regrowth

Exposed · 12-20-2024, 10:25 PM

Balrog, so it seemed, and a prince, no less; here, the rubric may possess anchorage, but in the foregone, such was never the case.

It was a hollow plea, really.

Low, pursy breaths galumphed past aqueous lips, devious eyes waning upon every ace of the boy’s profile, before sermonising stagnancy as they bore into those melanoid orbs. The coalesce of raven and lambent-fire stood out against this rich, spring-sage, olivine boscage —— albeit the calcine oak that lay in its epicentre —— she’d listen, wondering if this ‘Armada’ was a place of sanctum, battalions, dunces, or mayhap corsairs that armoured no aegis of morality.

So, what of it?

She didn’t trust so easily, of course.

Pallid, lichen hackles fizzled with dominancy like a wight risen from its crypt -- see, she wasn’t one to pass an opportunity in getting exactly what she wanted. If that wasn’t obvious, then she’d make it be so. “Lebraid,” The word jarred in a ruinous, augural bellow, feeling the warmth of autumn’s sunglow buss against her mossbed mass, “Tell me more of this.. Armada.” A gesture, a yen, one would never truly know, and that was the malefic imperfection of a capricious hellhound, weaponised by a parabolic, ironclad skin untrodden at its best, and maniacal at its worst. There was no telling what was to come next; she didn’t like to meddle in fatuous affairs or puerile conversations, so expectations weighed heavy in comparison. To be afeared, it wasn’t all that hard, the wolf therein stepping forth a few feet, leaden, conscious -- fern and algae tints squelched undertoe, where seafoam foliages furled in the seam of jaded sprouts. Crown somewhat crooked, the naevus upon her chest clovered a tiger’s dander, yet bothered her none.

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regrowth

missy!

Exposed