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Private  - you come beating like moth's wings | festival

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Played by Offline Darkrise [PM] Posts: 46 — Threads: 14
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Inactive Character
#4

she's a mess of gorgeous chaos, you can see it in her eyes
Castalla is no stranger to sharp teeth and at the site of the winged stallion’s, bared in a friendly smile, she tips her head ever-so-slightly to the side. Curiosity alights in the blue of her eyes as she looks at him closer. Unable to help her magic, her own teeth drop just slightly- more predatory than the elegant curve of the steed’s canines, as she allows her mouth to change. Her grin is one of solidarity, playfully conspiratorial perhaps, for such things are rare in any world. And in her world, in Alanaris, only the Fair Folk- the Fae, Seelies and Elves- are born with naturally pointed teeth. Shifters learn to change their teeth into those belonging to whichever creature they can phase into. And monsters are made rather than born. She wonders if this auburn stallion is any of those.

Before she can ask, before she can really examine his teeth (because it would not be the first time one of Adrian’s wolves have tried to hunt her down, even if this steed does not smell like Kajak), his lips close, his teeth a mere ghost. For a moment sadness haunts her gaze- there and gone in a flash. She was an immortal (even if it did not extend to this land) and her people were immortal- they would always be there when she got back. Yet, she had never strayed this far from Nightfall Keep, or from Alanaris at all. Part of her missed her family, her people. Missed singing to the full moon, her voice one among many. Missed dancing in a fire-lit night the music of her people thrumming in her veins. But what she missed were the times before Skender died, before the other half of her soul perished. It had never been the same since.

In the pause that followed her name, Castalla took the chance to glance over the stag. Wings rose proudly from his shoulders and antlers adorned in gleaming emeralds crowned his head, his coat a warm chocolate and his eyes mossy green. But it was the glasses, perched upon his nose that characterised the unassuming warmth the Wolf felt from him. Though she were usually cautious to trust strangers and it would likely come back to bite her, Castalla decided she liked him immediately.

A soft snort falls from her nares, a gentle laugh that comes out more in a hm sound. “The pleasure is mine, Septimus. And either way, no harm done.” Her smile is honest, the elegant dip of her head polite. Castalla had almost forgotten what it was to speak with words rather than weapons, to mean the things says without the backstabbing and conniving of court. And it is a welcome change.

“I recently arrived in Denocte, the Night Court was kind enough to welcome me among its citizens. But I came to see the celebrations- winter was always a spectacle in my homeland and I would be remiss if I did not join some festival or another.” Though her sense of smell is heightened enough that she can tell this steed does live among the sea-salt and rich earth of Terrastella, she does not recognise the scent that clings to him. “I take it you do not live in Terrastella? What brings you to the Dusk Court?”


"Speaking."


@Septimus <3










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RE: you come beating like moth's wings | festival - by Castalla - 01-02-2020, 08:44 AM
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