no one calls you honey when you're sitting on a throne
He is not wrong when he says it, for beneath the obsidian mask she wears, velvet and delicate, are eyes of red, faceted like precious stones. A wash of ivory, pale as the moon hanging low over Denocte, with bold swathes of deep brown like the night sky. But the most striking thing about her is not her eyes like freshly spilled blood or the medley of her skin. It is what’s underneath, visible only to those who look closely. The keenness of a predator, the slow burning fire of a thousand suns, the glimmer of power and control.
And, despite all of these things. Despite the many reasons she can think not to take this man’s offered hand when he extends it to her, she does anyway. With a curl of her lips and a glittering to her eyes does Vendetta take his offer. And when his muzzle near brushes against her shoulder an arc of lightning travels along her spine, and the heat of his closeness lingers along her skin until it has her turning and following him. Their steps combine on the wood and gold, two different pulses whose paths have crossed, as they leave the lake and its illusion behind.
@Asterion just a short and sweet close!
