THE CHILL OF THE OCEAN, REFLECTS THE CHILLING ENDEAVOURS OF THE MOON. HOW GENTLY THE MOON, GLISTENS. BECKONS, IN HER IVORY GRANDUER. REFLECTING, SHARDS OF PORCELAIN LIGHT, ACROSS THE DARK TASTE OF HIS FLESH-ARMOR, MADE OF STARDUST AND POLYCHROMATIC DREAMS. YET THERE IS A DARK SIDE TO THE MOON; AS DARK AS BLOOD. DARKER THAN DEATH. EURYALE CALANTHA, WONDERS IF HE WERE LIKE THE MYSTERIOUS MOON - AND THE SEA - BOTH GENTLE, AND VIOLENT, AND BEAUTIFUL IN EQUAL MEASURE. BUT WHERE WAS THE VIOLENCE IN SUCH A SWEET BOY, AS DELICATE AS THIS? WITH DREAMS ON HIS LIPS AND STARDUST IN HIS EYES?
LIKE THE MOON - WHOSE IVORY CASTLE, FLOATS IN THE SKY; LINGERING, BEYOND EACH CLOUD OF DOUBT. IN THIS WICKED FOREST HOUR, BETWEEN THE SHADOWS OF HIM AND HER. BETWEEN THE DARKENED INTIMACY OF THEIR NEARING BODIES. BETWEEN THE SOFT, YET DEADLY INTIMACY, OF LAMB AND WOLF; HE WERE THE MOON, AN ETHEREAL REFLECTION OF SUBSERVIENT FRAGILITY, AND CALM; SHE, THE UNTAMED AND MALEVOLENT SEA. CURLING OUTWARDS. THIRSTY FOR VIOLENCE.THIRSTY FOR REDEMPTION. HUNGERING FOR ALL THAT SAND AND SHORE.
O, ONLY HER OCEANS WERE A BRIGHT, ARTERIAL, PULSATING CRIMSON. OCEANS OF WARM, SMOOTH SENSUALITY THAT FLOWS WITH BLOOD AND HONEY AND VISCERAL DECADENCE. THE KIND OF RAW, ARTERIAL CLARET THAT IS BRIGHT AND FRESH, AND JUST FLOWS AND FLOWS. KEEP ON GIVING. KEEP ON GIVING. COURSING, VENOM THROUGH THE VEINS OF MEN AND ANGELS AND GODS. A LOVELY, SINEWY SHADE OF DEVIL'S CRIMSON. THAT SEEMS TO MOISTEN HER FUR, WITH A SLEEK, WET, SYRUPY SHEEN. STICKY, LIKE DEW; POISONED, BY ALL THAT VIOLENCE. ALL THAT BEAUTY. ALL THAT HUNGER.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP. THE SLENDER HOURGLASS OF EURYALE'S PHYSIQUE, SWIMS IN A BRIGHT, RED SEA. ONE FILLED WITH THE TASTE OF VERMILLION SANGUINARY AND SONGS OF DEATHLY SCREAMS. IT DRIPS AND DRIPS, UPON HER BREASTBONE. FEATHERING, AGAINST THE TONED CURVATURE OF HER THIGH. FLOWERING, AGAINST HER BOSOM, LIKE THE GROTESQUE PETALS OF A ROSE; TANGLED IN TOO MANY THORNS. TOO MANY BONES. TOO MANY SKULLS. CAN YOU SMELL ALL THAT BLOOD AND IRON, ON HER? ISN'T IT DELICIOUS? DANGEROUS, EVEN.
"ASTERION."
EURYALE BREATHES, SOFTLY, TASTING THE DREAM BETWEEN HER JAWS, SAVOURING ITS KALEDESCOPE FLAVOUR. TASTING HIS NAME ON THE PINK CURVE OF HER LITHE, MOIST TONGUE. HER BREATHING IS SWEET, YET RAPTORIAL; THE BREATH OF A WOLF, FALLING INTO PLUMES OF NIGHTSMOKE; PLUMES OF DARK ANGELS AND JASMINE, WITH HER BLOODLUST CURLING DELICIOUSLY INTO THE AIR. SHE WANTS TO TASTE THAT NAME AGAIN AND AGAIN; REVEL. IN THE MYSTERY OF ITS EXOTIC, GRECIAN SOUND - THE DELICIOUS LILT, MADE SENSUOUS BY THE THROATY PURR OF A WICKED SIRENS' VOICE. FULL OF WILD, RECKLESS ABANDON. WHISPER. TASTE. CONSUME.
"THE OCEAN HAS HER WICKED ANIMALS,
BUT I AM NOT ONE OF HER SEA CREATURES,"
EURYALE WHISPERS, DRAWING HER CRIMSON LIPS TO A FIRM, SENSUOUS LINE. VOICE LIT IN THEIR GENTLE, FEMININE CHIDING. THE SONGS OF HER CRIMSON CURVES, TWIST; SO AS TO BETTER FACE THE MAN JUST AS HE NEARS HER OWN FRAME. BRUSHING AGAINST HER DARKNESS WITH A DARK, STIRRING BREATH OF SEA-FOAM AND SAND-DOLLARS. HE SHADOWS THE GIRLISH SKELETON OF HER RIBCAGE. THE HIGHLIGHTS OF HER WINE-CURVED FIGURE, ACCENTUATED BY THE SULTRY FEVER OF THE MOON. SEALIGHT, DANCES UPON THE MELANCHOLIC BREEZE; REFLECTING, IN THE MILK-CHOCOLATE OF HIS DREAMERS' EYES. FOR A MOMENT, JUST A MOMENT, EURYALE IMAGINES SEEING THE REFLECTION OF BLOOD IN SUCH SOUFUL EYES. BLOOD. MOON. SEA.
"THERE ARE WICKED ANIMALS
IN THE FOREST, TOO.
I FIND THE FOREST ANIMALS MUCH MORE...
APPROACHABLE AND INTIMATE, HOWEVER."
HER RUBY GAZE DARKENS, AND THOUGH A DELICATE SMILE TOUCHES HER LIPS, THE VERY FANG-FILLED SMILE DOESN'T TOUCH THE EMPTY WARMTH OF HER EYES. SHE WATCHES HIM WITH A SIDEWAYS GLANCE; A LAZY, PURRING FELINE CURIOUSITY. THE WAY THE MOON, DRIPS, INTO THE SWARTHY STRANDS OF HIS LONG, THICK MANE; DRAWING DEEP SHADOWS UPON THAT GRACEFUL NECKLINE. SHE PULLS HER GAZE ACROSS HIS SHOUDERFLADES, THEN. RED RUBY, RAKING, AGAINST THE STARRY SURFACE OF HIS MALE TORSO, WHICH GLISTENED OF FARAWAY UNIVERSES. FARAWAY GALAXIES.
"ASTERION... ARE YOU FROM THE SEA
- OR FROM THE STARS?"
LIKE THE MOON - WHOSE IVORY CASTLE, FLOATS IN THE SKY; LINGERING, BEYOND EACH CLOUD OF DOUBT. IN THIS WICKED FOREST HOUR, BETWEEN THE SHADOWS OF HIM AND HER. BETWEEN THE DARKENED INTIMACY OF THEIR NEARING BODIES. BETWEEN THE SOFT, YET DEADLY INTIMACY, OF LAMB AND WOLF; HE WERE THE MOON, AN ETHEREAL REFLECTION OF SUBSERVIENT FRAGILITY, AND CALM; SHE, THE UNTAMED AND MALEVOLENT SEA. CURLING OUTWARDS. THIRSTY FOR VIOLENCE.THIRSTY FOR REDEMPTION. HUNGERING FOR ALL THAT SAND AND SHORE.
O, ONLY HER OCEANS WERE A BRIGHT, ARTERIAL, PULSATING CRIMSON. OCEANS OF WARM, SMOOTH SENSUALITY THAT FLOWS WITH BLOOD AND HONEY AND VISCERAL DECADENCE. THE KIND OF RAW, ARTERIAL CLARET THAT IS BRIGHT AND FRESH, AND JUST FLOWS AND FLOWS. KEEP ON GIVING. KEEP ON GIVING. COURSING, VENOM THROUGH THE VEINS OF MEN AND ANGELS AND GODS. A LOVELY, SINEWY SHADE OF DEVIL'S CRIMSON. THAT SEEMS TO MOISTEN HER FUR, WITH A SLEEK, WET, SYRUPY SHEEN. STICKY, LIKE DEW; POISONED, BY ALL THAT VIOLENCE. ALL THAT BEAUTY. ALL THAT HUNGER.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP. THE SLENDER HOURGLASS OF EURYALE'S PHYSIQUE, SWIMS IN A BRIGHT, RED SEA. ONE FILLED WITH THE TASTE OF VERMILLION SANGUINARY AND SONGS OF DEATHLY SCREAMS. IT DRIPS AND DRIPS, UPON HER BREASTBONE. FEATHERING, AGAINST THE TONED CURVATURE OF HER THIGH. FLOWERING, AGAINST HER BOSOM, LIKE THE GROTESQUE PETALS OF A ROSE; TANGLED IN TOO MANY THORNS. TOO MANY BONES. TOO MANY SKULLS. CAN YOU SMELL ALL THAT BLOOD AND IRON, ON HER? ISN'T IT DELICIOUS? DANGEROUS, EVEN.
EURYALE BREATHES, SOFTLY, TASTING THE DREAM BETWEEN HER JAWS, SAVOURING ITS KALEDESCOPE FLAVOUR. TASTING HIS NAME ON THE PINK CURVE OF HER LITHE, MOIST TONGUE. HER BREATHING IS SWEET, YET RAPTORIAL; THE BREATH OF A WOLF, FALLING INTO PLUMES OF NIGHTSMOKE; PLUMES OF DARK ANGELS AND JASMINE, WITH HER BLOODLUST CURLING DELICIOUSLY INTO THE AIR. SHE WANTS TO TASTE THAT NAME AGAIN AND AGAIN; REVEL. IN THE MYSTERY OF ITS EXOTIC, GRECIAN SOUND - THE DELICIOUS LILT, MADE SENSUOUS BY THE THROATY PURR OF A WICKED SIRENS' VOICE. FULL OF WILD, RECKLESS ABANDON. WHISPER. TASTE. CONSUME.
BUT I AM NOT ONE OF HER SEA CREATURES,"
EURYALE WHISPERS, DRAWING HER CRIMSON LIPS TO A FIRM, SENSUOUS LINE. VOICE LIT IN THEIR GENTLE, FEMININE CHIDING. THE SONGS OF HER CRIMSON CURVES, TWIST; SO AS TO BETTER FACE THE MAN JUST AS HE NEARS HER OWN FRAME. BRUSHING AGAINST HER DARKNESS WITH A DARK, STIRRING BREATH OF SEA-FOAM AND SAND-DOLLARS. HE SHADOWS THE GIRLISH SKELETON OF HER RIBCAGE. THE HIGHLIGHTS OF HER WINE-CURVED FIGURE, ACCENTUATED BY THE SULTRY FEVER OF THE MOON. SEALIGHT, DANCES UPON THE MELANCHOLIC BREEZE; REFLECTING, IN THE MILK-CHOCOLATE OF HIS DREAMERS' EYES. FOR A MOMENT, JUST A MOMENT, EURYALE IMAGINES SEEING THE REFLECTION OF BLOOD IN SUCH SOUFUL EYES. BLOOD. MOON. SEA.
IN THE FOREST, TOO.
I FIND THE FOREST ANIMALS MUCH MORE...
APPROACHABLE AND INTIMATE, HOWEVER."
HER RUBY GAZE DARKENS, AND THOUGH A DELICATE SMILE TOUCHES HER LIPS, THE VERY FANG-FILLED SMILE DOESN'T TOUCH THE EMPTY WARMTH OF HER EYES. SHE WATCHES HIM WITH A SIDEWAYS GLANCE; A LAZY, PURRING FELINE CURIOUSITY. THE WAY THE MOON, DRIPS, INTO THE SWARTHY STRANDS OF HIS LONG, THICK MANE; DRAWING DEEP SHADOWS UPON THAT GRACEFUL NECKLINE. SHE PULLS HER GAZE ACROSS HIS SHOUDERFLADES, THEN. RED RUBY, RAKING, AGAINST THE STARRY SURFACE OF HIS MALE TORSO, WHICH GLISTENED OF FARAWAY UNIVERSES. FARAWAY GALAXIES.
- OR FROM THE STARS?"
