burning my cathedrals
cause i dont pray anymore
Fever is accustomed to negative perceptions of her - and she doesn't blame them. Their apprehension is warranted, their sideway glances and pretentious scowls only fueled Fever's fire. While there is something inheritantly attractive about the abstract lady - she is crowned in sharp quills, dark aureate eyes sitting on black scleras acting as like midnight suns in an alien universe, her perfume is of foreign amber and exotic spice, an untamable length of black tail that would suggest she spends her evenings brushing it and singing to herself - yes, attractive certainly, but she cannot hide her snake-like tendencies.
Like watching a snake charmer summon a cobra - you are enraptured but wary.
So it was a bit of a surprise when she wasn't shooed away but instead offered a seat and invited to stay.
Fever blinked a few times, and soon a charming smile melted onto her mouth.
"How kind of you - " she muses, "I could use a rest from my performances."
As the stallion stretches out his massive wings, Fever feels a tad dwarfed by their intimidating size. As she reclines in the seat she had been given, she admires them, silently envious of the gift of flight. How freeing it must be to just be able to spread your feathers and fly wherever you please; no rules, no limitations, just endless sky and a world so wild and eager to discover. She takes a sip from her water, letting it roll on her tongue as she contemplates if wings would have saved her in her youth.
She wonders what's beyond the ocean, if its possible to touch the horizon when the sun rises.
Her daydreams are interrupted as the bartender comes by and fills their drink, and she motions for something stronger in her next cup. "So tell me, stranger -" she turns her attention back to the opalescent paint, her grin as wild as the as the world she wished to discover, "Do you provide services at this festival, or are you a patron?" With a tilt of her head, she is suggestive of convivial company, yet she has begun to analyze the stranger, trying to pick-a-part his facial expressions and body language.
The lady contemplates his profession: large and taut muscles might suggest he is physical in his day by day routine, perhaps a blacksmith, maybe a warrior, yet his body is not riddled with scars, and the kindness in his baritones would have Fever leaning away from something so barbarous. As she patiently awaits to hear more about them, she counts the pines on his antlers, curious if he wields them as decorum or guts his enemies.
A smirk plays on her mouth at the possibilities.
@Liseli
Like watching a snake charmer summon a cobra - you are enraptured but wary.
So it was a bit of a surprise when she wasn't shooed away but instead offered a seat and invited to stay.
Fever blinked a few times, and soon a charming smile melted onto her mouth.
"How kind of you - " she muses, "I could use a rest from my performances."
As the stallion stretches out his massive wings, Fever feels a tad dwarfed by their intimidating size. As she reclines in the seat she had been given, she admires them, silently envious of the gift of flight. How freeing it must be to just be able to spread your feathers and fly wherever you please; no rules, no limitations, just endless sky and a world so wild and eager to discover. She takes a sip from her water, letting it roll on her tongue as she contemplates if wings would have saved her in her youth.
She wonders what's beyond the ocean, if its possible to touch the horizon when the sun rises.
Her daydreams are interrupted as the bartender comes by and fills their drink, and she motions for something stronger in her next cup. "So tell me, stranger -" she turns her attention back to the opalescent paint, her grin as wild as the as the world she wished to discover, "Do you provide services at this festival, or are you a patron?" With a tilt of her head, she is suggestive of convivial company, yet she has begun to analyze the stranger, trying to pick-a-part his facial expressions and body language.
The lady contemplates his profession: large and taut muscles might suggest he is physical in his day by day routine, perhaps a blacksmith, maybe a warrior, yet his body is not riddled with scars, and the kindness in his baritones would have Fever leaning away from something so barbarous. As she patiently awaits to hear more about them, she counts the pines on his antlers, curious if he wields them as decorum or guts his enemies.
A smirk plays on her mouth at the possibilities.
@Liseli
![[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
