[Crux] Dahmed If You Don’t

Exposed

Made by Medi

Yonder to bifrost, a devilry bemoaned overhead, starlit nebula’s plaiting across the firmaments in a rather sombre, empyrean imperfection, the moon’s lustre dissecting what peril’s dare to secrete in this elephantine, uncharted moorland. Call it intuition, if you will, that succumbed to the hellion’s desires of prevailing in a world she had yet to dredge; perhaps not now, but soon, should the opportunity arise in all its temporal glory.

She’d done it once before, so who’s to say she cannot do it again?

Why not take what was rightfully hers since the dawn of fucking time? Pertinacity, be it may psychosis longwinded by trauma and a series of ill-fated exploits, completely trumped any qualms or hesitancies, and Lebraid had no reason to think otherwise, of course. A low, gut-churning, eldritch snarl belted past soppy jowls, slaver adulterating cimmerian lips and off-white cuspids like a foul ogress from the pits of helheim. Here, she would amass intel, information, whatever lay dormant for the spoils of war; blanch, tintless eyes glossed across the heathland, noting its granite stones that seemingly sat in an idyllic, spherical shape. Carved, chiselled, perchance touched by the god’s, pastoral moss embedded the earth’s soot undertoe, observing the anomalous inscriptions that were scotched on the runes. So, what of them? Percase unable to be read, its literatures and ciphers speculated cerulean beauty, a lambent temptation -- they shimmered beneath the fulgent sky, graveyard jacket tousling a malevolent, outré demeanour.

She didn’t come here for games, nor moronic meddling’s.

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[Crux] Dahmed If You Don’t

Exposed