[AW] no church in the wild

[Euryale]

the evening, descends. a penetrating chill folds across the barren, arma wilderness. its icy breath, hissed amidst the foggy deluge; ephemeral & labouring - coiling through wettish soil, with all the cold touch of a viper. the dewy rot of autumn, curls against musky pine. sweet, vehement smells, as spoiling flora gathers amongst sodden earth. of bones & feathers, pulled raw from angelic sinews. such scent of dark angels, passing through empty graveyards & engrossed cities. it rode the wind, upon tortured wings; cloying, in its sweet yet heavenly, calamity. where is your god, now?

an autumnal throne, swelling at the belly of the mountains. the moist foliage, whips amongst the decay. thick, wet red leaves shudder in the torrential salvo. they bristle, with an aching vigor. how they ravage the forests, unrelenting, in its savage caress. flowing, with rainwater down their jagged cliffside. a wreath of bone & cathedral aesthetic; and the desolate wild, in its rampageous worship, that lay so wickedly at her feet.

blood-kissed dahlia. such celestial curves, were soaked in the lush femininity of vermillion. euryale, in her serpents' allure; coils, upon the rigid summit. her rosey-flesh, bold against the tempestous shroud. manifests in their scarlet profile. her silhouette, breaks the skylight in their sylph-like invitations. a grisly, primal vision, both ethereal - tugging.  the carnal promise, of the gordon's fang-filled lips, all but possessed the feral edge of moonlight. effortlessly, curved, her lips whispered of delicate serenades. of hunger. madness. reaching deep, within the forest corriders; 'wayward souls, o, come to me'. 

on such an evening, she succumbs to wanderlust. euryale had left the lavished folds of her denocte bedroom for the restless, midnight air. her arrival in the court prior, were discreet. no kin nor relations to speak of. she slipped, silently, without word. retreating into the warmth of her room, of bone white decor, wrapped by thick, velveteen curtains. sprung upon the soft, chiffon lace of her nest; where wine & honeyed rosewater lay in abundance. & yet for all their materialistic comforts, for all their glamour, euryale preferred the wild.

so it is among the pines, her physique now melts into the void; following the pathway, upward. she savours the crisp tang of fall. she breathes in the evening air; a vaporous fragrance, rich in sickly aroma.  rain becomes the transient kiss, breathing down her neck & sides.  they mist above the curve of her spine. descending her body, as soft dew might travel down the stem of a rose. indeed, out here in the wild; with the soft drizzle of rain across her back, she finds temporary peace. a moment of tranquility. 

[Jezanna]

there's magic in our bones,

a north star in our soul that remembers our way home

If Denocte had once been a wild, strange unknown, Jezanna had come to find it was now a comfort, a thing of dependibility. At least it had been. Though she had only been there a short few months she felt that she could trust the ones she met, the ones who were supposed to have their people's best interests at heart. Perhaps then, she had been wrong. Perhaps then, she placed her trust and her faith too blindly, too readily.

Since first arriving on Novus the midnight, moon-eyed girl had yet to step foot outside where she had woken. She had been too slow about it, too unsure, and then she had been trapped like a bird. But now there was nothing stopping her, nothing preventing her from seeing the rest of the this world that was now her home, though she once had fought against that fact fiercely, unwilling to accept what fate had handed her.

Now Jezanna took her first step further. Past the raven gates that had closed them in, open at last. Through the ruined pass, until there was only green mingling with the colors of autumn. There she followed the path cutting its way through the trees, up the incline that was the Arma Mountains. It was not any easy climb, her hooves unsteady and her heart beating wildly in her chest with exertion, but when she broke past the rise she found it was worth it.

It had started to rain, grey clouds rolling in, a cool mist rising from the stone around her. She stopped and looked down over the land that stretched before her, reaching out to the sea, to the far horizon--Denocte--and she smiled. Despite the shadows cast by the cloud filled sky, despite the pounding in her ears and the hitch of her breath. Up here everything felt out of reach and entirely possible all at once. She could see all the places in this world that had so far made it her home, could feel every emotion that had ignited her veins, made her heart stutter, put a smile upon her lips.

It was then she thought she heard the sound of hooves scraping rock, of foliage rustling as it was disturbed. Silver eyes suddenly alert, Jezanna turned away from horizon and peered into the forest around her. "Who is there?" she questioned bravely, raising her voice to be heard above the din of the rain. She was not a fighter, not well equipped nor trained, but she would not show fear. Perhaps once she had been afraid of the unknown, but no longer.

@Euryale hope you don't mind a visit from Jez!

[Euryale]

two hours earlier; soft, spreads of silk, moves over the maiden. against the dim, sooty ambience of denocte's impenetrable fortress. a breathing phoenix, stirs - wakes. lush, were the baroque pillows, frayed in chiffon lace. richly arched, to receive her frame in their silken lathering. her scarlet bodice, & their rosy curvature; the inhale & exhale of her bosom, falling in rhythm to candles' luminosity.

 all lurid rooms, carved of stygian pathways & marble allure. their blackened walls, groaning with lovers' weight. shifting, to the heat of such clandestine touch. euryale, banshee; viper - elegant, languishing fervently as she slips from bedside to floor, in seductive ruin. summoned, by the tireless hiss of a restless city. it ached for retribution. denocte, for all her isolation, compels euryale. the macavellians of denocte, were estranged, mysterious beings; nothing short of enigmatic desires. euryale, is drawn to their sensous riots; like wolf, to lamb. recalling, the unearthly palace in all its thirsty allurement. how regal, their ivorn spheres. carved of marble & exuding porcelain luxuries. upon first entrance, she were slicked by the heat of bodily soiree. the torrid lawlessness of drunken pleasure, of noise, of laughter & roving incense. carousing in wild festivity. it were a sumptuous vision. euryale was raised by wolves - by gypsies; wealth & gluttony, were new to her.

Here, now; the rain moves her. Her thoughts, play upon the city. Deluge, slicks her toned physique; pressing, into the warm, curving flesh of euryale's spine. wet, crimson hair, freed; collects behind her nape, in their lush, feathery abandon. A fragrance, lingering in its femininity, temporarily stills Euryale.  Roseate pupils, latching to the flower maiden, that so traversed below. Following starlight, with a passive gaze. "Just another wandering soul," The gorgon's voice, criminally soft; shrill, dark. an auroral, & chiming whisper, laced with the subtle luster of fangs. Euryale laughs; a soft, delicate dove-like sound. Although the laughter, did not reach her eyes. "You must be from here."

@Jezanna Not at all, looking forward. Sorry for such a naked post. I hope to get a postscript soon. ^.^

[Jezanna]

there's magic in our bones,

a north star in our soul that remembers our way home

The voice of the shadow cloaked stranger ran its icy, chilled fingers down her spine and Jezanna’s posture stiffened slightly in response to the disquieting feeling gripping tightly to her heart. She could barely see them in the darkness of the rain soaked world but for a shimmering of of pink and a flash of white here and there, and each drop that splashed onto her back, her neck, her head and ran down, down, down, only made the shiver of her spine more pronounced. There was a sort of feral wickedness emanating from the other and she was not sure if the feeling pumping blood through her veins was thrill or fear.

Their laugh did not put her at ease, regardless of its feather soft quality.

“What makes you say that?” Jezanna questioned, taking a single step forward, curious. She would not show her fear, even if her body seemed to consider disobeying her. Regardless of what caused the racing of her heart she could play the shivering of her skin down to the cool rain falling over her curves rather than the thought of facing down something inhuman and wild. “And you, where are you from, wandering soul?” And why are you here? Searching for something? she wondered, and yet she dared not think the answer to that.

Jezanna had been in the presence of snakes and knew they could strike quickly and without much warning. For that reason her silver eyes did not leave the muddled figure of the other equine clinging to the gloom beneath the mountain trees, weighed down by water as their branches were. Her cloven hooves pressed against the rock and soil underfoot, the tension in her legs the sign of a sensation she didn’t quite grasp. The young moon  had never been hunted before in her life and yet, somehow, somewhere inside her she knew: she was the mouse.

@Euryale no worries! I don't mind c:

[Euryale]

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she is scarlet flesh, webbed in porcelain; a black widow, with many delicious ways to subdue her prey, be it for sex, or food. euryale's voice is a wintry coo, bathing in criminal intent. ardent, fluttering even, with the dovely anticipation of a well-fed predator. the gorgon's svelte bodice, finds sanctuary within the forest's maw. she nests within the crevice, serpentine & quiet; absorbing, the silent misty, rains. in her detached, feline curiosity, euryale allows her body to languish amongst the trees. feeling the pine needles, prick against her flesh. brush across the deep curve of her spine. the sharp, cold sweat of shadows, that straddles her frame, in all their curvaceous & euphoric crimson. she observes the dark-skinned woman, drinking her in with every inhale; exhale. the bitterness of a decayed earth, mingled with the sweetness of magnolia; the withered skin of vipers, upon which insects crawl & breed.

the woman has that delicate, ethereal face, carved of darkness & lit by silver enchantment. a living fairytale, made in flesh. inviting, as any docile moon; how those pale eyes, shone with an equal fascination - or was it; fear? the moon need not fear me; i am but the wolf. you are above. i am below. it is, i, that pines for you.

"You walk this path with conviction; I can only assume you've walked it, many times before," A shuddering flame, Euryale slides away from the shadowy trees, stepping forward with a playful hiss. "I call the forest my home. To call her by any other name, would go against my very nature, " Euryale states, her voice an even, cold murmur. Her scarlet gaze moves across the swarthy maiden's flesh. Finding her silk-bathed figure, pulsing delicately, surrounded by the darkness & lit by the foggy sleet of november rain. Euryale notes the shivering of her flesh. It is too subtle to even notice. the gorgon, however, is always sharply observinG. shamelessly, undressing flesh, for the raw nakedness of a writhing soul. "Wet silk," A smirk curves the maiden's vampy, red lips. "Seems rather uncomfortable to wear anything at all, no matter how silky, or beautiful."

@Jezanna.

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