burning my cathedrals
cause i dont pray anymore
A sheen of sweat had dewed on the mare’s mahogany, ebony, and ivory freckled skin – she had been dancing for what seemed like hours: inviting strangers in to join, letting children touch the bells she wore, winking at someone’s wife and causing their husband to fluff up in fury.
All in a day’s work of being an entertainer.
As Fever was met with some disapproving scowls, she’d withdraw from the dancing, not particularly looking to fight off drunk men and their tongue lashings. As she waited to regain her breath and stamina, the sound of metal scraping would catch her attention, where she briefly saw the shape of an equine moving away.
Something gold and glittering.
Like a moth to the flame, as if a snake with the smell of something raw and intriguing on her tongue, she would follow the scaled creature, weaving her own path in-between the patrons, her gaze hungry to devour the sharp shapes of this stranger’s skin. This gilded reptile looked dangerous.
Fever loved to dance with danger.
Upon approaching a tavern caravan, she watched the other slip inside, while most of the patrons mingled and flirted amongst themselves on the outside, enjoying their drinks, reveling in the music that permeated the air. The dancer would move past them as if they were ghosts in the streets, uninterested in their idle prattle.
Instead, her venomous eyes would eagerly seek the dragon inside the bar, a smirk beginning to curl one corner of her inky lips.
Conveniently, a bar maid stepped out to bring the creature her drink. Fever extends a long inky leg to cut off their path, insisting the she should bring the mare her drink instead, convincing them that she is a friend and would love to surprise them. Without much fight, she manages to lie her way into snatching up the cocktail and ordering herself one, and with said drinks, moves to the corner where the object of her fixation sits.
She was a dagger of a woman admiring a cutlass.
“Have the festivities bored you?” she’d ask in smokey fashion, letting the spice in her voice travel to the pinned ears of the other. Gingerly, Fever would set down the stranger’s drink and slide it across the table, inviting herself to take a seat across from her. After a gradual sip of her own cocktail of spirits and ice, she’d savor it on her tongue, letting it burn her throat with a pleasurable and inaudible moan of satisfaction.
“I hope I haven’t crashed your party.”
@Illo
All in a day’s work of being an entertainer.
As Fever was met with some disapproving scowls, she’d withdraw from the dancing, not particularly looking to fight off drunk men and their tongue lashings. As she waited to regain her breath and stamina, the sound of metal scraping would catch her attention, where she briefly saw the shape of an equine moving away.
Something gold and glittering.
Like a moth to the flame, as if a snake with the smell of something raw and intriguing on her tongue, she would follow the scaled creature, weaving her own path in-between the patrons, her gaze hungry to devour the sharp shapes of this stranger’s skin. This gilded reptile looked dangerous.
Fever loved to dance with danger.
Upon approaching a tavern caravan, she watched the other slip inside, while most of the patrons mingled and flirted amongst themselves on the outside, enjoying their drinks, reveling in the music that permeated the air. The dancer would move past them as if they were ghosts in the streets, uninterested in their idle prattle.
Instead, her venomous eyes would eagerly seek the dragon inside the bar, a smirk beginning to curl one corner of her inky lips.
Conveniently, a bar maid stepped out to bring the creature her drink. Fever extends a long inky leg to cut off their path, insisting the she should bring the mare her drink instead, convincing them that she is a friend and would love to surprise them. Without much fight, she manages to lie her way into snatching up the cocktail and ordering herself one, and with said drinks, moves to the corner where the object of her fixation sits.
She was a dagger of a woman admiring a cutlass.
“Have the festivities bored you?” she’d ask in smokey fashion, letting the spice in her voice travel to the pinned ears of the other. Gingerly, Fever would set down the stranger’s drink and slide it across the table, inviting herself to take a seat across from her. After a gradual sip of her own cocktail of spirits and ice, she’d savor it on her tongue, letting it burn her throat with a pleasurable and inaudible moan of satisfaction.
“I hope I haven’t crashed your party.”
@
![[Image: 45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png)
i am a forest fire; i am the fire and i am the forest
and i am a witness watching it
