never mess with fire or you could just be burnt

victory such bitter taste, and yet so sweet upon the crimson tongue, as the sheer taste of her opponent would run, still warm, down the banshee's ravenous throat. her breast would heave in sheer frenzy as they would pull away, her slithering tongue caressing the line of the bloodied lips as such stinging ache would every so often peel the form of her maw, shattering it into a thousand wrinkles of ire. Since yesterday it happened; victory ran in her veins with the chaotic triumph.

she was a fire-breathing creature, a lost soul of sheer distraught, bathed in the boiling fires of hell itself, brought back by demons from her penitence, if only to torture those that had dared put her in such misery. Striding forth to the borders the strong pistons thump the ground with the elegance a woman should behold; restoring the free sensations the siren had brutally be snatched away of. It was time to put the past behind and start a new; to stop clasping those ivory fangs on the innocent and start using them against the worst. Siobhan had it all. The beauty and intellegance. For her to just waste it all away on a pitful night. But now, she will use it to her side and seek what she's looking for. A home.

the days, no doubt, had grown quieter as they passed. once the air had seemed dim, and thick, and asphyxiating against her curvaceous sides as the weight of this entire land would seem to rest upon each bone of hers, weakening her muscles, clouding her brain. It was just illusions. Illusions can get the better of most. But not Siobhan. Now now. Slightly out of there lands she'd wait for a soul to seek her out. The scent of waxy rose petals would lead the way.