believes to be the source of the clandestine creature which stalks her, her snarls rend the silence as she finds it void of the mouse, the hunger of her cries obvious, and drawing into a shrill scream of denial. Biting at the empty air before her, the she-witch fills the small space with the sound of her tail striking the unblemished ivory of her side; the scream quickly melds into a squeal, into a wet, horrible giggle. Towards another tree she stalks, her eager nostrils quivering with desire, for she smells fear, fear thick like blood on the cold, stagnant air.
"So afraid, so afraid, little mouse won’t come play, little mouse, little mouse," a tiny neck for me to wring.
[ OOC: Scariest game of hide and seek ever I guess? :'D ]
Snap! sings a staccato rupture, and the singing song of water raining back into itself stills; the howl and murmur of her outrage is devoured in a single inhalation, and the battle against the treacherous pool is stayed. Her pale legs still, the cold crimson again pooling, smooth, mirror-like, about the remnant wakes of her assault, ears again flicking, searching, atop her perfect crown, as her gaze slowly looks over her shoulder, into the shadow. A shuddered inhalation of breathy delight rises as the maiden of mayhem pivots, her tiny blades striking in cacophonous grace against the damp shore with slaps, bi-chromatic stare eager as it dances in search about the bracken, and trees. Her pale plumage, aloft in her delight in the hunt, is a ghost that ripples behind her, ethereally floating on absent breeze, and as she approaches the trees, her muzzle lowers, to gust the powdered snow across the earth before her with hot, steady breaths.
The song of her laughter, tittering, small, peculiar, ricochets upon the nearby, frosted trunks.
"Little mouse, little mouse, such a tiny, frightened thing," softly sings the banshee, the bloodied darling, her hooves now breaking the silence of the shadow with her pace with the clicks, pops, and shhhs of the wood breaking as she passes, "in your house, in your house, little mouse do come out…"
Throwing herself about the boughs of what she believes to be the source of the clandestine creature which stalks her, her snarls rend the silence as she finds it void of the mouse, the hunger of her cries obvious, and drawing into a shrill scream of denial. Biting at the empty air before her, the she-witch fills the small space with the sound of her tail striking the unblemished ivory of her side; the scream quickly melds into a squeal, into a wet, horrible giggle. Towards another tree she stalks, her eager nostrils quivering with desire, for she smells fear, fear thick like blood on the cold, stagnant air.
"So afraid, so afraid, little mouse won’t come play, little mouse, little mouse," a tiny neck for me to wring.
[ OOC: Scariest game of hide and seek ever I guess? :'D ]
you've lost your demon.
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
