THE REBEL ☣ CYANIDE
COME FULFILL THIS PROPHECY
WITH OUR DEMONS OF DEBAUCHERY
COME FULFILL THIS PROPHECY
WITH OUR DEMONS OF DEBAUCHERY
Footfalls, soundless within the hushed environs, carried her physique among the obscured expanse of nightfall as it engulfed the coastline. Darkness, it comforted the beastess. One of the few things that set her fevered intellect at ease. The nearer she drew to the seawater’s edge the heavier the scent of brine wafted through her nasal passages, scythes sinking into the pliable foundation beneath her embodiment feeling the shift from soil to sand, contentment seeping into her being little by little with every step. As placated as you’d ever find the usually irate fatale. Not that the resentment and rage ever strayed too far. It was with her always, latching to every fiber of Cyanides being just waiting to arise. This endearing attribute left little to be desired in ways of company. Most let her be. The ones that made the mistake of approaching her generally did not make it twice, or live long enough to have the choice.
Her pace decelerated as The Rebel came closer to the tide, drifting in and out like the thrum of a lullaby, accentuated with the clatter of crashing waves off in the distance. Her well-muscled serpentine was arched elegantly as she came to a halt before the aquatic flow, allowing her poll to practically graze the front of her chest. She was a masterpiece… as exquisite as they came. Slender and yet powerfully built, an aura of unwavering confidence radiating from every pore of her glowing dermis. See - from a distance she was glorious, captivating in all aspects of the word. Yet one look into her hollow scarlet eyes and you knew she was everything but an angel. At closer glance you noticed the scars that littered her physique, each a mark of the numerous battles she’d partaken. Yet these were not the only indications of a rough past life. Her right flank bore the brand of a sun sign, a scar that once brought Cyanide shame. A slave, the word spat itself within her mind like a bad taste. Yet the demoness was far from such now. Even a year within the child army didn’t conquer her or set out the fire that burned with a vengeance within her soul. The warrior still wore the dented silver collar around her throat with pride, on display for all to see; even Viceroy couldn’t break her.
A taste for violence and a talent for the trade of carnage allowed her out of the lowly ranks she’d previously held. Ironically enough she had found herself among one of Solterra’s warriors, fighting for a land that once held her captive, which put her through so much agony and torture under Zolin’s rule. Supposedly it was different now, or in the process of transforming. The great new Queen attempting to alter history, the past they had all grown up in. Solterra had been nothing but a leech all of Cyanides existence. Sucking dry everything it touched, killing the life within its walls. The notion that it would somehow reform seemed unstable, if anything, to the maiden.
Occuli rolled within their sockets at her own contemplation, an exasperated snort expelling from her nostrils into the still atmosphere. Fools, the lot of them. Solterra was still weak and malleable within the hands of the corrupt, which was the sole reason Cyanide had stayed. Despite everything, she would not see it fall to such ruin again. Although she was deemed as a monster to most who’d come in contact with her, she would not allow Solterra to chew up and spit out anyone else as it had done so violently to her. If Artaxias had taught her anything, it was that some people deserved to be fought for.
TAGGED - open
NOTES - First posteh with Cy. She is just kinda standing there contemplating things so feel free, if you dare, to disrupt her. xD First post in forever so bare with me here, haha.
