he drips of gold, the way a narcissistic god, drips of holy blood. divine sacrilege. divine worship. flowing, through veins of seraphic immaculacy. fore he is the beauty of death, swathed, in carnal allure. he is wealth. he is influence. perhaps, even sadism. he is amorous, perfectionment; halcyon midnight, painting him a wicked lucifer of sheer, romantic cruelty. o, but bewarned; his love, is the killing kind. there is something about him that screams, danger.
his façade, glints fiercely in the moonlight. full of sharp, alluring angles toned of bronze marble; tainted, a sinister black - mirroring, the crimson of her vices. the crimson of her sins. in the obscurity of the evening. in the deep hours of starlight. euryale, glistens, against him; a blood red sea, full of life. glowing, in the iron grasp of his immortal darkness. the darkness. that grasped them both. held them, in a languishing caress of twilight intimacy.
held them together in the language of temporary, lovers. a moment of intimacy. so close. so near. she can hear him, breathing. breathing, against the curling whisper of her veins. against the ragged want, of an ephemeral breeze; that clung to the silken tendrils of her amethyst hair, and pulled. pulled. pulled. ever, hungry. ever, tortured. an adamant caress, of yearning, and vicious need. the will of the gods, they say. is he a god? or is he a devil? perhaps, even both?
apart of her, wants to taste this devil-god. taste him, upon her lips. fill her jaws, with his divine blood. till he drips with holy revelations, against her breast. apart of her, wants to peel back the layers of his sins; his secrets; his flesh. till he is nothing more than an immortal surrender - till he is nothing more, than groans of dark desire. lust, and passion, tangled against the heated flush, of their bedsheets. nothing more than a man, with need; and she, to worship him in an altar of blood - then, wild unadulterated s-u-b-m-i-s-s-i-o-n. if she should taste him, would she taste divinity? would she taste, violence? euphoria? would she be his lilith; or would she be, his eve?
her crimson fur, ripples against the wild allurement of her curves. smooth, sun-kissed hips, dragging a trail of ice-blue slick. their translucent form, fluttering in a ragged hiss of ophidian desire. their feral chill, glides against her serpentine physique. twisting, in ribbons of silky azure. ribbons, that fell along her figure. undulating, waves of smoke. trailing her hips, and the delicate lines of her ankles, with each gossamery caress of seductive blue. follow me. they seem to whisper. follow me.
her azure is a wicked, wicked siren. a slender beast floating, upon aerial seas; reaching, for the god in him. clawing for him. in smooth, bone-jade appendages, that drips of savagery and thirst and airy, acid-white teeth. how fervent their touch. curling outward, in yearning desires. to taste his blood. taste his soul. lashing out, in thin spectral fingers of sharp, misty hunger; that clung to his mane; that ached, to find purchase along his skin, and t-a-s-t-e him. taste you. her snakes, seem to curl around him with playful entice. taste you. soft, sensual, gentle, feather-light touches. that would bring any lesser man, down to his knees.
yet, for all his dangerous allure. for all his power. euryale evades desire. she evades touch. she curls, indifferent, against all manners of affection. the way a predatory lioness curls outward, from a male lion's caress. creatures, too violent, to have ever known gentleness. all cloying curves, all salivating fangs, and feline temptation, lingering just out of reach. yet in this moment, she belongs to him; and him, to her. predators, cut of the same mold. with only APATHY, and narcissism, as forms of love.
her whisper, is a bedroom-whisper. dripping with smoky fevor. full of playful, pretend-protest. her hooves like talons, digs into the moist, pliant earth. an adamant caress, of red-stained rebellion. no, he says, elegantly. euryale pouts. she draws, closer. allowing his warmth, to guide her in the darkness. a soft, animalistic purr of velvet amusement, leaves her lips at hearing him whisper the demise of the rose. she watches him pull forward, gracefully. a bestial hush, of arrogance and danger. feeling the sigh of his tall, muscular body, temporarily caress her own.
she watches him move past her. she gazes at him, undoing the rose; as easy as fingers might undo the lace-strings, of a dress. if only to return by her side, and tuck its petals, into the lilac oceans of her mane. the titan of his wings, now spread in raptorial prowess. herculean might. swallowing the moonlight. glossy feathers, tinged in deep, golden ambrosia - darker than wine; sweeter than honey. with her. following, the shadows of his lips, with her piercingly, immaculate stare.
but the earth will always be dark,
and smothering,"
her whisper, drips, slowly; like blood, dripping against broken glass. a velvet whisper, that rises with venom, purring from her slender throat. blooming, their wild abandon against her wicked, vampy lips. she lets the silence, linger between them. she lets the silence pant, heavily, between their bodies. feeling the cool weight of his shadow, coiling against her smooth, crimson skin. she closes her eyes. she breathes him in. she takes in the scent of the rose. she imagines the scent of him, dancing wetly across her lips.
the curve of her mouth, curls upward in a languid display of fangs. the serene thirst of their hunger flashes, subtly, as she smells his blood upon his lips. she laughs, and her laughter rings like a sharp, silver bell. full of wicked mirth, and devilish desire. she finds his fragrance alluring. All iron, all ambrosia; and she leans into his coppery fragrance, the way a lover might lean into a caress. staving, the urge. the urge to lick the blood from his lips, with a kiss.
euryale sighs, and she moves away from his intoxicating self. silk ribbons, fluttering a gossamer trail; their whispy, undulating azure feathering the scarlet of her ghost curves, with each demure gesture of retreat. to the next piece of artwork, euryale lingers. where a pile of black feathers, pools into a concrete basin, painted bronze. at it's oozing center - a shimmering golden apple, with a bite mark upon its flesh. euryale chimes in, her voice darkly, playful. teasing, even. the rose, still tangled in her mane, sheds petals in their wake; floating in a sea of lilac - dripping petals, for tears. a single breeze, stirs the feathers upon the ground, as her gaze flicks from the dark man to his golden griffin. flashing a come-hither, feminine smile.
