i want the rain that makes you wet
sun's last breath of aureate light, pools, through the lavished, summer canopy; golden embers, lace wickedly through the forest canopy in a filigree of immaculate shadows. the sun's golden moans, drips from the beachside banks of a stormy, terminus sea; drawing, the fiery sun to sigh its last breath and kiss its last kiss. breathing, a sweet lover's caress, against the gilded approach of dusk, that so ravages the forests and the oceans in a violent fire-color. the sky becomes a sudden floodlight of throbbing hues. splintering, the skyline in thick, flowing blades of red, orange, yellow, as they dance sharp as razors. flickering, eeriely, in the pagan light. piercing, the sky with the sudden hunger of angels and demons. stormy clouds, bursts in heavenly seas of malevolent orange, so that every live and dead thing, smothers so, so hotly beneath the last rays of unyielding heat. the final kiss, that ravages the land in a red, violent color of war and death and passion.
euryale calantha is their violent crimson song. the deep red of her toned flesh, singing through the wicked forests, sprawling in thick, luscious shadows. she moves with silent, predatory ease - the eternal grace of her feral bodice, twisting with lupine restlessness; feeling, the coarse, caressive ferns and loamy mangroves, brush warmly the curvature of her spine and flanks in sighs of hot, summer surrender. thick foliages of verdant green, sways hushed and hallowed breaths, against the passionate red of her body. the she-wolf prowls more upon stealthy paws than hooves, moving through the oiled sweat of ravenous, and salivating shadows. she weaves through the thick spell of the hungering blackness that so encompassed the dangerous forests, in a shroud of penetrative, blue-tinged veil. the sing-song tales of the approaching moon, glows, in fervid promise against the slim curve of her backline. lavishing, trails of soon-to-be silverlight, against every slender crimson inch of her. every arching, purring angle of her sleek, feral figure, that curls with lithe grace and glimmers in wolven supremacy.
she is out here, purring against the darkness of the forest. combing its ruins, with hungry eyes. but even after consuming several rabbits, euryale is still ravenous. betwixt, rough rows of CALIGINOUS, mighty trees; beneath the tangled lengths of curling, swarming ferns, our fiery euryale calantha, dances, dances, dances. an ephemeral demon, drenched in red light and voluptuous webs of arachnid ivory. and it is naught until the silver song of him, captivates the wild glint in her khol-lined, ruby eyes. till the silver song of threat, rings malevolently through the trees. the rough, masculine growl caressing her ears in a wild noise of hunger and delicious aggression. the she-wolf pauses as a doe from afar jumps, scattering deeper into the woodlands. the she-wolf gazes at him who stalks the forest along the oceanside.
it is the deathly, chilling silver of him, she spots first through the gilded whistle of a violent summer storm; a violent summer storm, that pours, and pours. singing a torrential shower of crystalline liquid, as the heavens open from up above, to drip below with thunderous fervency. his muscles were thick. powerful. graceful. he moves with all that hunger of a silvery anaconda. his fur, sleek and leonine and wrathful, glows in the deathly pale of frost grey. as the air around them swells with liquid; euryale feels the heat of his chilling gaze, throbbing and metal and full of copper taste and feral promise. rain, pours through her damp, lilac curls; rainwater, streaming down her flanks in a gilded, watery hiss of violent deluge. euryale's voice is a soft murmur against the thrumming violence of raindance; her voice, a song of fire and ice, against the arctic shadows of him.
i want everywhere that you've been
