[Redrum] Bleed You Dry

Exposed

Autumn’s parky, tonic kiss brayed across the bifrost and all it immured, a sanctum for its drabness. Here, like many, it wasn’t the most picturesque; alloy soot ossified the terracotta loams, where dye’s of antique brass, arylide suns and rich, artichoke greens rouged every nook, crook and cranny. It was almost imperious, yet pales of bistre and bone bled into its ribald undertones. Lebraid wasn’t here to play recreations, nor divulge in the idiocies of foolhardy simpletons; if she were to rise, conquest, there was simply no room for blunders, burdens or ruinations alike. It was all garbed by moral codes, of course. There was no reason to think she couldn’t prevail, and a harrowing, brusque growl thrummed from the cacodemon’s gut, spuming at the surface like a hot-boiled pot, daring to brim its ferity without a lick of mercy. Nevertheless, achromic orbs ogled the grove of dragon’s blood trees -- some, even, bled a cardinal resin -- it sapped from ribboned bark, almost as if they’d been bleating tears of blood.

Fitting, was it not?

Opaque threads of spit oozed from stygian jowls, jacket jostling a demeanour so unholy, so raw, it could’ve been mistaken for a hellhound in the abode of the dahmed.

There was truly no telling what she may or may not do, and the revulsion for conversations fell no shorter; siam and lemongrass hairs went ablaze, congregating domination, gallantry and a concoction of unpredictable, virulent intentions. A purl of glassy, cold-worn clouds balled past Lebraid’s lips, pirouetting without rhythm or rhyme as she stormed the drab chaparral, muscles tautening, skin itching -- fires within lay dormant, for now. Rather, her soul ached for retribution.

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[Redrum] Bleed You Dry

Exposed