nachtmahr
female | three | loner | no love | no bind
There is a fury in her heart. Some female from Iromar had snuck in while Nachtmahr was out doing her will and stolen away her sister to the marsh lands. Yet she did not immediately rush after Eisheth. Her sister was not weak. After all she had been trained to be a future Queen and as such she knew how to protect herself with both words and physical action. Still, when Mahr decided to finally find her sister they had better not have harmed her for Mahr would go on a rampage. She was not quite sane in the head. Nachtmahr was very intelligent but she possessed a spirit that was flighty and not easily sated. Mischief was easy to make, trouble fun to cause, and often she erred on the side of violence. The way blood could stain a pretty coat intrigued her, just as the way her footprints in clay could be seen for a long time to come. Mahr was an artist and today she was looking to create a masterpiece.
So it is now that she stands at the edge of the grotto with a badger pinned against the stone walls trying to fight her. It is amusing that the vicious thing assumes she will turn tail and run from it. It's teeth are as sharp as knives and this would be a fun canvas to paint. The white down it's snout would look so pretty painted in red, she thinks, and she stares at it with her feet braced apart as it spits and snarls at her.
Nachtmahr is patient, her mismatched eyes staring it down. She is beautiful in a slender, gaunt sort of way, with her right dark blue eye and left silver one. Her fur is a matte black and long all the way down her body. Beneath her chin is red fur that comes up behind her jaws to for a moment. It matches the red underbelly and the red marks that start on either side of her eyes, tapering out in a triangle into her black fur.
When the badger pauses to catch it's breath she snakes in like a viper, one paw reaching out with sharp claws dragging across it's snout to leave behind a trail of open flesh. Blood begins to immediately pour down it's face as it screeches and darts at her before cowering back against the wall shaking. Mahr has a brilliant grin on her maw now, a wicked gleam in her eyes, and a flash of black catches her attention. A male, large, appears nearby. His face is the color of aged bone and black trails down his eyes, almost like the red of Eisheth's, and she bares her fangs at him.
"Don't be getting any ideas. He is mine." Her voice can be silky smooth but at the moment it is rasping and threatening, her tail lifting above her body and hackles rising.
REFERENCE IMAGE
no masters or kings when the ritual begins
there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sins
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