it's a squabble with play-swords.
no purpose, totally futile.
no purpose, totally futile.
H
e is the morning and the evening sun, he is the crocodile who opens and closes her eyes so quickly (so quietly) that only the branches have time to see, he is brilliant and bold and red as the glare of light dances upon his bloodied skin. Beside him, Raum's dagger glints and winks at her, as though they are cohorts and conspirators making secrets of lives they should not. She has not seen a man such as this, has not talked to one so whole in their masculinity and so comfortable in their skin. The Priestesses take women into their fold and few strangers make it far enough into the swamp to reach their hidden temple. This red demon is a new beast altogether, but she does nor rise from her bed of clover and dreams. Her laughing eyes hold secrets that dance and coyly smile as the darkness of his voice vibrates against her bones. It is a rush, a thrill, a trilling of her heart that should shy away as the swamp does. Oh, but he is something new, something unseen, something she wants to trace every curve and line of until it's as known to her as her own skin, as her own gild of women. Silver and green eyes that swirl as smoke meet those of forests and jungles and an untamable beast.
Now is the moment when a chill snakes down her spine. There is nothing soft to that gaze. It is as hard as the creature that writhes beside him, eyeing her as though she is its next meal. Incented, nostrils flare and she disregards its presence completely. "You're something new," she answers pertly, stubborn jaw jutting forward as wings ruffle, raise, and resettle upon her bodice. A charming lilt to her words that only those from the deep swamps have hints at her origins here, a raised brow beckons him forth because she has no intention of standing yet.
The Tinea knows a monster when it sees one, but all Juniper sees is a new work of art, a new sin in the sun at last.
@Raum | "speaks" | notes: this is short, but hopefully acceptable !
