the darkness is her lover. it knows every intimate curve of her body. it knows the contours of her hips without even seeing. it knows the shape of her back and their too-familiar scars. it knows the taste of her lips and the fragrance of her skin, that drips with the syrup of jasmine, sweat and iron. every part of her is made from this darkness. she is a ghost of a queen and this hell is her paradise. she yearns for the moon, the way artemis yearns for the forests. a thousand memories become a thousand lifetimes, spent running wild beneath the lupine moon. when she sprawls in the fever pitch, the shadows climb her thighs, wickedly. they taste her curves with all the worship of a vengeful goddess. they taste her and they know they want more; fore she tastes of sweet sin and suffering; inviting, forbidden, immortal lover.
the shadows become one entity as they curl into her pale breast and fold against her supple limbs, like sheets entwined over flesh. she makes sin look delicious, for all the way she (mis)behaves. she makes a temple of her body, the way she offers her slenderness upon the funeral pyre. she is a gift upon the gothic atlar. she is the light of lucifer, an alluring flame, all to feed the hearts of those hungry demons. when the witch dances beneath a ray of light, she glows, ethereal. the way her neck glimmers like winter silk, and her blood-red lips shine, wet like rubies. her smile is a wicked thing, ivory fangs that flash too brightly beneath flowing cascades of lilac. between the moonbeams, her body moves more like a curse. they make the promise that she is more venom than love. more dragon than girl. more demon than angel. more hell than heaven would ever endure.
when she falls upon a bed of leaves, the darkness seems to bury her. the soil trembles beneath her physique and whispers, hold us. her pale hair splays over the black earth like rivers of silk. they run down her sides, flowing like fresh blood from a brightly-open wound. the spiders crawl through her lush curls, tangling their too-long legs within their lavender tendrils. her body draws in the night with every breath she takes; she feels more alive, to be surrounded by so much death. the clammy autumnal breeze slides across her sprawled frame and she leans into its cool embrace. her curves were swallowed by the silken zephyr, as they toss and turn like sensual lovers at dusk. the night is a thief, as it steals the last warmth of light and drowns her heart with the promise of winter. she feels the night wrap its fingers against her body, and she invites their touch with a whisper of frenzied heat.
she wants this moment to last forever. she wants to sink into this beautiful emptiness, where unholy things caress her flesh. her heart is a dark cathedral. her soul a winter storm. the longer she dances in this darkness, the more feral she becomes. she lives in this moment, this hour between blooming nightshade and midnight moon. the hunger that grows within her becomes savage music, as a fevered song catches her throat. she knows she is alone, yet this feeling ends, where night meets flesh. where body meets soul. when his scent strays over her lips in thin ribbons; their stolen kiss, unfurling from her jaws like a forbidden prayer. he tastes of decadent familiarity. of churning oceans and white-froth sands. of gritty salt and warm flesh, where the distant memory of a boy stands by the raging seas. she imagines dark hair and dreamcatcher eyes. his wind-tossed curls, bathed in starlight. when her khol lashes flutter open and she gazes into the night, she will find him there. he is as soft and alluring as she remembers him that evening.
"you bring the sea with you," her voice is cold, an icy whisper laced in honeyed venom. her tongue moves slowly over her sharp lips. it may look like she is smiling, but it's only the curl of her fangs, that betrays the illusion of serene beauty. "do you still wear the crown?" she draws nearer, standing upward in one long elegant motion. her hair spills down her neck and across her collarbone. they descend like a bridal gown, heavy and thick; all disheveled inch of pale, pale lavender mused over the earth with silk wickedness. she draws forward, with careless grace. she wants to brush against his frame and see whether he feels the same, too. the witch does not make it out the shadows, when the warmth of another possesses the suddenly too-narrow room. where asterion ushered the starlight, this soldier beckoned the sun's wrath. he drips of wealth and sin. the arrogant beauty of him, echoes with a godless hunger, that seems to reverberate throughout the caves like songs of sacrifice.
his features are sharp and deadly, almost too painful to hold. when euryale meets his burning gaze, she does so beneath a fluttery veil of long, obsidian lashes. he is almost too-bright, too-ivory, as he descends upon them like an eagle. his body is powerful and elegant, as he brushes alongside her with taunting purrs. she can feel the hard muscles that tremble beneath his flesh. she can taste the desert heat that ebbs from his bronzed skin. they are things she vaguely remembers of solterra. yet still, she prefers the ocean. still, she wants the cold nights of an empty shore. "what makes you assume we are here for love?" she asks, an elegantly sculpted brow is raised at the golden man. her voice is celestial, a siren hiss that tastes bittersweet. her voice flows like wine, thick and sanguine. she almost laughs, almost. "maybe, we are just studying rock formations," she taunts him, pressing a dark whisper against his chest. when her eyes finally leaves the phoenix, they only drift towards asterion; cold and hungry, icy and wicked, once more.
@Asterion @
