sing a lie, ghost of the night

The mystical siren moved in a subtle grace- Kissing the snow that curdles upon her paws for quite some time, watching the days skim by. As never before, boredom had taken to plaguing the siren's mundane thoughts and activities. Seasons pass and go, and with that it would seem one in particular had caught up to the oracle, latched on like a leech. Winter was a fascinating time of the year. Its sensuous chill suffocating Renesme in its exotic affairs. Yet there would always be that slight problem that would draw her back. Her scent was something that males would desire, in some aspects 'want' to be around it.

such exquisite sight, it was, for those to witness the gracious dance of pearled snow, as its veil froze these lands where the unknown hid. slowly, the soundless femme would waltz upon the thickened mantle of gleaming ivories, the light white of her very own hide painted under the collection of snowflakes that dared cling to her heated form -- some to quickly fade away, others to further embellish her svelte figure.

The moist lips part, calling her king to do the deed. It was time- that is all she knew. Her children would not be smothered in affection, they'll grow up to be powerful, ambitious and to show no mercy to the weak.