NOBODY'S FOOL

                               her carmine beauty proffers mechanical acceptance in the form of a languid nod before nimble limbs propel the empress into the tyrant’s close quarters, forcing the elysius to adopt a rigid stance out of sheer anticipation. and her abstract gaze is stagnant upon the beauty’s own sanguine depths as she keenly observes fiamette’s motions, pondering over whether or not to leave the babe within obscurity or to enlighten her with her own transgressions. but it is not until the scarlet nymph praises her relentless urge to protect and possess that the elysius’ pupils abandon their fixation, averting entirely away from fiamette’s nubile physique to concentrate haphazardly upon her liquidated benefactor. remorse { a ruthless, domineering emotion } penetrates her apathetic guise and a defeated sigh cascades from frayed lips as the beauty encroaches upon her personal space in an attempt to cleanse the remnants of beautiful sin from her countenance; yet the elysius is quick to evade such contact as her skull flinches away and out of proximity. “fia,” is the callous and tacit demand that seeps from the tyrant’s jaws in an attempt to ensnare the woman’s undivided attention, her own mismatched gaze hardening with severity as they once more seek to interlock upon fiamette’s.

and her own chiseled appendages seek to navigate the phantom queen away from her consort and adjacent to the fallen, attempting to place the slaughtered between she and the scarlet wraith of whose presence she had grown more than accustomed to. “i am afraid there is more than death to this story, fiamette,” she elaborates with unwavering conviction, her countenance once more reflecting naught but practiced stoicism. the lack of her carmine beauty’s typical pet-name an obvious indicator to the grim tone of the situation that had befallen both she and the slain.