[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.