#divinechoke

[deauvergne]

      "By day I sleep in the sand. By night I am on the wing as if I could truly fly. I need no name. I leave no footprints... I will be a goddess to those I slay."

[winterkiing]

                   It’s a cloudless night above as Morozko picks his way through the fresh snow on the dirt road he’s following. His destination isn’t anywhere specific, & he does enjoy these nights of aimless wandering: he never knew what he would find. Proof positive that the world, while seemingly growing smaller by the day, was still full of surprises. 

                   Surprises like the lone woman he sees when he turns a corner on the road. He’s sure to make a fair amount of noise as he approaches from behind so as not to startle her ––– though there’s a good chance that a mysterious man in the middle of nowhere is startling enough on its own.

                   ❝ There are only two kinds of people who I tend to meet in this neck of the woods at this time of night: the lost or the desperate, running away from something horrible ––– or towards something much better. Which are you? ❞

@divinechoke | ♡’d

[vamparmand]

“ what is it? are you crying? ”

TRUE ROMANCE. | ACCEPTING !

      ‘ You’re an awful type of woman . ’ He says, and the bloody film of tears budding around his eyes cannot mask the anger that carries into them, a glare shot towards Gabrielle though the rest of his countenance was given to naturally looking melancholic these days. His hands are two fists at his side, glass-like nails making indentations in the skin of his palm where they clenched, though not nearly enough to draw blood. He loathes her. He believes everyone does. She, the ice queen of their ragtag little coven of literate misfits . 

‘ I don’t understand how you came to be this, and why I should suffer it. Was that not the reason you left Lestat ? So he might not suffer your cold, unfeeling presence any longer ! ’ 

[herroyaldarkness]

       ❛ He’s completely insufferable. ❜ Contempt weaves its way through every sneered syllable. Anger, rejection -- jealousy. Hardly a singular emotion gives life to her spite, and yet where her maker to walk through the door this very moment she knows that she would crave little more than his complete and undivided attention. Oh how she hates him.