No colors anymore I want them to turn black
the stars hug her curves like a sultry evening dress. those lilac curls fall in luxurious waves. silk tresses, that slip like bone-white talons against a girly, porcelain neck. she wants to fuck with his mind. dip her metaphoric nails into the golden cracks of his skull and, twist, twist - snap. all in amorous humour, ofcourse. fore it's the darkness she knows so intimately. his darkness, that she knows so well. at the sight of him bristling like a wolf, her lips only curve upward a triffle more. she laughs her cold siren laugh, tasting his savagery and loving every minute of it. her feminine mirth bubbling sweetly, like sugar dust upon a cherry-tart tongue. euryale, you sweet bitch. here for the passion. gone before the next.
she enjoys moments like these. moments where she ached to string the devil up high, if only to tighten the noose, and watch his beautiful angels hang. when she moves around erasmus, it's a coy swagger. a female fox that struts, with batting obsidian lashes and an impossibly slender body made for killing and desire. she shadows his footsteps. her hooves sink like stilettos in the sand. her gait is precise and even. a slow waltz to contrast his powerful masculinity. even when he breathes down her neck, she does not flinch. only looks up at him in beautiful defiance, glaring almost. "rather watch you burn," she whispers hotly into the narrow space, churning between them. touching. not touching. touching. not touching. does it matter? with euryale this close to you, how can you not wonder? get lost in the promise of her body; get hooked on the fragrance of her skin. the taste of her lips. the warmth of her thighs. she is all sin, sin, sin.
"you'd enjoy my violence far too much," she is taunting him. wishing him neither dead nor alive; o, for why dead? torment tastes the sweetest when delivered in the moment. and she makes this moment hers, as a subtle shove is given to erasmus. just enough to step around him as she makes her sumptuous way back to her feast. when euryale leaves the ocean, the salt still clings to her skin. when the drops of black water roll off her supple hips, the night only descends with her; madly, tenderly, wholly. her breath is a warm mist as it leaves her parted jaws. half-bedroom, half-feral;
"you aren't allowed to ask anymore questions. but if you must... i want to choke the entire universe, and give it a squeeze so violent, a supernova is born. i want to catch each falling star and skin the light from it, until my jaws begin to glow like halos. even while my mouth is shut closed. i want to tear the milkyway from the heavens, wear her tenderness like a dress. so that when i dance and spin and strip, the shards rain down like a billion arrows flying into earth from outerspace. i want to pull the heavens down to earth, so that they collide like two lovers, hurling down mountains. where the flames of hell become our bed, and i want to lay in its fire, beside my beloved. i want to tear worlds apart. smash each piece by piece. destroy what i don't need, yet keep the rest. i want my soul to be the first drop of blood in the sea of creation. i want, i want... i want too many things."
euryale's words drift inbetween the flying embers and smoke. her words tangle like stardust, playing covetously against the raw spice of his swarthy skin. beneath the moon's opaline glow, her breath ghosts his lips in the dark. even as his own breathing spills around her, and the silk tendrils of her mane gets caught in the heat of his shadows, euryale ignores the gathering blackness that binds her throat. "you see, i want too much. i want what no mortal man can hope to give."
@Erasmus
My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes
