WHERE THE WILD THINGS GO
06-12-2013, 07:26 PM
She feared not the eerie tension that surrounded her; Medusa was a snake, vulnerable in some ways but equipped with her own venom with which she had no qualms of striking. She was no warrior, but she was also not a delicate shell of a harlot. Her lessons back in the harem of her childhood had included self-defense. Sometimes sweet words were not enough to slick oneself out of a situation, even if they were spoken with a well-practiced tongue. The serpent had not been in a situation in which fighting was necessary just yet; she?d been captured, yes, but she hadn?t been given the chance to escape or fight back. Three on one was hardly fair, after all. Working her way through the thick vegetation, she was irritated to find her pristine coat disrupted by bits of plant. Medusa was vain enough to care; what if she came upon a prospective lay, and they saw her in a deplorable condition? She was confident she might be able to seduce them anyways, but she didn?t wish to take the risk. The midnight mistress quickly fixed her pelt before she continued her wanderings, eager to see what all the lands had to offer her eyes. |
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