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A dizziness begins to dull her shrieks, the sounds whirling down with the black and white bursts of nothingness that threaten to make void the world. From the shorn flesh of her mask pours forth a fount of red, but as it drips, drips, drips, it seems to darken. As the bear’s last death shudders still into the statuesque state of death, and never ending sleep, the demoness pants and heaves, groans and giggles, and her blood begins to drip black.
Perhaps it was that her aged heart has had its residual memory of life with an end spent, or perhaps there had been some minute part of herself that had not yet slipped away into the ever expanding depths of shadow, but that cardiac tissue within her breast no longer heaves with the same mortal pace as those around her, suddenly does not recall that it was born to end. With a final thrust of deep, horrid crimson, that which flows from her facial flap is onyx, and shines like oil beneath the Sun.
As she notices this enchanting enhancement to her being, the world really begins to tilt, and sway. Looking over at the General as he speaks (something about wearing the dead), and the bumbling apology of the large girl they’d all leapt in to save (except, of course, Beloved, who had attacked to, well, attack), she scoffs, her laughter brittle, and sharp...
Even if she wobbles a bit from the blood loss.
Perhaps it was that her aged heart has had its residual memory of life with an end spent, or perhaps there had been some minute part of herself that had not yet slipped away into the ever expanding depths of shadow, but that cardiac tissue within her breast no longer heaves with the same mortal pace as those around her, suddenly does not recall that it was born to end. With a final thrust of deep, horrid crimson, that which flows from her facial flap is onyx, and shines like oil beneath the Sun.
As she notices this enchanting enhancement to her being, the world really begins to tilt, and sway. Looking over at the General as he speaks (something about wearing the dead), and the bumbling apology of the large girl they’d all leapt in to save (except, of course, Beloved, who had attacked to, well, attack), she scoffs, her laughter brittle, and sharp...
Even if she wobbles a bit from the blood loss.
you've lost your demon.
@Wessex
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
