The spring washed in like the tide, advancing confidently with warmth and white sunshine one day and retreating the next. On some days the new vibrant hues of the pansies and daffodils were bathed in tepid air that encouraged them gently, on others the wintry wind gusted fiercely - demanding a return to the bitterness of the months before. But like the tide, the spring would not be stopped. Up ahead in the distance a chiselled, slender physique morphed within the shadows of the caicti, illuminating the bright day; bioluminescence offered as a tribute in hues of amber, scarying the reptiles surrounding the area and forcing them back to the underworld, some crawling under rocks, some under bushes, they were all making a path for the Luciferian King one way or another, at least in his mind. The incubus was bathed in glorious contours, attractive, alluring, he was masculine and powerful, the King of Kings, holding the power of the Sun within his iron paw -- an unsettling, yet feral visage ovserved the world around him, how much in resembled Egypt and how comforting it was to gaze upon such sceneries again. Deliciously accentuated in slavic masculinity he walked the Earth with calculated steps, one pad in front of the other, regality in his prime, the absolute essence of a devil gone wrong, a general overlooking his troops. And it was not long until another game into the presence of his silver pools, remaining at the edge of the river. He approched as his cautious companion remained in close vecinity,perpendicular with the incubus and along his side, remaining silent. The femeinine form he laid his silver pools on was made with artful care of beautiful, and effeminate lust. As the Luciferian King approached he osversed how her face was filled with such vulpine devilry that was hard not to recognize but it was her perfume that draw him near, familiar, there was not one similar to this in the whole world. And if it was not enough her voice made it clear. Her voice, that voice, the voice, which does not boom nor crack with the sturdy confidence of thunder, came in the manner of nightingales. It was a tender exhale, the pull of smoke from clove-tasting breath and yet subtly harsh. She was scholding him? For what? Oh. How could she possible know? The incubus wondered, taking a quick glance at Ramses that only shook his head, he was not to blame. How peculiar. Her scent changes subtly from moment to moment. He could taste her pheromones on his plush tongue, rolling outsides his jaws. Like a fine wine, you only get better with age, beloved. brusque, but humble, in it's desert rasp; by far, such a lyrical sound escaped the incubus jaws. Bioluminescence variating in power, it turned into a realgar pigmentation, sign that, though his facade betrayed nothing, he was pleased to encounter her here. His mind still confused by her story and surroundings, of her informations. Amunet. Obsidian lips, cracked in a wiry grimace of absolute lust. He tasted her name upon his tongue. Rusted. He will need to practice more but maybe he will get the oportunity now that she returned like a mirage. The Sun rose upon your sky and from this day on you may feel the warmth it brings. Baritones, dulcet sonates of endless promises, vocal chords vibrates in a deep voice of a lyrical tenor, eyes swimming with lust as they fell upon her lithe, feline frame coated in creams. Is jealousy consuming at your being because I gave it to someone else besides you or to someone else but not you? he questioned, comeing to a halt near her, his snout pressing into the side of her neck, her perfume invading him with each breath, toxic, addictive, silver pools rolling to the back of his skull and he cound finally scent her heated soft tissues of skin underneth. She desired him as much as he did.
" words of a god"
"words of ramses"
