 A seductive chant of nature's wholesome lament sang in the echoic chambers of the forest's seclusion, life, death, and all betwixt each ethereal dimension sounding, in a raven's hoarse call of broken requiem. Ere such divine irradiation of dawn's blazing sun, the land lay in the somber hush of night's lethal obscurity, bathed in setting moonlight, its huntress gaze enveloping the putridly beautiful domain of trees and brush, the roaring streams blushed in obsidian and languid azure, swathed in the consuming stare of darkness' writhing flush. Stillness. Quiet. Soothing, tempting, enticement, slithering through the reigns of a blessed eden like a wretched serpent with a beguiling golden apple of seeping aurora held tightly between it's slathered jaws. Like a scathing knife piercing the shadows in an iniquitous bloom of rose red manifesto, she wove thru the night in effortless deliberation, leisure drenching her languorous motions, and yet, within the confines of her cerebral cortex, the fire burned mercilessly, utterly lacking the clemency of which any other supercilious creature would starve themselves. Her sadness brimmed, fiery eyes half lidded in lassitude, the heart beneath a carmine chest thrumming with an insatiable ache. Thoughts laced in poison, her mentality was that of a crushed orchid, pulchritude demeaned and desecrated in barbaric completion. And yet, there was but a glimmer of hope beneath each stratum of her misery, barely unearthed except within the throes of damnable adoration.
Demure, humility soaked in senescent grace, she was but a budding flower amidst chaos and adversity, wherein her emotions birthed themselves in bloodied placental rancor. Liberty from this sentimental prison would, in her ruling, never be procured; she would forever, eternally, be bound by ropes and chains, invisible to the naked eye, pressed tautly against her stomach, her arms, legs, and lissom neck. She could hardly breathe, through the constrictions of her past, and each step she took through this bright colorful world was a mocking reminder that she believed she would never attain such succulent bliss. However, there was tenderness in her actions, a sweet, loving tenderness, offset by the harshness of a series of belligerent dogmatic beliefs, layers upon layers of inexplicable codes untapped and unsolved, by anyone. Even herself. A lurid hush fell like misted rain over the land, guided by the mysterious, salacious presence of a scarlet hued mare, exotic visage concealed by thick tendrils of gleaming alabaster. Beauty shrouds her form like a possessive spirit, whose path to hell was paved in titillating intentions. Pale teal eyes scanned their surroundings, flickering in passionate vigor; vulnerability was nothing but an illusion. Her body would remain hers, and only hers, until the day she drew her last breath. This was a place where women, and men, for that matter, were subjugated and led away in figurative shackles, tied to their future domain for the rest of their existence.
How sad, she thought with mild amusement. She was not to be trusted fully, a woman whose ways were delved in the soiled realm of deception. She knew what she wanted, and would do anything to get it. Such ambitions were frowned upon where she came from, for women were always better seen and not heard. And yet there she was, a runaway, a free woman, and she would remain that way. Who would she meet in this curious wasteland of gods and goddesses, where religion played such a role in these creature's lives. Barely above a whisper, she spoke to them, so far away. Which beast this night will face a true demon?
| Hidden Account |
| Mare :: Unicorn :: 16 hh :: 5 |
|
Itzal :: White Tiger :: Hypnotize
roni |
06-26-2013, 03:14 PM
(This post was last modified: 06-26-2013, 03:19 PM by Yseulte.)
The darkness.
She hated it, almost as much as she hated herself, at times. But they were one and the same, Yseulte and the darkness, and so she simply endured it, as she always had. There was no ridding yourself of darkness, she'd learned, because only from light are shadows cast. Surely that meant she wasn't entirely terrible, right? She could feel Itzal sneer in her mind, playing on her doubts like a predator that toys with its prey before shredding it to pieces and devouring it in the same bite. He was the source of her darkness, she realized sadly, but his darkness is mine, because he is part of me.
Despite their many differences (as well as an uncanny resemblance of character that she preferred not to think about), the two journeyed together in the darkness. She followed the luminous violet glow ahead of her, catching flashes of his eyes between the trees, iridescent purple and silver. Snow kissed her withers in the gentle embrace of winter—one she was all too familiar with, and her crippled hind leg simply ached thinking of that wintry night atop the mountain, when wolves had bayed all around her in the night. The lack of light and warmth was suffocating, and the dense trees pressing in all around her did naught to relieve her frayed nerves and aching leg.
Well, Itzal might be comfortable in this bone-chilling cold and smothering darkness, but Yseulte was not. She was a wild desert flower, conceived and born of fire itself onto sands scorched and burned beneath the sun's hostile gaze, raised with her desert sisters and the feel of the dry desert wind in her hair, and the shifting earth and scorpions beneath her hooves. Even the seasons were different here in Helovia—this Frostfall was an alien concept to Yseulte (only last year had she experienced snow for the first time), and her lithe desert body was ill adapted to such a frigid environment. She was thinner than she ought to be, and missed the Edge's blazing fires in this everlasting darkness.
But she could not look back. Not now, not when she had vowed to forget them forever.
Torasin, Lace, Thor, the Dragonheart...
Forget them.
Instead of turning back, she pressed on blindly, stumbling in the darkness and leaving every remembrance of warmth and light behind her with every passing step. Itzal snarled softly somewhere to her left, a familiar sound that he used when swearing under his breath. That could only mean one thing: they had company.
And my, what a comely creature she is; eyes bright and bold as a full moon. Curious and cautious, Yseulte analyzed the lithe damsel before revealing herself. The glowing pathways cast a lovely silver sheen over skin that looked drenched in dark blood, but in the sunlight (if it would ever come again), surely there could not be a color more rich and dark and intoxicating than this stranger's fine skin. Pale, ghostly hair contrasted against the midnight hues of her skin, and when she moved, lithe and graceful as a cougar, her hair shimmered and swayed. And those eyes! Like Itzal, she sported venomous eyes that were unusually bright and bold in the darkness, glittering with some feral wildness that Yseulte admired. Alluring as a sweet red rose with poisoned thorns; dangerous and deadly as a viper. The scarlet woman was truly a magnificent specimen, this damsel, perfect in every physical aspect. She had never met anyone half-so lovely as herself—perhaps today she had at long last met her equal.
"The night becomes you, scarlet sister," Yseulte says at last, revealing herself and striding slowly through the darkness as if wading through a lake of black ink. Ignoring the slight limp that plagues her every step, Itzal followed close at her heels, bird feathers protruding from his black lips and blood glittering at his pale throat like a necklace of rubies. Ever the iron maiden, her expression yielded no sign of any emotion that might be present; unfathomable and cold as steel. But beneath this mask of invulnerability, Yseulte was wary.
As she had learned from her monstrously beautiful father, beautiful things were not to be trusted. |
yseulte & itzal, |
ALL THE WAYS I GOT TO KNOW
YOUR PRETTY FACE AND ELECTRIC SOUL.
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