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04-18-2017, 09:09 AM
The peculiar, almost dreamlike visage of Beloved’s golden mouse flutters down from the heavens, and the white witch narrows her eyes at the sight, pondering, while she thinks of all other things, if it is even true, or a mirage projected by her twisted third eye. Dragon! her crazed mind balks, the dozens of voices shrilly commanding it be slain, or avoided, or cried aloft to the sky, so that the bladed denizens of this realm, armed with leather and steel, would rise to crush her down; yet she is silent (but for that tittering, ceaseless laughter), her horn an arrow that points towards the bronze beasts which once guarded them at the will of a dark pelted man, stained with marks the color of his robotic children’s atoms, where the pale maned thing which had evaded, attacked, forced her away the last they met, had come gently weaving down. The other one she suspects to be eternal as stone walks towards those gate guardians, and Beloved spies her only after the dragon-mare has slipped beyond the far rise, and she can follow her downward trajectory no longer. Appearing as if summoned in the witch’s field of vision before the pale one, Yr’s Weaver is soon followed by the ivory ghost, babbling laughter as if she were a brook of mirth, Beloved wondering if, perhaps, with two, the wench will be easier to strike down. Yet, when she arrives, there is a cold hesitation to her acquaintance’s step and posture which draws, too, that same pause to the white one’s step. Narrowing her eyes with an insidious cackle upon the gold pegasus as Weaver’s query cuts the air like a knife, the demoness strides nearer her painted companion and Raven, stopping beside her with a laughter accompanied stare. "Hello again," she croons, lips hungrily wetted by a pink tongue at the closing of her words, that aged fear which had first risen, had bloomed in her breast at the audacious mare’s transformation the last they’d met still fluttering beneath the overtly ostentatious rise of her crown and arc of her brow she now displays in the face of her twice escaped prize. rust every place that I touch |
Feel free to attack her with physical or magical violence at your own risk. ;D
