I'll tell you my sins & you can sharpen your knife
euryale has the hunger of a banshee, wrapped in sultry, viperine curves. she could consume worlds, for all the hunger that lives in her svelte, snake-like body. she is both serpent and rose. she loves the taste of souls; the taste of sin; a ravenous succubus, that lives for violence and passion. euryale's velvet mouth curls upward into a sweet, vulpine smile; thick, onyx lashes sweeping smooth crescents upon her pale, porcelain cheekbone. euryale appears to be amused by the young boy, as her blood-red gaze drinks in the smooth ivory of his delicate, boyish form; catching both stray candlelight, and moonglow, dancing within light and shadows, upon the ash-white skin of his slender bodice. she thinks his jade-green scales glitters like diamond-dust, and beneath certain lighting, they look like jagged edges of opal and moonstone.
by the childish, doe-eyed look of his gaze, she can see the gentle dreamer in his eyes. in his soul. he appears too sweet and innocent and naive, compared to the red hot seas, the violent crimson songs, of her. his naive demeanour, laced in tender disposition, hung between them both, like an invitation and innocent offering. he is the honeyed balm, to the venom and arson that is our bedevilled, lilac-haired minx. euryale has never been good with children, and though the urge to pull away and drift into the oceans of wilderness were strong. there is an inkling of a maternal caress, that echoes like a widows' song within the muscles of her black, black heart.
"i have always loved the sea for her immense beauty. being close to water is soothing, indeed."
her voice is ghostly, wraith-like and alluring; feminine syllables drifting like a tender coo around him. tendrils of soft bluefire, wraps around her lithe frame; breathing against her waistline and descending bare skin, with all the scales of a sinful serpent. when she breathes, she breathes prayers and songs; her tone of voice, a caressive ritual of dark, bold eclipsing hunger.
"I'm not of this world."
euryale does not enjoy revealing much of herself; the lilac-haired banshee is secretive and quiet, even as her elegant form shashays into a long, graceful stride towards the lake. lilac curls, bouncing in the wake of her dance. she can hear the smooth pulse of water brushing the rocks. the lake smells of crisp ice, fish and wet black earth.
"don't you have parents?
why is it you don't have a home?"
the only heaven i'll be sent to
is when i'm alone with you
by the childish, doe-eyed look of his gaze, she can see the gentle dreamer in his eyes. in his soul. he appears too sweet and innocent and naive, compared to the red hot seas, the violent crimson songs, of her. his naive demeanour, laced in tender disposition, hung between them both, like an invitation and innocent offering. he is the honeyed balm, to the venom and arson that is our bedevilled, lilac-haired minx. euryale has never been good with children, and though the urge to pull away and drift into the oceans of wilderness were strong. there is an inkling of a maternal caress, that echoes like a widows' song within the muscles of her black, black heart.
her voice is ghostly, wraith-like and alluring; feminine syllables drifting like a tender coo around him. tendrils of soft bluefire, wraps around her lithe frame; breathing against her waistline and descending bare skin, with all the scales of a sinful serpent. when she breathes, she breathes prayers and songs; her tone of voice, a caressive ritual of dark, bold eclipsing hunger.
euryale does not enjoy revealing much of herself; the lilac-haired banshee is secretive and quiet, even as her elegant form shashays into a long, graceful stride towards the lake. lilac curls, bouncing in the wake of her dance. she can hear the smooth pulse of water brushing the rocks. the lake smells of crisp ice, fish and wet black earth.
why is it you don't have a home?"
is when i'm alone with you
