“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
Like a lone lion she had been prowling between the courts. From underbelly to stage, there is nothing that was too dark for her to descend into. The freedom of it all had been sweet on her tongue and her dances had grown more wild, more feral, more full of wanting, by the night. And it's still a wild dance purring below her skin tonight as Denocte celebrates another season as only the night creatures can.
There is a drum echoing in her heart and a bass roaring in her bones. Poetry slides over her skin like silk and song echos in the whispering kiss of chain and flesh. Between the bass and song Al'Zhara dances and each movement, each curl of her neck, and each echo of her hooves and wood, is holy. She dances like a star, and a sun, and like the molten rock curling in the center of their world like dragons.
The crowd is silent as she dances. There is only poem, and flesh, and beauty too wild for any of them to think of holding.
And it's that wild beauty that walks from the stage with sweat frothed across her chest and roar in her heart. Every inch of her screams a warning as the Regent approaches with her body dripping notes of something that looks like uncertainty. Part of her wants to soothe away the tight lines of Morrighan's expression. Another part of her wants to dissolve back into wild dance and freedom.
She steps closer as Morrighan does, and she brushes a line down a painted cheek as her own shoulder receives a caress. Something in her blood sparks, and smolders, and starts to beg for blood and sin. She trembles with the heat of it, of the way ash and salt rise from their skins like pollen from a rose. It washes over her as she waits for the Regent to speak.
Al'Zahra grabs a bit of mane in her teeth. She pulls Morrighan closer. The gesture is not kind, or loving, but a demand for the way the Regent dared to come to her with uncertainty instead of fire. She does not say that she missed the mare, she does not say anything as the other mare clears her throat. There is only silence and the heat of her gaze that seems as dark as it is piercing.
Let me see your soul. The look says. Let me in..
And she does not wait for a break in the crowd when she says “of course.” Instead the crowd breaks around her as she starts to walk through it with a wanting look spared to Morrighan as she joins her.
@Morrighan
