MONEY. POWER. GLORY

*Isardis* · 07-25-2014, 05:43 PM

It is disastrously disappointing to not be the King to lead his horde to war; though his name is a historical watermark against pages of the past, and in his mind he will always be combat?s director. Coral toes will waltz with seamless elegance, faultless strides as unscathed as gravity-less cloud-hopping. Dawn rises behind him like the halo of his worshiped existence, an albino supernatural whose continuation pleads to make or break the world that lifted its shoulders at the rousing prospect of supporting his credence. Though he has aged, muscle still unfolds beneath his pallid skin as if youth has latched his bloodstream as a disguised leach; in his mind he is still imperishable, still of high worth than just a supporter of his daughter?s war.

He glides his shoulder against her curved quarters as though his corpse is allured by her command, salmon tongue tracing the well-covered tenders of her silver spine as he absorbs Roman as all he?s grown to lavish in most recent times. Blade ricochets from her delicate ribs as the Ice King comes to stand eagerly by her towered side, malicious snicker growing fond upon his cherry lips as his gaze devours her audience as though it were his own. ?You will consume them, my daughter,? the title falls as though he has placed selfish emphasis upon his own genetic success. Though he supports her, Isardis has far greater purpose in this siege than most may care to be aware of.

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