This hour is her hour. She does not feel the sun, that dips low, like silk along her flesh. Nor the call of songbirds, that beckon nightfall amongst the sudden-evening breeze. Her blood is cold like the moon, and their pulse feathers as winter might. Her immortality, sighing, just barely beneath her cheek; glowing, with pearls and wine. The taste of autumn lingers against her skin. the perfume of dried leaves and coffin soil, twined in her wild, gypsy's hair. every part of her is made for the supernatural. every curve laced in beauty, and sin. how its bewitchment breathes down her spine, now. fore is she not made for spellbound lovers? is she not worth the sacrifice?
euryale calantha dances towards the shadows. she disappears within the caves. in her wake trails a seductive hurricane. the kiss of rot and death, the scent of femininity and vampiric grace, the eyes of hunger and endless thirst, they are all her. in the darkness she uncoils with snake-like fury. moving SILENTLY along the earth, a haunting laugh falling from her lips. SHADOWS of azure shall ACCOMPANY THE PALE-HAIRED mistress, trailing vestiges of smoke against her flesh. trailing over the scales, tattooed across her hips. sweeping her in a mangled gown, that reveals every aching sin, but the sins she keeps secret in her heart. when the eVENING FALLS around her, at last, it is with a final breath of gunmetal smoke. A VELVET WHISPER, as darkness slides over her body in a possessive embrace.
SHE FEELS ITS’ WET EARTH, CRAWLING AGAINST HER back. SHE CAN TASTE IT’S RANK FRAGRANCE, LINGERING as DECAY UPON HER LIPS. IT’S THE DECADENT TASTE OF NIGHTFALL, THAT BRINGS NOCTURNAL LIFE AND THE PROMISE OF BLOOD TO HER JAWS. THE LAST TRACE OF SUNLIGHT, BRUSHING ITS FINAL KISS ALONG HER SIREN CURVES; DESCENDING, INTO A SEA OF IMMACULATE LILAC CURLS, AS they tumble down her shoulders with songs of the damned. she glows as wildfire, bathed in red moonlight. to touch her, is to sleep in the flame. THROUGH THe caves, THe witch PROWLS IN feral ABANDON. HER CURVES, were made BRIGHT AGAINST THEIR ANCIENT surfaces. THE DEEP SCARLET OF HER complexiom, AND THE PORCELAIN OF HER figure, DANCING INBETWEEN THE TORN FABRIC OF REALITY AND MADNESS. HER HEART IS A WILD ANIMAL, as it pants in her chest. a lawless predator that knows no softness. only passion. only death.
for a moment she is still. for a moment, there is but silence. her heartbeat, the only ritual, breathed in the endless dark. her breath spills like mist, unfurling. A hush ENVELOPES THE CAVERNS. A LAMENTATION, USHERED FROM THE DEEP BLACK hell, as it trembles with promise. purring, so wickedly beneath her. SHE CAN FEEL ITS’ RANCID BREATH, SPLITTING FROM THE ETERNAL BLACKNESS. ITS’ SIGHS, THAT LIFT WITH INSECTS AND MAGGOTS. SHE CAN TASTE THE PAPER-THIN LEAVES, cAKED IN DAMP AMBER. THEIR DECAYING EDGES, SLITHERING AGAINST HER BARE SKIN, AS DEAD FERNS GRASP HER FRAME ALONGSIDE AN AUTUMNAL BREEZE. FOR A MOMENT, SHE CLOSES HER EYES. EMBRACE THIS MOMENT. IT’S THE DELICIOUS WHISPER OF MOONLIGHT. THE SMELL OF THE EARTH. THE TASTE OF SOIL AND BLOOD AND BONES, SO COLD AND WET BENEATH HER. THEse are ALL THINGS THAT MAKE HER FEEL, ALIVE. these are all things that make her want.
