Oh, Despicable Me
Winter trees line the island Their denuded forms stand starkly against the snow, almost like charcoal outlines sketched by a passing artist. Along limbs that not long ago were adorned with the vibrant colours of autumn lies an unblemished white blanket. They are the trees of storybooks, of paintings the finest artists created and as the witch passes she can't help but extend her luxurious tail to feel the rough bark under its pure layer as she departed little from the shore line.
Long, busy tail would sway from side to side in leisure stride, shoulders rolled in ghastly-spectral movement; sinisterly roaming. Violet gems were hardened with a glowering malice, a turmoil within her own vessel that forced her, ripped her apart limb from limb, to venture so far from the lands she knew. Queen of the Damned, a kingdom in which she lay claim because she was truly and utterly damned, cursed. Was this the right path to tread? Perhaps she should reconsider her discussion with the black woman from the other day. Perhaps that is why she was running away now. But how can you run away when the problem is inside of you?
Auditory systems would swivel absently in idle thought of what was to come. Lifeless gaze would turn upward Besides the noise and rustling of the other animals that would flood through her ears, there was soon encounter another sound, one much more familiar, that filled her ears like a symphonic drum line, loud and acute. She came to an abrupt halt, standing as ballet dancers poised to show the world their grace, strength or perhaps shock showing in how she remained so still yet within the blood would boil at the mere sound of this bastard voice.
Anger boiled deep in the witch system, as hot as lava. Not for him in particular, she was not naive as it took both of them to achieve such consequences, but for this situation and this dreadful encounter. It churned within, hungry for destruction, and she knew it is too much for her to handle. The pressure of this raging sea of anger would force her to say things she did not mean, thing she never wanted him to find out. She did not even know his name. How pitiful but in harmony with her life past events. She knew better than anyone that anger was a silent huntress looming in the night, ready to strike when you least expect it. With that in mind the russet witch quickly covered her steadily growing abdominal region with her elongated, luxurious tail and continued her walk in a slow yet enthusiastic pace; silence was this woman weaponary choice, deciding the best solution was to ignore the problem and therefore ignore the man that she spent a heated night with before she turned on him like an enraged panther.
