No colors anymore I want them to turn black
"never again, darling," the witch snaps at his devilish grin in a playful glitter of lithely, sharp fangs. her lips are crimson sin and they glint with switchblade smiles. the feel of him pressed hard against her drives her wild. euryale wants to wrap her lips against his neck and make him bleed for her. she wants to steal the life from his soul, the breath from his lips and call it a k i s s. the hunger that brews within her is ancient sacrilege. it curls around her heart like writhing pythons come to mate. each squeeze gives her pleasure. each exhale delivers her pain. she needs both, desperately, to survive. love is never enough. it will never be enough. theirs were an ancient romance, crossing universes and unearthly decades; centuries old lust, kindling like fire and tinder fed to the thrones of immortal gods.
she wants to be his funeral pyre. she wants to devour the skeletons and souls he collects, and make her bed in the earth right next to him. he is her altar. she is his blood. he is her true god. she, his only goddess. religion so believable it's as easy as breathing. like moon and sun, one cannot exist without the other. she needs him like dragons breathe fire and hoard gold. he is darkness. he is golden. he is wretched smoke, yet wears the tattered garb of a risen king. when the night is over, she yearns to sleep in the ashes of their bedroom; where the bedsheets are nothing more than gauzy strips of faded destruction and eternal heat. euryale laughs again and her laughter is a hot, soft and hungry thing full of wicked, wicked desires. "i look to the stars. always the stars. even in darkness, i hunt for the glitter of galaxies. can you say the same for yourself, o death? o devourer of worlds? you nightmare of a boy, with a gunmetal heart. i ought to kiss you, but punching you might do, too," she snickers wickedly, flashing him a vulpine tongue full of sharp, sharp teeth.
as she strides back to her kill, euryale pins the slain stag down with a single front hoof. like being impaled by a stiletto heel, one of the ribs crack. she leans over the carcass and taunts him viciously, sweetly, unapologetically female. her pale breast heaving in sweat, silk and blood. "mine!" she bares her canines, she barks. her soft snarl a smooth, wolven chatter of grinning, glittering fangs. but the next words she chooses are softer, more tender, shrugging a delicate shoulder in a whisper of playful invitation yet. "I'll be happy to share only if you teach me how to skin this stag. I wish to make a fine pelt out of him and mount the antlers above my bed frame. i've skinned everything else except for deer. will you, darling? for me?"
@Erasmus
to fade...
My love will laugh with me before the mornin' comes
