drowning in hatred
Frigid air whipped across the earth, stirring up the fine granules of white powder that coated the earthen floor. Wintry breath lifted and flowed through silken, golden tendrils, sending a chill down the spine of the mortuary goddess. Before her eyes lay a vast, icy expanse of land that shimmered and glistened in the light. Breathtaking and stunning, it was ethereal and peaceful - the type of place she wished to make her abode. A long traverse along side her spawns patriarchal figure had led her here, to the lands of ice and snow and cold, to what she were to call home. Mile-long limbs carried her gracefully upon the frozen terrian, breath curling up from nares in wispy, frosted tendrils, the babe took in the wonderful wonderland that spread out before her and her, hopefully, soon to be home. Yet, there was much left to be discovered and after a few silent moments, she turned her crown, her egyptian silk pelt swaying delicately with the gentle sway of her hips as she pressed forward, maintaing a steady pace along the brute, intent focused on the crimson liquid decorating his ivory theads. Plush, warm; a gentle tongue uncurled from her succulent, ebon lips only to lean towards him and groom it away; it was a delicious blasphemy to observe his pure pelt being blemished by her own tooth and claw. She did not know what the future hold but one thing was certain, the two hellhounds decided to leave aside their hatred for one another, their arguments and pride for a common goal: the spawns that the temptress carried. There was no doubt in her mind that they were his, who else would the Gods and Goddesses above deemed fit to leave his seed inside of their astral daughter but the Ice King himself. A muscular and strong barbarian at times, an eloquent gentleman at most but most certainly, a dominant male that will be able to assure their spawns protection. Will they be betrothed? Will she be able to abandon her own heathens once the time has come like they have discussed? Time shall offer her such answers. The woodland seemed ominously quiet. They paused, now that even the sound of their own pads was silent, all that could be heard was the susurration of the snowflakes in the gusty wind. Looking up, the mortuary goddess was transfixed by the ivory vines, making a living roof above them, almost blocking the sunlight as if they were forming a cage around them. Gold and orange specs mixed into a pool of violet, such was the babe gaze as she was brought into focus by the deep baritones of the man. His howl pierced the skies above, calling forth to his Ruler, to his Lord and she could not help but display a mocking smirk upon her beautiful visage. Someone above the Ice King, could be entertaining to observe how this ivory man will carry himself before someone surperior. He seems as confident as one of her Gods but was that about to change? Grace filled audits rotated towards the sound of his voice as he commanded rather than asked. If you would like what a load of bovine feces. Temper, temper, love. she purred seductively, batting her long, ebon eyelashes at the ivory man, acting as a widows veil; playing innocently with the man, she was thirsty for him that was true and she was michevious but she was first and foremost a Lady, a Goddess in her right with ichor flowing through her veins. She understood diplomacy and she could tell just by observing Hannibal that it was as important for him as it was for her for this meeting to proceed well, without disturbances. Luxurious, braided tail would brush along the Ice King back limb, after she sat on her haunches with a roll of her curvaceous hips, a sign of comfort meant to ease his mind yet she was not any better. Their spawns were meant to leave their mark upon this hellish Earth; to rebel and conquer. They were meant to be royals, kings and queens born to rule over others, dominance present in their very bones from birth. They were meant to make their parents proud and follow into their pawsteps yet what if they will not be welcomed? They did came to a mutual agreement but now this was above them. The decision, ultimately, fell upon Hannibal' superior. |
