when it rains, it pours
there will be blood in the water
there will be blood in the water
Vendetta's rarely left Solterra's, even on matters of business. She had people for that. But when the invitations had arrived even she had been intrigued about what the new Night Court regime was planning, and then she thought it would give her a chance to learn more about their blackmarket for herself.
When she heard about the masquerade, it only got better.
The pintaloosa was adorned in her usual finery, roses the color of fresh blood mixed with gilded pearls and a skirt so delicate it seemed to float across the floor. This night, however, there was one addition: an obsidian velvet mask of scrolling, intricate patterns that wove together. From beyond it we're her eyes, looking on, shining as brightly as polished rubies.
As Vendetta weaved through each room of Denocte's keep, every inch of her screamed look at me, from the confident tilt of her head to the sway of her red clad hips, to the click of her cloven hooves. There was nothing subtle about her--she was as much an attraction as any of the decorations or performers and heads turned when she walked by. None of them interested her.
She ended up in the room of black and white, the color scheme befitting as the unicorn appeared black as night in most light rather than the true deep red brown that she was. Like blood spilled on soil.
There Vendetta lingered, gaze tracing over the curves and edges of all those gathered. Somewhere Azrail stood nearby, she could feel him, though he was most likely keeping to the shadows, ever watchful. Though he was silent, she could sense his protectiveness. Tonight, however, Vendetta was the predator. It was others who would need protecting.
When she heard about the masquerade, it only got better.
The pintaloosa was adorned in her usual finery, roses the color of fresh blood mixed with gilded pearls and a skirt so delicate it seemed to float across the floor. This night, however, there was one addition: an obsidian velvet mask of scrolling, intricate patterns that wove together. From beyond it we're her eyes, looking on, shining as brightly as polished rubies.
As Vendetta weaved through each room of Denocte's keep, every inch of her screamed look at me, from the confident tilt of her head to the sway of her red clad hips, to the click of her cloven hooves. There was nothing subtle about her--she was as much an attraction as any of the decorations or performers and heads turned when she walked by. None of them interested her.
She ended up in the room of black and white, the color scheme befitting as the unicorn appeared black as night in most light rather than the true deep red brown that she was. Like blood spilled on soil.
There Vendetta lingered, gaze tracing over the curves and edges of all those gathered. Somewhere Azrail stood nearby, she could feel him, though he was most likely keeping to the shadows, ever watchful. Though he was silent, she could sense his protectiveness. Tonight, however, Vendetta was the predator. It was others who would need protecting.
Trouble has arrived...
