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01-10-2017, 10:42 AM
"Mouse!" shrieks Beloved, her eyes beholding a vast shuddering disturbance in the crimson boughs, ringing the deceitfully red waters. Her legs sway beneath her, her body lithe, and wingless; an arrow which weaves, she aims for the head of the invisible comet, and basks in its glittering wake of fear. Pale banners ripple and snag upon greedy boughs, hungry for a taste of the white witch. Queer tinsel lingers in the shattered-branch strewn path of the wench, but her notice is not given as each delicate, lengthy strand is shorn away by her reckless charge. She sees only the prize, which flickers and blooms into reality from the nothingness in which the mouse had hid. Laughter, wild, fretful, blooms among her rabid pants, Beloved’s warped reality further twisting. Gilded, like a trophy should be, the mouse makes a rapid dash towards the open air above the bloody lake; her shine rouses headier lust, more poignant a desire. The yearning draws a moan of need from her as she lunges, and leaps after her prey, so close to escape. "No, no!" snarls the hunter, throwing herself across the final distance between herself, the hunted, and the realms of freedom that the jester’s lake represents, hopeful that she is swifter than the flight of the winged rabbit. Her blade leads her insatiable assault, a trustworthy friend, a trained accomplice in her arts of death, and suffering; the strike itself sweeps upwards after the initial, gouging lunge, and her teeth follow, savagely grasping for the air, or the flesh, if she is deemed worthy of this prize, by the primitive Gods of blood, and the chase. Though the ribbons of her consciousness can no longer recall why she’s chasing, or what the hunt is for, her hunger is no lesser, her wanton eagerness to taste the blood of gold no less overflowing. rust every place that I touch |
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
