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Private  - you love me like a winter rose, a bloom you've never known

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Euryale
Guest
#1

Crash, crash, Burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground

the winter chill kisses the huntress' heavenly, blood-red flesh. she feels winter's icy breath, waft against her jasmine-scented skin; a frigid kiss. a harsher brush of dragon's teeth. up above her, ermine-snowflakes drift from the black-grey skies; how they float eeriely upon the cold, ebon night. a december ambiance, studded by a billion, shimmering stars. a december ambiance, caught in the dreamy throes of their northern lights, whilst smoke billowed from warm houses in the distance. it is waning starlight, waning moonlight, whilst miles away delumine stood, regal against all the icy terrain. delumine is an elegant fortress, doused in snows - their towers, raging, against the glowering, taiga woods. tonight, however, is no ordinary evening, as euryale remembers stepping out of her gothic bedroom chambers donned in her luxurious enchantress' silks. the cerulean skirts ride her waistline like sheer, silky film. cerulean gauze dripping down her hair, too, making her appear born for a queen's crown. 

set-up on a blind date, euryale calantha is minimally dressed, as usual, although no excitement shows on her face - for now. her classic enchantress' attire, and glittering mythril jewels, glistens upon her lilac hair and soft-pampered skin. this evening the feral priestess is not covered in blood. she is not remembering sin and wrath. this evening she is refined, graceful; beautifully accentuated by silvers and blues, and she smells like wealth and glamour. against her deliciously dark skin, euryale's shimmery, azuline dress glows like winter. against her porcelain face, the mythril tiara, glows, too. she remembers throwing her sword at the foot of her bed, lined in wolven fur, and remembers, too, the heavy stares upon her svelte figure just as she had left her bedroom and entered the main hall. and if they all stare at euryale, it is for good reason; look at her, over there, the lady in red, they would all but sigh. they would all whisper.

several days before this evening, a winter's blizzard took hold of the delumine citadel. it left meters of snow, and out just beyond the borders of the city, where a small lake had frozen over. there were a few couples outside already, skating upon the frozen lake. euryale calantha waits for her blind date, beneath the dreamy glow of a single streetlamp. from the distance, she sees an elegant figure approaching, a figure bathed in lavender and hair made of palest silver.  "good evening,"  her feminine voice, soft and husky, uncoils in desirous fashion, reaching the pale-skinned stranger amidst the subtle drizzle of snowfall.

@Mesnyi

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










Played by Offline Muirgen [PM] Posts: 69 — Threads: 12
Signos: 5
Dawn Court Entertainer
Female [She/Her/Hers]  |  15 [Year 497 Spring]  |  14.2 hh  |  Hth: 12 — Atk: 8 — Exp: 21  |    Active Magic: N/A  |    Bonded: N/A
#2




dancer on the dawn-


S
he readied herself for the date with some apprehension; rumor had come ahead of Euryale’s name and Mesnyi was all too eager to witness her beauty and cunning in person. While she was not exactly interested in another woman in the romantic sense, there was no shame in looking for connections and certainly not gossip (or was there?). And anyway, she was known to bend her “preferences” depending on the situation at hand. It might, after all, be advantageous to satisfy this creature’s desires.

As Euryale came into view at the lake shore, Mesnyi’s jaw dropped. She allowed herself the expression at such a distance; how could such a lovely woman exist? Her pattern was striking, her hair soft and lovely and braided. Those silks - daring, in the cold, but flattering and sensuous nonetheless. Mesnyi’s expression shifted into a coy smile as she approached. “What a lovely creature! Are we not the picture of the dawn horizon?” She paused, appraising Euryale.  “You must be my date. If you aren’t, I shan’t have anyone else.” 

“Would you like to skate? I’ve never done such a thing before.”



« r » | @euryale




"You see, women are like fires, like flames. Some women are like candles, bright and friendly. Some are like single sparks, or embers, like fireflies for chasing on summer nights. Some are like campfires, all light and heat for a night and willing to be left after. Some women are like hearthfires, not much to look at but underneath they are all warm red coal that burns a long, long while."

[Image: 26y3cfu.png]
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Played by [PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Euryale
Guest
#3

Crash, crash, Burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground

I think to myself, we both might be similar.  That we both might be irresistibly drawn to beautiful things, people, places.  This woman is grace - beauty - incarnate.  She moves like poetry in motion.  I admire the way she so gracefully, moves.  I admire the artistry in her lavender-touched body.  I admire her softness.  Her skin and hair were pale, like fine-spun treads of silver moonlight.  Her curves - shifting like a dancer's - moves, with ghostly caresses and azure jewels, before me.  

I can taste the scent of jasmine upon the air.  I can hear the rustle of her chains, that slip effortlessly around her.  All around us, how the snow falls like a bridal veil.  Like soft velvet against cold, winter skin.  The snow wanes like ash amidst a flawless, porcelain canvas. I can hear her breathing, like I hear the murmur of feathers.  How their rise and fall echoes like silk.  It is a silent evening.  One full of ice and shadows.  One full of darkness and intimacy. Yet still, my eyes flood with the image of her. Still, my senses become drunk, with the scent of jasmine and lilac.


"An image of blood and silk, no doubt," The witch's voice is whiskey-dark, dripping off a silken tongue.  Euryale can feel the come-hither snows, ruffling her too-long lilac hair.  Tendrils drift along her brow. Cloying lashes, bat delicately over her porcelain cheekbones; soft laughter almost spilling from Euryale's lips.  If she is amused, it only shows in the depths of her crimson gaze.  In their seas of vermillion, that swim with sensuous mystique and endless appetite.  Euryale is a sensual creature; but still, never has she tasted female companionship. Sometimes, she wonders, however; she wonders what it would be like to indulge in feminine curves - to surrender against their holy tenderness. Euryale relinquishes a red rose, and gives it to Mesnyi.  "Nor have I," A devilish smirk curls Euryale's lips; "You'd have to show me."

@Mesnyi

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










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