Neverwinter Forest they will turn your mouth into a city of curfews
pretty girls make graves
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Ooc — Rachel
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The woods that the trio homesteaded within had greatly resembled Kitsch’s home at Saoi Baile, but the circumstances surrounding their stay greatly differed — and the girl often found herself tormented by that fact. She withdrew into herself, and experienced a type of all consuming, taciturn melancholy that only this girl was prone to.  She did not talk much, save when West was treating her wounds and during those rare moments when she found herself in high spirits [which had been uncommon anyways] and the pearl upheld a sneaking suspicion that West appreciated the fewness of her words. This normally would have irritated the young egoist… but if Kitsch didn’t bother West, then West didn’t bother Kitsch, and that’s what Kitsch wanted most right then: not to be bothered.

The new addition had been an interesting one and the pearl sought to keep her distance — Kitsch was currently not a fan of strange, brutish men — but he helped West to hunt which allowed them the freedom to remain in the heartwood. Loathe the woods as she may, the oujo couldn’t deny the sweet anonymity found within the shadowed forest; the security when safeguarded by wolves stronger and smarter than she. These two wolves had been the only kindness to befall her in these lands, and it only took her utter destruction to find it.

But when it was time to move on, they moved on. They went North, but if you asked Kitsch, she would not know her bearings — for Kitsch, the entirety of their travels was spent trailing just behind West, staring blankly at the ground and keeping West’s ankles just in view [to ensure she would not stray away]. When the older two decided they would investigate a pack’s borders, Kitsch followed still, for she had no where else to be, no one else who needed her, no one else who knew or cared in she was alive. West and Libeccio seemed to provide her only option, plus Libeccio seemed to keep his distance [she had not the energy to appreciate his consideration, nor had even the ability to] so it wasn’t all bad. So when the man howled for attendance of the pack’s leaders, Kitsch stood abreast her mottled vigilante and listened as West reassured her with honeyed words; and Kitsch trusted her implicitly.
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smells  just   like  vanilla
kiss   is   sugary    sweet
skins warm like  an oven

& tastes like buttercream


Messages In This Thread
RE: they will turn your mouth into a city of curfews - by Kitsch - March 29, 2017, 10:07 AM