Post by Razzle on Apr 6, 2006 20:01:47 GMT -5
A shadowy form seemed to come to focus from over the hillock, a jet silhouette that perhaps just should remain back, only a glimpse far back in our minds. Yet, as many know; dreams rarely come true. She is here, but now in the form of a twisted nightmare, worthy of the King of Horror (by this, I mean that she could belong to the one and only Stephan King).
With a sinewy apendage she brought her carcas from the swirling mass of shadows, her locks playing wicked games upon that jet crest of hers. Gleaming dark hazel windows looking about, though curtains tightly drawn. Never would one be able to draw these aside, for once in; they could never leave. Funny, how eyes are the window to one's soul... but where are the emergency exits? There are none, for a fool to come in is foolish enough for life to be cut of it.
With a toss of cerebrum, long stumps halted. Though a splash of alabaster painted down her crown, this be the only thing besides black on this damsel. Even the whites of her eyes had faded to a dull grey, her tongue faded to a lifeless shade. It was as if she were dying of a fever; slowly, inevitably. No, she was only beginning to live.
Damsel placed flint of carved ebonite unto the dirt mother earth had shed. It would seem that immediately thorns would nail themselves to their graves as many did these days; for posers had left prints afore her. Yes, many claiming themselves Satan's or Lucifer's offspring. Seems then that those beings must be quite fertile, for thousands of their blood frolic about. Yes, at first was a privilege to be of their heritage, but now she considered them unworthy. For, if every was his son or daughter, where was the honor there? She'd rather be some mutt than a daughter of the dark lord. Call her whatever you wish, these be her thoughts and has no mind to change them because someone's upset. With just a small toss of the classic ink cranium, her stumps retained action. She would not run about and dare another to catch her. Would not release her scent for another's pleasure. Heck, she wasn't here to make other's happy; where was the fun in that? Rather let her mind go to work. For just using it these days would get her far, since all the little inbred Satan siblings run amok. Though, not to say she couldn't respect a son of Lucifer. One who could truly stand up to the title. Though, she believed this chance gone; the entire idea no longer plausible.
So, why would one think imaginary when they see her? Is she positively breath-taking? Dead or dying? No, she is here in body and flesh, perfectly sane for her type. No, she's imaginary, one who twists and conjures nightmares by the pure fact she's original. So many other's these days calling themselves dark, shadow carriers.... when the best they could do is flee at a sign of danger. But her, no. Never will she give something up. But not saying she provokes fights and melees. She does have a brain and is perfectly capable of using her noggin. Just, the idiots running about lately has caused her mind to go useless, for an idiot can beat an idiot. Does not take much thought to bring down another. Little of her knowledge has she even tapped into; already she's 4 years of age.
So now the giant of a hellioness stops her piddle. 'Giant' you ask? No, she is of no draft blood. Though her Spanish ancestry does add some mass to her bones, for she does stand an easy 16 hands, possibly 17. But giant because of the way she looked down on others; even others who stand a hand higher. Why? Weary. Tired of spending even a fraction of her time on the mud bloods that romped about. Though, deep in her charred heart she'll admit a very slight urging for her to find one who wasn't completely useless.
It was this mere fact that drew her here; that and the obvious syndrom of boredom. Normally would not be custom to go about as one pleases in the lands. But here, these were rules. Though she often toyed and bent the rules to no means, these were more like set guidelines.
{I know its my example post, but too bad]
With a sinewy apendage she brought her carcas from the swirling mass of shadows, her locks playing wicked games upon that jet crest of hers. Gleaming dark hazel windows looking about, though curtains tightly drawn. Never would one be able to draw these aside, for once in; they could never leave. Funny, how eyes are the window to one's soul... but where are the emergency exits? There are none, for a fool to come in is foolish enough for life to be cut of it.
With a toss of cerebrum, long stumps halted. Though a splash of alabaster painted down her crown, this be the only thing besides black on this damsel. Even the whites of her eyes had faded to a dull grey, her tongue faded to a lifeless shade. It was as if she were dying of a fever; slowly, inevitably. No, she was only beginning to live.
Damsel placed flint of carved ebonite unto the dirt mother earth had shed. It would seem that immediately thorns would nail themselves to their graves as many did these days; for posers had left prints afore her. Yes, many claiming themselves Satan's or Lucifer's offspring. Seems then that those beings must be quite fertile, for thousands of their blood frolic about. Yes, at first was a privilege to be of their heritage, but now she considered them unworthy. For, if every was his son or daughter, where was the honor there? She'd rather be some mutt than a daughter of the dark lord. Call her whatever you wish, these be her thoughts and has no mind to change them because someone's upset. With just a small toss of the classic ink cranium, her stumps retained action. She would not run about and dare another to catch her. Would not release her scent for another's pleasure. Heck, she wasn't here to make other's happy; where was the fun in that? Rather let her mind go to work. For just using it these days would get her far, since all the little inbred Satan siblings run amok. Though, not to say she couldn't respect a son of Lucifer. One who could truly stand up to the title. Though, she believed this chance gone; the entire idea no longer plausible.
So, why would one think imaginary when they see her? Is she positively breath-taking? Dead or dying? No, she is here in body and flesh, perfectly sane for her type. No, she's imaginary, one who twists and conjures nightmares by the pure fact she's original. So many other's these days calling themselves dark, shadow carriers.... when the best they could do is flee at a sign of danger. But her, no. Never will she give something up. But not saying she provokes fights and melees. She does have a brain and is perfectly capable of using her noggin. Just, the idiots running about lately has caused her mind to go useless, for an idiot can beat an idiot. Does not take much thought to bring down another. Little of her knowledge has she even tapped into; already she's 4 years of age.
So now the giant of a hellioness stops her piddle. 'Giant' you ask? No, she is of no draft blood. Though her Spanish ancestry does add some mass to her bones, for she does stand an easy 16 hands, possibly 17. But giant because of the way she looked down on others; even others who stand a hand higher. Why? Weary. Tired of spending even a fraction of her time on the mud bloods that romped about. Though, deep in her charred heart she'll admit a very slight urging for her to find one who wasn't completely useless.
It was this mere fact that drew her here; that and the obvious syndrom of boredom. Normally would not be custom to go about as one pleases in the lands. But here, these were rules. Though she often toyed and bent the rules to no means, these were more like set guidelines.
{I know its my example post, but too bad]
