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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.
she is scarlet flesh, webbed in porcelain; a black widow, with many delicious ways to subdue her prey, be it for sex, or food. euryal
e'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.
