nephthys
Under a dove grey sky the colours of the babe world don their winter coats, each hue darker and richer than before. The path sparkles and crunches, like sugar underpaws, and the coolness brings her right into the now, into the moment of life. Though the flowers sleep and the trees show their lofty arms once more, a frown plays along her beautifuly crafted visage. For as much as she loves the summertime, she loaths winter. She is accustomed with the dry weather of Egypt, where the head puts you down in a puddle of sweat during the day and freezes you during the night hours. Curiosity wound it's fingers against the pale throat of the babe, and decidedly would not relinquish until she complied. Choking, twisting, clenching tighter and ever the more sweetly until the ivory of her pelt was smothered by the earthen russet coloration, the wind attempting to stop her movement but not today. She would not be swayed by sensibility or logic; nay, though most may find absolute reason to avoid such a place because Gods know that even during Spring the snow in the Northen regions won't melt, at least not all, therefore she'd stride further and deeper into the belly of the beast: as though she were ready to greet perdition like an estranged lover, a flame, just begging to be rekindled. and there, there it laid, a fragrance familiar that passed through her nostrils, tickling her sensations, a cologne unlike any other, easy to recognise. Ashiel. The man that disturbed her ritual. Playing on your own, Ashiel? she purred, her chest vibrating as she lifted her frame, leaning on the pine tree in front of him, arching her spine and raising her hips. Why, you should have invited me. she continued with a humm, pomegranate optics eyeing the man before her with a smile on her visage, thoughts about seasons and loathing fading from her mind, focusing on the amusing image of the proud lupine covered in snow.
Hear my voice
come with me where the moon is made of gold
