grind your bones to make my bread
07-27-2014, 11:19 PM
She had such memories of this place, the whispers of the supple branches shot plans of grandeur through her veins, plans that felt ancient to her now. It had been so long, and now was she getting up the gall to return to the willow forest. There was the caress of long bowed branches along her thick, silken coat, sides raked by the tan whips that hung lifelessly. If a storm wanted to come whirling through, which the distant rumblings in the sky told her it did, these branches could be turned into a destructive force unmatched by anything. How wondrous, to know she was playing with dormant fire at this very second. Dual toned optics flicked absently over the small space before her, amid the trees. There were wolves living here now, and there was a single scent here that was familiar to her. She knew it quite well, one of Ryouta's children, abandoned by their own mother. How was the girl doing now, she wondered. In reality, it probably didn't matter. It had been seasons since she'd seen the girl, and no doubt she was a titan just like her mother, and ruling over some poor pitiful souls like only Ryouta's children would be able to. She could have taught the girl so much, such dark arts like seduction, smooth talking, and lying. She could have raised these children to be magnificent bastards, and yet they had fled her. Their loss. A small pond slowly came into view, and it was not long before she found herself seated at the edge of the glittering water. She remembered being here once before, briefly encountering the babes again, for the last time. Now, there was a serenity around the water, silence. The obsidian bitch stared out over the crystalline surface of the water, a breeze sifting through her thick ebony tresses in a light, tugging rhythm. It was a lovely day, but the sunshine was overwhelming, mildly disgusting. The approaching storm would make things much better, pounding rain and thunder drowning out everything, lightning lighting the world with brief strobe flashes of twisted photographs. It would be magnificent, even if brief. Storms, they never lasted, but they were far better than sunny days and colourful flowers and love. Love. What a piteous waste of time and energy, not even worth a second thought. Passion, that was something worth it's brief life. Lust, just as breathtaking and worthy. But love, love was not something the onyx stained tempest believed in, far from it. Here, one could forget about such nonsense, and lose themselves in the beauty of a single moment. That was just the wraith's plan today. Speech, |
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