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| Subject: ...you're awed by her beauty, until illusion mists your vision... | |
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Author: Midnight Mystique |
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Date Posted: 17:43:54 02/04/04 Wed In reply to: KF 's message, "..Fear.." on 20:49:43 02/03/04 Tue ((OOC: OH GOD! I have been going INSANE--you know, the links are all screwed up. Soooo sorry. Oh well, back now..P.S. My cousin Lara, player of Bliss, has been in Florida for the past couple of weeks...I think she gets back this weekend...)) Large pools of glorious clear emerald spilled their searing light on all those surrounding her. Every exquisitely sculpted line of her queenly face held a righteous anger so intense that seas would be parted before her wrath. Starlight shimmered o'er the gleaming satin of violet-touched midnight, burnishing its rich hue to a brilliant indigo. Winds, sensing the divine rage about her, quickened and flowed swiftly about her in an atmospheric maelstrom which twirled the long silken rivulets of crimply sable about her in a stormy nimbus, inky fingers streaming in that raging current of nature's breath. Huge, tapering pinions of thousands of arrowlike feathers were tightly folded to the slender sides of her ribcage, emanating a steady flow of white-hot, yet icy cold, fury. Velveteen nostrils flared huge in the tiny chiseled muzzle, sending forth twin tongues of mist, amethyst in hue. In her agitation, one slender, lightly muscled piston raised, a flinty onyx hoof striking out at the earth beneath her, a shiver of violet lightening snaking up to join the swirling mist and frantic breeze, little shocks of the same violet rippling in the whirlwind. To her allies she gave a warm gaze, a ray sunlight shooting from the stormy cyclone. When glancing at the various darks the lightening intensified, twisting and crackling terribly at first, then softening, for 'twas not with them, dark though they were, that her battle was. Finally she looked to the imbecilic brute to whom went all the credit of her rage...an honor, though one most would consider a curse. A bright, flaming fire seared in the depths of celestial green pools, and the twister eddied, a deadly quiet descending about her. The calm before the storm. Her voice, the heavenly reverberating hum of a newly plucked harpstring was steely, and cold enough to freeze iron as she spoke, her words frostbitten with the contained fury, that terrible rage condensed into a tiny, whirling ball in her core, to be released the instant she desired-- But she did not speak, for to this ignorant fool, she had no words low enough to unleash. Unlike the petty Evil, she was above such nonsense. Let civility rule for now. It would not for much longer...the calm before the storm never does. [ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ] |
| Subject | Author | Date |
| +My, My Is She Evil+ | +Trust+ | 18:09:07 02/04/04 Wed |
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