He moves with a rapid beat to his untamed step. He's refined and O so terribly wretched. He's the divine disguise of sin, and yet there's a classy regalia about him. Vermilion. Sneaky. Enchanted. It's terribly strange to pair such words with a man of such force, of such definition, and yet there is nothing more perfect. He is the incarnation of the sins the inhabitants of the word refuse. The imperfect embodiment of rapture.

Wildly, his rough body, his rough musculature, lift over the rocky boundaries of the land and his ears press against his massive skull as an unearthly breeze passes through his coat. He is taken off guard, the unpleasant feeling of the O so pure breeze disturbs him and he responds so dramatically, curses rolling from under his breath. Muscular thighs rest against the ground and his skull tips forward, glaring into the abyss of darkness that is the volcano. He wonders for so long how far he would fall. Eternity? Would that be long enough? Could he merely lay back into the darkness and allow it to swallow him? He knew the answer to his question. He knew that he was wrong to consider such lies. If the land mass was active, he wall fall into a pit of heat. He would writhe in the fires for a split second before darkness befell him and he was no more. On the contrary, if the system was inactive, he would eventually reach the bottom and every bone in his body would crack, would break, and still he would be no more.

His senses were so invoked, so hungrily dissecting the truth. In life there were so many ways to die. So many thing that could take over take one. As his nails curled beneath his toes his rigorous body would rise, chartreuse gaze drifting forward, and for the first time in o so long, a blissful smile would occupy his features. Death. The only answer to life's problems.

immersed in salient melancholy, vivienne's memory - lethe, and sensual inadvertence - came to her in fragmentations; broken dreams, amnesia, ever thrusting its moist fingers into her state of emotional abeyance; raking her heart in divisions of blood, senseless disorientation, and thirsting agony. she, wept in isolation; often alone, in the exhausting grace of her merciful regressions. she wept for herself, a sweet and painful song, relishing the vile sunder of her desperate cries; succumbing to temporary dysphoria, an illusion that so aided her loveless, lifeless survival; yet her tears, had meant nothing - not even surrender, relinquished her release, nor paved against the bestial selvage of her immortal ruinations. swept in an abysmal ache, a deepening, provocative despondency that flourished its hot blade against her untouchable wounds. fore even vivienne, so drenched in exotic sentiment, could no longer endure the eternal receptivity buried deep in her womb. pain and loss. a languid ennui akin to satiety, and emotional abandonment; the arousal of intense hope, and equally crushing demise. she were on fire, burning alive. intent to kiss the lips of death, to touch the verging intimacy of passionate longing, and lustful desire; to embrace the gentle predilection - the entangled vitiation of the one she loved the most - if only, she were capable of remembering who they were. and yet, she would never remember him. her memory, had been erased; her identity, raped against her will. her love, turned to mindless, uncontrollable lust. her affectionate, tender demeanour, burning wickedly, labouring a violent mania - a screaming hopelessness - panting with all the fever of a vengeful lover who settled hungrily between her thighs. savagery turning inward, seductively raw - a perfect embodiment of the sensual and self-destructive aphrodite. she lingered in her slow-smouldering hatred, suspended in illumining, blinding treads that interlaced woven needles into her skin and tangled mass of soft, dark hair; a hatred veiled beneath a shimmering surface of celestial beauty. a hatred that fermented in angelic relucent, sweet; sinful, yet bound with lustful animosity and a deep-rooted confusion - her life, once ablaze and saturated with innocence, youth, radiance, purity; argent with love and smothering nourishment, now succumbed to complete and total darkness. a urge to taste pain, to relinquish her elegance in exchange for animalistic filth, were an ever persistent, doting hunger - she were powerful, seething, externally vexatious; a womanly predator, whose emotions ran hot and wild. matured through her repining and grievances. vivienne had suffered many lifetimes, and in each of her deaths, her sins, she would repent with all the loving ardor of an archangel fearing that merciless wrath of her god. YET, AT THE SAME TIME SHE WERE GODLESS; INCAPABLE OF LIVING A LIFE VOID OF PASSION AND LOVE. drawn unto the darkness, she slips between the shadows. her body stilled, as the delicious fragrance of male touched her lips, caressing a subconscious need. "good evening," vivienne whispers, her eyes grazed the length of his muscular body; tracing the contours of his hardened jawline and smooth chest. her voice sultry, laced in a frigid contempt - gently weaving against the flesh of his ear; coy, and ever so suggestive. "have i disturbed you?"

Silence. It is commanded by him with such perfection, such perfect ease. It rolls over him, spilling over the edges; bursting at the seams, and he does not allow it to end. He drowns in its purity. Verdigris eyes devour the landscape, and he is brought to stand before the world. His gibbous thew pushes against his skin, define, well-toned, and so aesthetically righteous beneath the colors he is swathed in. Her lyrics, they come, and they destroy the reticence he has come to know. Like shattering glass he can imagine the way the walls around him crack and fall. Her voice the equivalent to the execrable destruction of something so precious; how dare she.

Fiendish gaze turns upon her, his form taking quick deliberate strides towards her as he attempt to near her sumptuous display. He can feel the licks of indifference devour him whole, and yet there is no denial of her flawless design. His voice readies in his larynx,contraltos readying themselves for exposure. It has been so long since he had spoken, and only in the moment does he, ?You are unwanted, why have you come?? He has to know. He has to know why in this world the creatures of the Earth feel so warranted to approach any. He has to know why the vixen has come to him, with questions no less. He has to know for fear of going mad, for fear of the unknown, and yet, his fears are unspoken, hidden, written only across his subconscious mind. Fears, to him they were not weakness, no, O they were the authentic creation, that once accepted, would deliver him to success.