i'm insane
well, i can feel it in my bones
coursing through my veins,
when did i become so cold?
well, i can feel it in my bones
coursing through my veins,
when did i become so cold?
The mare was delighted by the company so far, even if she wasn't entirely sure what to make of the odd, little being. She was such a sweet thing, shy and delicate, yet so respectful. The bashfulness had a slight smile tugging at the features of the night-risen being, amused gently as she dipped her head in acknowledgement to the words, "Please, just Valan, no need for formalities with me." There was almost a plea to the request, especially since technically, it should be Mrs; as my all technicalities, she was a widow, was she not? Although, perhaps her late husband had been widowed first. He was the one who tried to kill her first, and did succeed to point, as she's now more undead than alive. But she was certainly a widow herself, having successfully completed that task when she'd ripped into his throat. "I'm not one for titles, they always seem far more proper and expectant of high manners. Such caution to appear ones best can so often get in the way of true exchanging of pleasantries and conversation, do you not agree?"
Of course, she saw the disappointment on the smaller mare's face, when she'd commented on the likelihood (or lack thereof) of the gods wanting to give her even a second glance. But she knew the young mare wouldn't understand. Not when she tried so hard to keep the mortals from realizing just who they were talking with. Of course, she wouldn't realize her mistake just yet, when it came to the secrets to keep. Still, the young one had shifted position, quiet, attentive, and yet a relaxed stance, as if to show a willingness to listen. It was almost bittersweet in the eyes of the ancient vampiress, even as she allowed herself to speak. Of course, it was as the other tilted her head, expression quizzical that Valan began to sense perhaps she should be more cautious with her word choices.
How to describe you're perceived to be a creature of evil without declaring yourself a creature of evil - and so she tried, to figure out how to say it, how to explain it. Thomasin shifted, drawing her gaze back to the smaller mare. She drew in a deep breath, and Valan fell quiet, her expression curious about what would be said. She felt her muzzle twitch in amusement at the apology of her boldness, but nevertheless, the belief that Valan was wrong. The instant deflation was discouraging, rather approving of the boldness, the standing-taller Thomasin could show over the shy, sheepish countenance she seemed to prefer, "Hush, there is nothing to pardon when one feels the courage to speak their mind." Valan argued gently before she tilted her head when the other continued. Welcomed in the church - one must wonder would that be true if she arrived with black eyes, sipping blood from a goblet, with her fangs on display. Then she tilted her head at the comment of her entertaining the wrong patrons.
Her expression shifted, a confused; if not small frown. "Patrons?" She repeated the words, wondering how those monster hunters out to take her down for being a 'monster' could be confused as patrons. Sure, she was an entertainer, a dancer, a singer, a lady raised on the arts, but monster hunters rarely tried to coy their way in. They preferred a more violent approach. A creature of the night didn't have monster hunters playing patrona-. Valan's thoughts paused, her face shifting briefly, flickering through emotions. Patrons. Night. Being of the Night. Entertaining. Her eyes slowly widened, and if she was capable of blushing she would be. Instead, she shuffled her hooves awkwardly, shaking her head quickly, torn before laughing and squealing in denial, "Oh, oh! No, you've misunderstood me! I'm certainly . . . I'm not . . . I . . . oh, oh dear." Her ears flickered back, the well-put-together mare seeming to come apart in sudden embarrassment, even as she couldn't help but laugh.
Unfortunately, it's hard to laugh with your mouth shut, and her fangs flashed in her embarrassed mirth, "No, I, well; I am certainly not 'entertaining any patrons'. I am, most certainly, not a courtesan. I apologize for any confusion I may have caused." The vampire's smile dropped slightly, turning melancholy once more, "Though, perhaps to those who slander my existence; it'd be better if I was." Was a painted lady better than a fanged monster, with bloodshot eyes? Her smile turned gentle, as she glanced back towards the mare, only to pause, her eyes locked onto the gaping hole that seemed to be alive with vegetation. She doesn't comment, it would be unfair when one considered the sleeping roses that clung to her body as they rested. Thomasin was speaking once more, stating that fear should not be a motivator for giving praise, that devotions should be an act of love, gratefulness for life lived. She continued, to express respect for herself, her lifestyle, and Valan wondered if she would state that if she knew the truth. If she knew the truth behind the creature she saw. If she reached to her chest and realized her heart was silent, un-beating. Denocte, yes, they live in the night; of course, but the Terrastellan knew better to believe that everyone would see that, feel that if they realized who they spoke with.
Then the mare spoke again, and this time Valan looked away, her tail brushing the ground, the chaotic, wild curls seeming to grasp at the tiled floor beneath their hooves, "Miss Thomasin, I'm no work of the gods." The vampiress turned to face the young patron of the gods, and this time, her rose-hued gaze was steady, unmoving, "Perhaps, when I was first birthed into this world, a precious soul; I could be called such. But . . . upon my death, it was not a god that gave me another chance. I do belong to the night world, but dear Thomasin; not in the way you belong to the Night Court." The vampire seemed to stand taller, her wild curls swaying and moving, even as she smiled gently as if to not appear terrifying, "I'm the construct of a monstrous species, and it's the hunters who wish to see the end of my kind, that use fear and devotions to the gods to drive the stakes through our hearts." She shook her head gently, hearing the soft clinking of the delicate gold chains, "You state you would respect me, accept my lifestyle, that Caligo, herself; would as well."
Valan's gaze grew soft but apologetic, "My people's lifestyle is of murder, of preying on others for our own wretched survival." Her gaze turned away, head bowing slightly, those dark trails of dyed tear tracks into her cheeks from the night of her death, and rebirth into this life; stood in sharp relief with the flickering light of the candles. Her eyes cut back towards Thomasin, this time, the predatory sheen of a night hunter reflecting off those orbs from the direct light of the candle, "I do not deserve your acceptance, nor your kind words. Miss Thomasin, I am, after all; a monster."
@Thomasin
Of course, she saw the disappointment on the smaller mare's face, when she'd commented on the likelihood (or lack thereof) of the gods wanting to give her even a second glance. But she knew the young mare wouldn't understand. Not when she tried so hard to keep the mortals from realizing just who they were talking with. Of course, she wouldn't realize her mistake just yet, when it came to the secrets to keep. Still, the young one had shifted position, quiet, attentive, and yet a relaxed stance, as if to show a willingness to listen. It was almost bittersweet in the eyes of the ancient vampiress, even as she allowed herself to speak. Of course, it was as the other tilted her head, expression quizzical that Valan began to sense perhaps she should be more cautious with her word choices.
How to describe you're perceived to be a creature of evil without declaring yourself a creature of evil - and so she tried, to figure out how to say it, how to explain it. Thomasin shifted, drawing her gaze back to the smaller mare. She drew in a deep breath, and Valan fell quiet, her expression curious about what would be said. She felt her muzzle twitch in amusement at the apology of her boldness, but nevertheless, the belief that Valan was wrong. The instant deflation was discouraging, rather approving of the boldness, the standing-taller Thomasin could show over the shy, sheepish countenance she seemed to prefer, "Hush, there is nothing to pardon when one feels the courage to speak their mind." Valan argued gently before she tilted her head when the other continued. Welcomed in the church - one must wonder would that be true if she arrived with black eyes, sipping blood from a goblet, with her fangs on display. Then she tilted her head at the comment of her entertaining the wrong patrons.
Her expression shifted, a confused; if not small frown. "Patrons?" She repeated the words, wondering how those monster hunters out to take her down for being a 'monster' could be confused as patrons. Sure, she was an entertainer, a dancer, a singer, a lady raised on the arts, but monster hunters rarely tried to coy their way in. They preferred a more violent approach. A creature of the night didn't have monster hunters playing patrona-. Valan's thoughts paused, her face shifting briefly, flickering through emotions. Patrons. Night. Being of the Night. Entertaining. Her eyes slowly widened, and if she was capable of blushing she would be. Instead, she shuffled her hooves awkwardly, shaking her head quickly, torn before laughing and squealing in denial, "Oh, oh! No, you've misunderstood me! I'm certainly . . . I'm not . . . I . . . oh, oh dear." Her ears flickered back, the well-put-together mare seeming to come apart in sudden embarrassment, even as she couldn't help but laugh.
Unfortunately, it's hard to laugh with your mouth shut, and her fangs flashed in her embarrassed mirth, "No, I, well; I am certainly not 'entertaining any patrons'. I am, most certainly, not a courtesan. I apologize for any confusion I may have caused." The vampire's smile dropped slightly, turning melancholy once more, "Though, perhaps to those who slander my existence; it'd be better if I was." Was a painted lady better than a fanged monster, with bloodshot eyes? Her smile turned gentle, as she glanced back towards the mare, only to pause, her eyes locked onto the gaping hole that seemed to be alive with vegetation. She doesn't comment, it would be unfair when one considered the sleeping roses that clung to her body as they rested. Thomasin was speaking once more, stating that fear should not be a motivator for giving praise, that devotions should be an act of love, gratefulness for life lived. She continued, to express respect for herself, her lifestyle, and Valan wondered if she would state that if she knew the truth. If she knew the truth behind the creature she saw. If she reached to her chest and realized her heart was silent, un-beating. Denocte, yes, they live in the night; of course, but the Terrastellan knew better to believe that everyone would see that, feel that if they realized who they spoke with.
Then the mare spoke again, and this time Valan looked away, her tail brushing the ground, the chaotic, wild curls seeming to grasp at the tiled floor beneath their hooves, "Miss Thomasin, I'm no work of the gods." The vampiress turned to face the young patron of the gods, and this time, her rose-hued gaze was steady, unmoving, "Perhaps, when I was first birthed into this world, a precious soul; I could be called such. But . . . upon my death, it was not a god that gave me another chance. I do belong to the night world, but dear Thomasin; not in the way you belong to the Night Court." The vampire seemed to stand taller, her wild curls swaying and moving, even as she smiled gently as if to not appear terrifying, "I'm the construct of a monstrous species, and it's the hunters who wish to see the end of my kind, that use fear and devotions to the gods to drive the stakes through our hearts." She shook her head gently, hearing the soft clinking of the delicate gold chains, "You state you would respect me, accept my lifestyle, that Caligo, herself; would as well."
Valan's gaze grew soft but apologetic, "My people's lifestyle is of murder, of preying on others for our own wretched survival." Her gaze turned away, head bowing slightly, those dark trails of dyed tear tracks into her cheeks from the night of her death, and rebirth into this life; stood in sharp relief with the flickering light of the candles. Her eyes cut back towards Thomasin, this time, the predatory sheen of a night hunter reflecting off those orbs from the direct light of the candle, "I do not deserve your acceptance, nor your kind words. Miss Thomasin, I am, after all; a monster."
@Thomasin
for goodness sake
where is my self control?
if home is where my heart is
then my heart has lost all hope
where is my self control?
if home is where my heart is
then my heart has lost all hope
