regrowth

Exposed · Yesterday, 05:13 AM

Their imitating gestures were quickly detested, a foreboding tenor wildly expunging from the lemongrass, boneyard hellion’s boreal and ironclad demeanour. She didn’t appreciate the boy’s vainglorious play, yet he obliged in giving her what she wanted nonetheless -- fortitude and family, intrinsic nobilities -- my, how mundane. Is that all they endeavoured to tradition, howbeit? Were they not crusaders, or perhaps rulers that bled neurosis by taking what whatever they wanted?

Rightfully, of course.

In truth, the Armada sounded quite nondescript, yet mentions of a blight had ears pirouetting; had there been a battle, or better yet, a war?

Charred barks weathered against the test of time, where fresh, seaweed-green verdure’s scarcely burgeoned overtop. Lebraid’s deadpan stare did not haver, daring to pierce Balrog’s very soul if it be possible —— they spoke of fortification, though expressions remained impassive, for now. Were they a kingdom of sorts? It truly begged the question, nebulose memories of the foregone whisking into actuality for but a moment, expelling a low, granular rumble to cannon from the depths of her gorge, raw and demoniacal. A bit brash, weren’t they? Albeit, it milled a glister of intent in those achromatic orbs for but a fleeting moment, skin twitching, nerves aching, unsure if they knew the perils of a mentally unstable, unpredictable wraith. “And if I did,” The woman began, timbres eerily ghostlike as papery ropes of slaver festooned from growing cuspids, “What are you going to do?” It wasn’t a commination, but rather an enticement, a means to get him to tell her more, if that so be the case. Autumn’s crisp sails jostled her despotic jacket, and a cold, lumbering breath tumbled past moonless lips, daring the child to choose injudiciously.

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regrowth

missy!

Exposed