Private wrecks ships in her wake

Crash, crash, Burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground
Her youth is her deceit. Lupine jaws, hide her beauty. Beneath intoxicating lashes, those red eyes reveal their violence. Her soul is ancient scripture. Her heart, every lovers' apocalypse. Draw close to her, and you shall read their tragedies. They lace with immortal blood, between the shrine of her ribs. As ancient as the relationship between moon and sea. As cold as time and death, itself.

She is the sensuous dark angel, descending the Byzantine stairwells of sheol. She bathes in its darkness. Its labyrinthine ruin. Behind the vampiric maiden, flows a silken veil of lush tresses. Their heavy, lilac strands, dripping with luminosity; trailing, a priestess' burial gown, against the deep gloaming of wormwood, of soil. Her hair dances like a funeral veil, floating, against the misty contours of her alluring visage.

Luminous curls, tousled around soft, female shoulders; their tendrils, a sateen cadence glossed against the caramel edges of her jasmine-kissed skin. As the intimacy of the evening folds around her, her lips shall curl with devilish rapture. Feline bliss, roving against the chill of their embrace. These stygian realms, as old and as ancient as time itself, fills her, completely. They scream for her needs. Her wants - her darkest desires.

A living, breathing phantasm, bending to her sirenic heart. It's the trickling hymm of liquid, cascading over brusque limestone, that echoes against these desolate chambers. The laconic radiance of water, pooling black liquid against hushed crystal; their iridescent opal stones, shining in the darkness of a long fogotten realm. When Euryale dances through their amethyst shadows, she imagines herself draped over a gilded throne; the obsidian castles in her dreams. Their water temples, lying deep underground. Rumbling, like a god in sinister dormancy. There were visions of lust, greed and deadly attraction. A shattered throne, a broken crown; they were all intimate memories of an exiled queen.

O, and how long has it been? Since she first tasted power upon her lips? To feel the narrow blade of a sword, pressed to her breast - to relish the visceral copper along their stained silver, that which her enemies spilled? O, she feels the dark earth, moving against her body - and when the earth pulls its ragged caress along her flesh. She knows the earth to be as alive and as ancient, as she. Breathing, against her heart with all the promise of an immortal lover.

Against the jowls of its feral touch, she sighs. Against the wicked lawlessness of its primordial promise, her blood sings. Ner soul, siren whispers of black ritual that dance passionately in their mortal coil. She is scarlet beauty, drenched in sable lace. She is sweet, sweet sin, and her heart belongs to their infinite darkness. Deeper, she descends. Hungry for release. Salivating, to taste a violent, bitter end. The abigo cave's jagged walls, how they'd immaculately hug the sinous curves of her vulpine figure. stalagmites, precariously, whistling up above her. Ebon rocks, towering before the subterrean underworld like some twisted, funeral pyre - a Babylonian citadel, for all their wicked angels and sinners.

Their pillars carved of stardust, salt, and limestone, would echo the great vastness of space. Their faceted edges, laced in sharp angles, roaming hungrily over her body as though they'd worship only beauty and grace. Their salivating points, sliding bone-teeth over supple, feminine skin. How they claw for her flesh. Dancing, towards her neckline; shoulders; hips - her sloping backside, wildly sensual in their endless invitation raked by sable talons of need. Lacing her in a thick, tantalizing web of shadow. It's intoxicating, to be engulfed by so much darkness. To feel the stony caress of the caves, brush their clandestine jaws against her. To feel the earth, one with her flesh. Zhe never wants to leave - O, why would she? Why would she?

Euryale has always been a maiden of the moon. She, who so loved the earth, the wilderness, the forests. A priestess of feral perceptivity, and the iron breath of her predatory intuition, always, seeking its spectral blade against the warmth of her blood-red curves. O, and is she not the devil's mistress? Does she not dance in the curves of a serpent; hourglass curvature, and come-hither, womanly prowess laced in elegant beryl. All that femininity; all that crimson. Her visage, angelic; and yet, her heart is all hunger - all demon.

Enter, the red queen; "Come away with me," Her voice is swan-soft and ethereal. cooing against silken lips in their heavenly lull. She sings, softly, ushering lyrical melodies past her lips with every sultry hiss of indignation. "Come away with me, into the water," Silvery purrs, croon from her tongue. Singing honeyed notes, as she descends into a shallow pool, languid and languishing. Her long hair, trails against svelte limbs. Their tendrils, fanning upon their sleek, onyx surface, as she saunters yet into their moist depths. She pulls a bone comb from the swell of her lilac curls, running its ivory teeth through the tangled lengths of her mane; brushing each unearthly strand. Teasing their ends, delicately.

There is a fire inside of this heart
and a riot about to explode into flames