S he moved with a rough, yet somehow gracefil, admancy. She had a destiantion in mind and she refused to hold back on her fluid pace until her desires were sated. She was a raw gun, a rough woman and a woman with a clear mind. Thew coiled beneath her taut flesh and her thick pelt, the summer sun warmed her pleasanty, and her heart seemed to beat at unrecorded speeds. She was chanting the words like a mantra. The words of life. Words of water. Her supply thighs would only begin to slow as she arrived on the banks, and her corpse could kneel forward to consume every ounce of devine life. Thirstily she took in the waters, more than willing to consume the whole lake, and yet, she stopped as the cooling feeling left an erotic chill through her body, and she reclined to her haunches. She had been sated. S he could feel the delightful warmth of the sun's evening rays through the trees, glimmering upon her back. She could feel the warmth and fullness in her belly beg her to sleep and without putting up a fight the restless Queen would turn onto her side and lay down, however, as was common for her, she was not able to sleep, such a perfect day and everything was so out of question. A bit of annoyance ate at her nerves and the dual toned lady would find herself merely laying down and breathing steadily, waiting for anything to happen. Perhaps then, and only then, she could rest.

JUDGEMENT

DANGEROUS THING, A NAME. SOMEONE MIGHT CATCH HOLD OF YOU BY IT.

 

They had worked for Her. They had created a framework. A framework in which stood proud with dignity and earth chained divinity, green-hued orbs observing the 'lessers' that were confined to the Sodomy that was dubbed merely a 'pack'. It took years -- years to become ever intertwined with the Mother and given her most Special Gifts, earth, and She rewarded them well with towering sizes and striking features. They appeared sick because She had been sick, sick and tainted by the blood of kin, of violent, unprovoked anger, greed...And so She reached out, tendrils of immortal earth, wrapping shackles upon the living beings, and She sat back, watching their struggled. Something, oracles had told, something had changed with the Mother -- a gentle, but ever stirring, amusement as she played no further hand and observed her children whimpered, whined, squealed, growled, waned... They came to him occasionally, the stories in which he was raised upon, they crept to him as a greater power than even himself...and they all whispered, they all whispered in his own voice - in his own thoughts; Hargreaves could not remember their names or their faces, he recalled their influence, their supposed purpose... and their brainwashing. They had taught him so many things. He could recall his mother, but he was fueled to hate his father in ignorance of what truly was, this hatred truly did linger to his disdain. He remembered how his mother taught him how to lie as she peered upon the enemy with a smile, with a lavish and innocence which betrayed them.



Rarer was the occasion that he stumbled into the thoughts and memories himself, as he explored and grew familiar he ran into them more often than he remembered or would ever anticipate. His walls did not crumble, Laurier was not one to merely allow memories invade him and crumble him. No, he did not fight against their occurrence either; he merely offered them tea and a seat, holding a mirror so that he may reflect upon them. They were not necessarily memories that were negative when they occurred either, no, as aforementioned, he had been brainwashed -- You are not pure, your gender and minimal Height stains you and will continue to stain you despite being damp with nobility. There is no need to fret upon this, as acceptance is the path to your redemption for such faults. -- and it was only when he was abruptly thrust upon the world that he realized that divinity was a commodity in life. It was then that he started living, breathing air without laws lacing his mind and lungs, and so, he had learned to 'forgive' them and their oppression of many, as they had been redeemed upon death -- he had learned how to lie to himself: a unforeseen weapon in a passionately composed arsenal.



In his days, he would not allow his rank of rogue to wither. No,he was not wasteful with his days - however, it was a very subjective topic. Perhaps lingering, carefully and listening, thinking and reflecting and surviving was wasting opportunity. Each day was unique in itself, however, he was not always let in on this specific uniqueness, it was out there - most definitely - but lately he had found himself within the same routine: limbo. He had stumbled upon the lake again - Wolfpaw Lake, ever so easily identified by the formation from whence came the name - and so, he set moss-green eyes upon the waters. Water was the blood of the earth and it was no surprise that another was here. No, it was a surprise that more were not. He approached, quietly as he always was, the lake for a mere drink. Indeed, today had almost hellfire heat, it was more comfortable for him as his body was accustomed to it, winter was more his folly.

What was he missing? Such shackles to time and the earth was a great flaw of mortality, it was not the dying side effect, it was the inability to observe as easily. No, he was not omnipresent as ____ never would be, no, he was to remain merely a ghost of a fallen empire, however, the possibility - it tempted him. Knowledge was his sin, of course.

 

Riveria (Lutara), AW



A bit late on the reply, apologizes for that...and this post.



THEONS @ SHINE