Fairspell Meadow lucifer bleeds ichor

kitsune, though a creature who is intimately familiar with the shadows of nightfall is unwelcomed by the writhing shadows that skitter and dance across the landscape. he is borne of pearls and pink siphoned from the most delicate of roses and thus is a beast of the moon-mother, refusing to be camouflaged by even the dark whispers of the tall grasses. spurned and chased to the embrace of night only to be rejected by her shadows; a tragedy perhaps, in and of itself.

a deep breath is taken, leathery rosé pink nostrils flaring as kitsune draws in the unfamiliar scent of another. his attention snaps earthbound, elegant shoulders tensing as he glimpses around him though the tall grasses do not betray the other by uncloaking him. though it is much easier for kitsune to see in the dark he suffers the same issue as any other does: the shadows are secretive and rarely so willing to give them up. something swells within his breast — envy, maybe? — but he tucks it away to call out, hello? hoping that he would receive an answer.