[x]Daddy's Lil' Girl[x]

Muh Actions

» Jezebelle glides in shrouded silence of her veil, woven of finest threads by silk worms of the land she could call farmiliar, her royal stance not siminishing in the slightest as shadows grasp and seduce the sureal presence that now penetrated their depths. Silken threads splay childishly over elegant crest, reducing inamorta's imposing presence, yet hightening her mystery all the more. Shadowed chasams slowly shift from the shadows, scenting the air with her sight for signs of her only enemy, the evil of Hades that reincarnated in the form of silver lupa. Doublets melt and are reforged atop phlegmatic crown as sight beholds and annalyzes each ungulate that occupied the below territory.

Yet if they truly did hold worth or use or point, they had yet to prove it, so her judgement would remain unaltered. Banshee pounds stygian earth-kisser to sullen soil in deliberate enmity, knowing what would follow her appearance. All leviathans would come forth, seeking her as their next brood mare, the creator of the next of their line.

These behemoths best be on guard; she was no butterfly to be caught with a child's net. Nay, she was an armed gadiator, and the weildor of that very net that sought to keep she in bondage. Belicose note further rips through her silent veil, cutting a seamless path through the cruel silence that shrouds her very being and blurs the edges of her soul and form.

Grace and beauty, combined into one tantalizing package that teases yet cannot be held by mortal hands. Dredlocks flick to the crisp air as luminous orb that ignites the fires of tranquil Hell rises to the velvet and opaque abyss that cloaks the burning ball’s healing light and glittering nightlights gleam in the distance. Each brand left by the temptress is clearly marked in the soft soil, yet with the coming of the dew that the faeries shall strategically place shall come a barren soil on once hellion tread, yet only Gaea shall remember her passage over her flesh. Bones of earth are ripped from their beds and Paradise screams in protest and denial of her black presence before they are subverted to serve her icy soul, the blackest of hearts that created within Tartus itself.

Tears of Pegasus fall, cutting into once-dry flesh, chilling the bone as scream of the dead would do the same and so her debut is announed to those of the shadows and those who dance with the dead, her power held in the witching hour, seemingly invisible in the thickening mists. Would any try the apparition that so hauntingly stood, taunting the mind and driving the senses insane? Huntress allows doubt to register in depthless globes.

None would bother if they had common sense, for they were cowards who feared the dead and which had no substance. No welcome greeting slips from gullet, a silent spectator as the world met it's end «


Muh Thoughts

Well if it ain't a new place fuh lil' ol' me to wreak some new havoc. This does look promisin', now, don't it?

[x]I Tell Lies as Smooth as Silk[x]