Post by scythe on Jun 6, 2006 13:22:39 GMT -5
The neon coloration of the varg’s eyes was mainly unexplainable. Her equally colored pelt remained as silvery-gold colored as ever, and even more evil. The darkening horizon was remarkable and yet somewhat sickening. It was a dark and startling blood red. It almost seemed to seep down and fall on her, but that was but her sickest fantasy. For the sky to fall on her, and for her to cause the apocalypse. Her fur was unfathomed by the brittle wind that sometimes whipped into her skin, and burnt her as though it were whip lash. But it was just the cold. She curled her rims into a steady and dirty snarl. She was in a fowl mood.
She remembered all the bitches’ in her life, begging for there lives to be stolen for her. A few times she granted this wish, but only if they were pathetic enough. An evil snarl erupted from her maw as her jowels snapped at imaginary heels. How she missed her surrogate mother, Threnody. And how that god damned bbastard had pinned her under his body and stolen her life! Curse him! Curse him!. The fire. Her death. It was so terrible. She refused to remember it. The whole thing was too terrible.
Scythe was stopped in her rant by one, amazingly blunt object. Sitting at her feet, was a remarkable flower. Threnody's favorite in the world. She froze, and stared at it for what seemed forever. She vowed to give to whomever he fell in love with, right before she killed them. The blackness of it, held her promise and the petals held her hatred. A black rose, sat under a cage on thorns. She didn’t blame it. For hiding. She had bitten himself so hard, when she had snarled that it was now bleeding. A drop of blood fell in the center of the rose. It moved, it’s crimson color manipulating her in so many ways.
Bitches.
She remembered all the bitches’ in her life, begging for there lives to be stolen for her. A few times she granted this wish, but only if they were pathetic enough. An evil snarl erupted from her maw as her jowels snapped at imaginary heels. How she missed her surrogate mother, Threnody. And how that god damned bbastard had pinned her under his body and stolen her life! Curse him! Curse him!. The fire. Her death. It was so terrible. She refused to remember it. The whole thing was too terrible.
Scythe was stopped in her rant by one, amazingly blunt object. Sitting at her feet, was a remarkable flower. Threnody's favorite in the world. She froze, and stared at it for what seemed forever. She vowed to give to whomever he fell in love with, right before she killed them. The blackness of it, held her promise and the petals held her hatred. A black rose, sat under a cage on thorns. She didn’t blame it. For hiding. She had bitten himself so hard, when she had snarled that it was now bleeding. A drop of blood fell in the center of the rose. It moved, it’s crimson color manipulating her in so many ways.
Bitches.