speak with a smirk, your smile can be a magnet. speak with a scowl, your eyes could cut like daggers.
walk with your head high, let your wings stretch as wide as possible. never look down on mortals, you’re meant for the skies.
dress to the nines no matter the occasion. ballgowns from any time period, victorian suits, knights armor. blood stains are simply proof of your power.
stain your lips with cherries or pomegranates, or even blood. slip daggers into your hair and tie your hair back with gold chains. never forget to adorn your head with a crown.
always touch, never be touched. let your hands roam their body freely, and take your time sizing up your pray. when you kiss them, don’t forget to bite.
carry around books from the crusades, from witches, from the romans. read to remember the battles you were apart of, the stories written after you.
speak in latin, in ancient greek, in ancient tamil. let the mortals know your words have power. scrawl ominous sayings across the wall, whether it be in blood or wine
every day feast as if there’s no tomorrow. accept only ambrosia and wine. sit at the head of your table and unfurl your wings, the world is at your fingertips.
let the women circle around you, shouting your name in a crazed way. let them dedicate their lives to your glory, let them kill to be near you. you are above all.
take your time. time runs by you, drink your wine slowly, scrawl threats on paper without rush, slide your sword into the mere mortal tenderly. you own the world.
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