Many wolves looking for relaxation come to Blossom Field. A gentle breeze vibrating the blossoming flowers is quite a sight to see and it is quite a favourite for wolves to come with their mates.
A recent fire has ruined the scenery, half the field covered with soot and marked with scars of the flames. The other half is untouched, however.
IP: 24.96.175.152
Posted on March 17, 2016 at 03:39:34 AM by H A R L E Q U I N
 | |
Shock. Fear. Excitement. Thirst. These were qualities the seductress had known she had conceived within herself, but never had another brought forth these desires. It was wonderfully painful, excitingly unfamiliar. This midnight cloaked woman had bewitched her. She had destroyed all that which held this little porcelain doll together. Hell was more than within the doll’s grasp and Harlequin had more than a mind to drag this eboness down with her. Whatever control there had been was whisked away into the shadows of the night, the glitter of a million stars dulled in comparison to this lustrously delicacy before her. And Harlequin was more than ready to indulge. Her company’s succulent, delectable scent had her teetering on the edge of an abyss. With her perfume being so exquisite what would a singular drop of her life be equated to? Was she teetering on the righteous side of hell or the wrong side of heaven? And in a single fail swoop the woman lent the porcelain dame a taste of what it was that composed the raveness. Carmilla. Waves of honeysuckle breath broke across ivory cheeks and pillars constructed of the same ivory suddenly weakened. Stone threatened to crack and crumbled beneath her and throw the porcelain doll at the paws of her captor. Vermillion beads shone bright with a glint of moonlight. Their gaze cast upon the seamstress of words, her lyrical ability barely keeping her afloat in the ocean of words that threatened to drown her. No syllable could be placed, worded, or sung to her desired effect but she tried nonetheless. I don’t ever wanna wake up, But I can't even tell if this is a dream. It is upside down with a perfect view? And it was the truth. Had the world twisted against her will? Had time spun them into a singular second where only they existed in their own capacity – together? It was an impossible task to think otherwise. The soft sweep of wetted nares in contrast with searing, candied breath sent the porcelain marionette spinning. Her senses so overwhelmed and yet she could have begged for more! How dearly she wanted to rush against the sable figurine to feel the clash of heaven and hell and see the discord of black and white, and yet she would experience the peace of yin and yang. Her life would be complete in the brief second of unity with this Carmilla. Sweet, golden Carmilla. And Harlequin, well one would never truly know what it was that made this seamstress tick. But that didn’t seem to stop her daemon sable from trying, And what do they call you, love? If I may be so bold, you are quite beautiful. Harlee centered her vermillion storm gaze upon her soft spoken companion. Her tongue slipped out over pearly daggers and rose lips. So tempting. So close, but not close enough. Harlequin took advantage of her position, her time to speak, her time to make a move. She moved ever closer. The tips of her sallow coat blending, swirling, weaving into onyx fields. Her maw tilted to the base of Carmilla’s auditory, Harlequin. She whispered gently, and in a passing motion she grasped at the base of her ear playfully. Her knives just barely grazed the skin, drawing no blood. Nothing precious, yet. You've got 'em wrapped around your finger, watch 'em fall down. There's something beautiful and tragic in the fall out. But don't threaten me with a good time. Harlee wove her way ‘round the spell bound woman, though she was beginning to feel at a loss for her own control. She had wagered her heart against Carmilla’s touch and she was about to lose it all. The harlequin queen was about to lose it all, though she would not give away these last few precious seconds of control. Her voluptuous, pallid plume swept up under Carmilla’s chin before twirling ‘round the base of her neck into the crevasses of her breast. All the while, a simple yet alluring tune drifted from rose lips. The entirety of her being pressed against the onyx statue in a singular motion, her crown sneaking under the bridge of her tail and rising back to continue her trail around the daemon. Her tail intertwined into that of her new found interest. And to complete her sweep her lips reached to the base of her opposing auditory. Lilting, mesmerizing lyrics falling into the air, None could be so enchanting as yourself, Carmilla. | |
Replies:
There have been no replies.
Post a reply:
<--
-->