#fractured-portrait

[badmoonlightwriting]

Zero is the creeper watching with the excited face in the shadows. 

[silverandmarigolds]

fractured-portrait has found the grace

"Uh...Hi, anything I can help you with?"

[snakemean]

fractured-portrait replied to your post:no i am not going to join an rp group. it never...

*whispers*if you are talking about dt its super awesome…..like super awesome……

i was.  i was.  but you don't understand groups have been a real problem for me.  i can't commit to one.  i start them and abandon them  i go missing for weeks.  i play eight different characters. i join way too many.

ask anyone that knows me it's a real problem.

[badmoonlightwriting]

Did Val pull the cockblock version of the dead? LMAO. "NO COFFEE FOR YOU, BITCH." 

[badmoonlightwriting]

The night she died | Closed

Don't! She hadn't gone down easy. Every night she put up the same fight. There was that same flash of bright light. That brilliant light that hit the olive hues of the female wolf, making her stare back like a startled deer caught in high beams. Then came the fire. Eating her from the inside out. Like Lucifer himself had plunged his hand into her chest and raked his hands down her insides. No. A soft whisper inside of her own head as it hit the pavement with a resounding thud. I didn't fight this long, I didn't fight all these years,  I didn't fight so hard to go out like this. There was no stopping it. It had entered through her chest, just mere inches from her heart. The silver had quickly began devouring everything in its past. Hungrily burning everything that would lead it to the heart. Then when the prize was finally in sight, it greedily sunk its silver fangs into it and didn't let go until it was done.

The beat of her heart was strong in her ears. Growing slower. Every second was agonizing. Leaving her withering in pain as she lay there dying at the feet of the person who had just sealed her fate. A stream of red liquid rained down against the pavement, bubbling between her lips as she choked on it. Two minutes felt like ten years. A gurgle flew from her lips. If she hadn't died from the silver burning the muscular organ in her chest, then she would have certainly have choked on her blood. A death that still wasn't even cruel enough considering some of the things that she had done when she had walked among the living. It all started with that flash of light. The flash that ended her life every night in her nightmares. The one that sent her rocketing up in the bed with her sweat coated hands desperately grasping at her chest to ensure that her heart was still intact.

There she was once again with her hands shaking and her lips quivering as she stared through the darkness at the wall ahead. Wondering if it had all just been a dream or if it had been real. Even after she woke up, she could still feel the heat of the silver coursing through her body. She could remember the bitter taste of her own blood filling her mouth until it cut off her oxygen. It was almost like she had lived it. Almost as if she had actually been there when it had happened. That was impossible though. She was alive. As she zoned in on her heart, she could hear the rapid pulse of it in her eardrums. It was beating at the cage of her chest like a wild animal. If that wasn't a sign of being alive, she didn't know what was. So why did she keep having this same dream every night? Why did she keep dreaming about the night she died?

[badmoonlightwriting]

+fractured-portrait

When the letter had arrived on her porch, Natashia had been resting in front of the fireplace with Bram Stoker's Dracula. So deeply into it that she had not initially heard the approach of the person until the porch gave a loud creak. Within seconds, her book was on the floor, and she was at her door. However, as quick as she had been, upon opening the door, there was nothing but the sleek red envelope that rested on the broken wood. Upon initially inspection, she hadn't intended to open it, but something drew her to do so. 

To her surprise, it wasn't a letter, but a small square of black paper with an address sharply written in blood red ink and only one word. "Power". Her dainty fingers clasped it tightly as she gazed around, but was unable to see anyone in the distance. There was a distinct scent in the air, but the person who had left it was now long gone. She could have easily chosen to tear it up, but the fact that someone had braved the chance of coming face to face with her had perked her curiosity.

So instead, the alpha headed into the back room. Slipping out of her tank top and sliding into her cashmere sweater dress that hung loosely below her bare shoulders. Then into her expensive heels that were a deep, rich, purple. If she was going to have to shove a foot down someone's throat, she would rather do it in style. Tossing her red locks back in place, she grabbed her clutch purse and left to seek out her destination. 

Her destination led her deep into the broken darkness of the city. The shifty neighborhood didn't matter to her. Had she the need to defend herself, she could certainty do so. The question on her mind was why someone in this area would have any use for her? Did someone know her secret? Did they intend to blackmail her? Perhaps it was a trap? The thought had occurred to her, but given she had little to none contact with people here yet, that was highly unlikely. As she approached area with the address upon it, she noticed it was a small staircase with broken stone steps that led to a door. 

She wandered down the steps, ears perking at the thump of music nearby. As she headed through the first door and down a small tunnel that reeked of something most foul, she could feel the beat of it pulsing in the air practically. It grew louder and louder until she rounded the corner and saw a large man standing in front of the door. His face was partially shrouded by the shadows. He didn't speak, instead only holding his hand out to her. A hand that she supposed if he wished, could take hold of her slim waist and crush it.

She didn't speak, instead extending out the black card. For a moment, neither of them uttered a word until her lips parted and in a hushed voice came the word. "Power." The word felt like liquid sugar on her tongue, which slightly surprised her. The man pushed the door open. The music waved over her. With that, she stepped in, not even able to hear the door slam behind her loudly.

The sight was stunning to her. All through the floor, they danced. Forms twisting and moving, seducing those that watched. On the couches they embraced. Bodies entwined as they explored one another. Light flashed, illuminating the dance floor. Excitement danced in her eyes to the pulse of the music as she stumbled backwards. So deep hypnotized by the heaven of this place that she was unaware of the people behind her...