And Smitten the Nightingale had Become.

Zafina · May 03, 2019, 06:54 PM

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

The sway of her body, fresh from childbirth and only a day healed, wove a song of it’s own within the nighttime of the Moonspearian lands. There was no motive other than for her to return the favor @Amekaze had graciously given her.
A curse, for a curse.

The Witch was covered well in perfumes. These were of freshly bloomed flowers, grasses that had been healthily sprung, and broken remains of eggshells left behind by triumphant hatchlings lay scattered over her spine, her shoulders, caught in the wisps of ebony and auburn fur. she walked with her returning grace, beauty all about the image she painted, an image she quite literally painted-
as from knee, downwards, her legs were draped in sticky muck, a horde of little smashed up mess and darkening the timber colors of her legs decorated hide, basking it instead as though she had walked through a river of decayed bodies, a sea of corpses and blood. It was the blood and body mass of her stillborn which covered her limbs.

In her maws, three little bodies, cold and stiff, cleaned and seemingly sleeping as she had freshened them too up to appear napping. And they were...they would slumber forever.
They had been robbed of their wakening. A thief, the thief who claimed these lands with her untrusted mate.

The begotten mother laid them upon the thickly scented borders of Moonspear, pissing just beside each of them, tucking them together as though they cuddled for warmth. All three, pups of ebony and timber, all with a telltale sheen of nocturnal blue skimming in the shimmer of light from the moon’s embrace.
Of Sahira and Melonii blood.

A whisper of words, all illegible by any who did not hail from either Nightmare pack, or spoke Tsis, period, would not know the words that seared the bodies and land beneath them so heatedly. And then she allowed rest of exactly three seconds, before she blazed the land again in poisoning words, this time spoken in Japanese. Another breath of seconds before she used the Language of Ice and Seas, and brining the flatland in a bind so sick she grinned just from the perishing end of it.

And afterwards, a tilted crown up as she inhaled her work, exhaled her passion, and left.

Soon, Moonspear would know anguish, too.

But every sky will build my throne.