This hurricane's chasing us all underground
My skin feels hot beneath the sunlight. I can taste the ocean salt upon my lips. But more than the ocean’s tears, I can taste all the blood. Blood fills my jaws, hot and silky, like wine. It feels warm against my teeth, in my mouth, and I enjoy the swirling warmth, as much as I enjoy the sunlight hotly caressing my back. I am alone on this desolate beach. I am feeding. I am laughing. I am dancing. The beach is empty save for my unholy prayers - save for my dancing body, that runs wild like sin, beneath the gleaming dawn-light of winter religion. And then I feel her, in all her delicious darkness. I feel her, like I feel sweet torment. A new kind of warmth - a heat - that makes me ache and croon, for more. She comes to me like a wild whisper along a forbidden breeze. Like a panther’s snarl, beneath the overgrowth of a velvet jungle. When she moves, I feel her. When she shines like starlight, I feel the whole night rushing in before me.
It is not charred bones, nor star-shed magic, that trembles like bone fingers through soft, lilac strands; nor the luminescence of star magic, woven beautifully across sweet, ebony skin – ethereal, savage, and heavenly. Euryale dances with blood, with carnal motive; like the feral wilderness flowing in her veins; the dark laughter touching her silk throat, like saccharine venom and honey on a succubus’ whispering lips. It’s dawn shades, blood shades – all vicious and lupine – pooling into a wolf’s body made of unholy lust, made of lightening beauty. When Euryale moves, twists and turns; all the red blood moistening her skin glistens, wetly, too. The blood on her body, wears like a dress should; dawning along lascivious curves, and hips. A vermillion kiss, deep as any rose, just as wicked, just as sweet.
When Euryale dances, she dances like thunder and hurricane; full of spiraling, pale tendrils and powerful, slender limbs that waltz; lightening-white, dangerous, across the velvet earth below. She dances with hunger in her heart. She dances with violence in her blood. She dances with passion. Passion flows through her sleek body, made of storms and wrath and violence. Her storm-skin, so wrapped tightly, around a turbulent soul, as hers’. Euryale dances like she breathes; full of want, beauty and wretched desire. She dances like a Reckoning; like damned queens, with thorns for crowns. When only the thirst for blood, could ever sate her bottomless appetite. And it is always blood. Always souls, that Euryale thirsts for, endlessly. Euryale so loved possessing people, places, things.
Her lavender curls spill hungrily across her shoulder-blades - pale strands of illuminating thinness - when at last, the witch pauses, feeling hot eyes upon her back. She kneads her soft lips with sharp teeth. She feels the heat, and sweat, beading like cooling droplets along her porcelain breast, as dawn light pours like silken-honey along the ruinous curves of Euryale's body. When she turns to view the stranger, she sees a dark, sultry figure, wrapped in obsidian desire. When she turns, suddenly, starlight pours from their ebony frame; bright, scalding, and beaming with wicked intensity. The oceans tremble like lovers, below the dark-skinned woman’s physique. The ocean trembles, and hisses, with something like desire; and all the oceanic froth, rushes in to greet them, both. Twisting like watery snakes against their slender legs. Euryale’s own breathing falls like silk; her lips, curling into a gentle crescent-moon, even as she turns to the source of burning light that which shone hotter, wilder than the sun. She watches the black satin-skin lit by star-kissed tattoos. Tumultuous sable curls, tumbling in the rough wind, with the singing of bones. Euryale's whisper becomes dark, soft - a fervent whisper, more song than words; ”Who are you?”
@Leto
and a riot about to explode into flames
