Xasta

demoness .x. of age .x. controlled by peaches

my blade's a little sharper
my roots run deep into the hollow

It is something in the air that is . . . off-setting. A change – as subtle as it may come. This sensation, as it begins to settle into the framing of her skeleton, it what initially stirs the demoness from a deep slumber. What arouses her and brings her curvaceous silhouette upright and standing attentive on long, willing pillars is the stench. His stench.

A demon – in her marsh. It was a rare occasion that any unfortunate soul wandered so far into the land. A majority of the time, Xasta would hardly have to twitch a singular muscle, for either the water or the low-lying creatures of the terrain eagerly snatched up anything in their wake. But this one . . . he has made it further. He is nearing her chambers – and instead of a thirst for blood, or even for battle, it is a delighted thrill that chills her spine in it's place.

Each step is careful and calculated as she maneuvers from her makeshift home and towards the heart of the morass, but even so, she is swift and graceful on her feet, her steps quieted, her breathing slowed and hushed so that her slim chest rises and falls at an even and steady pace. She has journeyed this path many a time – gliding over broken and decaying logs, shifting to avoid the path of roots that creep up from below the earth floor. In her cranium, the land was hers. And what better welcome community than Xasta, herself, in the flesh?

As she wraps around a fallen oak, her coral hues slice through the darkness to catch sight of him. This monster of the night blends in well, perhaps more efficiently than the charcoal and obsidian splattered assassin – but the soft flickering of fireflies as they swarm through the stale air is enough to cast a stunning sheen against his nightly robes.

The demoness’ silhouette comes to an immediate halt at the image of him, though her muscles remain unclenched and her crown held high. “Lost, are we?” The phrase spills from her darkened maw, her lyrics venomous and honeyed as they seep through the forestry. “Or are you, perhaps, searching for something?” Her kissers curve into a bold smirk, her banner flicking eagerly behind her as she aims to peer directly into the amethyst eyes of the beast.

"Maybe I could assist you."

strike back a little harder,
i hit back a little louder