you've been so still, barely beating at all

Zafina · March 04, 2019, 01:28 PM

Imprisoned, banished, into a nexus of my own design...
Now Time mocks me, and my sentence is Gravity.

She had initially believed she was fully in control of this situation- his tremor both within his heart and the shattering vibration outside of his growing body, she could feel her victory over his imaginative mind. It shook her own aura, pushing with such pressure that it threatened to enamour her in her own twisting words, to push aside the veil and believe this was a fate set aside for her own pleasure, just as much as it was for his own. His upped chin, a sight of a man who owned and took no denial, it plastered a glue on her insight, warning her of his dominance that could rise in her way, but upon leaving him, he washed away the red flag. His musk clung to her hip.
She did not lick it away, nor shy from the rubbing. It was an invitation to an unreal world that she only needed to pick up the brush, and to use his heartblood as her paint.

Her narrow frame was clearly bested by his own as far as physical empowerment...but as petite as she was, she felt it was her whom held the reins.
Looking up to her shadow, the Goddess brought her slender muzzle to his own, words a locking helix as their breaths swam together.

“It is true; you are one of her’s. A Melonii, a founding Son of Meldresi’s culture, of Sithis and Mephala’s legacy, of the Mother Noctis’ whispers...”

She pulled her snout from the premise of his, instead pushing a gentle crown under his jaw line. The Sahira was tucked away, enjoying the cologne that came with it.
This family was one of many surviving magicks- should she get within their folds, she would easily increase her power of this plane, and make her escape back into the Above without trauma. Marruz was her link to just release.

But how much did she want this?

”I can feel your importance, Marruz. I can feel the energy that wraps you, the aura that warps at your entrance, your leaving. It is her power, and your inheritance grants you glory.” She pulled herself back from the ebonian, her mahogany tinged shade moving past him, though a serpentine clash of banner perused invitingly against the base of his maw.

“To those who nothing of who, nor deserve to know what I am, know of me as Enchantress,” her dulcets faded into the winds before them. But on a curve of a changed mind, she reapproached him, and laid a trusting pair of garnets into the indigo amethysts of her company.

“But for you, a truly worthy bearer of such a cross, May know both of me, and what I am. I am Zafina Sahira, the Goddess of Paradox.”

Her title swore she was a woman not to be trusted, her trades that of easy debauchery, of fascination into a whirl of blades. She was a danger to any whom dared to involve themselves with her, a tricky wraith in the making. But she strangely she wanted him to know of her blessings, of her sins. Oh, lhow the mighty have fallen.

But every sky will build my throne.