Whiskey In The Jar
03-09-2019, 08:22 AM
(This post was last modified: 03-11-2019, 01:43 AM by Nephthys.)
Before The Thread
Violence pursues the autumn mistress, a grisly deity of bloodlust and delicious carnage; she was fibrous and elegant in her movements, touching the ebon sand of the beach like a secret lover. The imperial presence was conveyed in the swoon of her hips and the confidence that radiated through her, feral, the cold in her stare was undenying, as she uncurled the salom tongue, dragging over the canines she possessed. Her flesh was carved in the spiritual semblance of raw, grotesque coercion. Bronze voluptuous hip to svelte waist, and curved shoulders nestled beneath her trim nape; a brusque musculature defined in the art of her grating war grind – her gestures were defiant, dominance over the Earth. Her body, her visage, all remained the same but yet she changed. She was swathed in the prowess of delusion, a revenant whose movements flow with the languishing definition of her slender fiber, placeing one mile-long limb in front of the other, calculated, possessing unnatural grace. Waves crashed over the frigid Spring sand spreading it's lacy foam like the edge of a petticoat. The ocean wind blew in bitter gusts, tumbling her locks into spidery tendrils. The salty air lay thickly on her tongue and for a moment that was all she could taste and smell. Calm, her surroundings, eerie; real and at the same time nonexistent fore the bronze mistress was at the same time alone and it a crowd. Seen and unseen. Speech |
