TIMESTAMP : early aries , 998 a.l. / past midnight LOCATION : bone fortress / throne room STATUS : closed to @mariusgalle
She wears darkness as if a second skin. Cloaked against fragile frame, she carries herself with such vigor it’s as if she were still the beast, still the combatant who’d once served brazen and boldly within battle. Yet, beneath silken fabrics and cloaked furs, she’d been anything but. A broken woman, a shadow of sorrow that leaked through her skin as if mirroring the pool of moonlight now splashing against throne room floor. How beautiful it had been, crescent in its pedestal among the stars, and yet Nehelenia had only felt a bitterness course through her skin. A quiet rage, the moon is simply another reminder that it is Selene who rules, who’s softened glow invades her hollowed mountains.
Her heart had been marked with death, swathed in a blood stained cloth. War torn, as if maddened blood hounds themselves had taken ravenous teeth to organ, ravaged and ruined before placed back within bone cage in her chest. Hardly a beat, yet she’d still drew a slow breath in its wake. The night was thick, debauchery coming in the form of a lover. Man adorned in silk, smooth skin that, when displayed beneath the star kissed sky, was something in which Nehelenia couldn’t help but find fascinating. How he’d glowed, a marvel beneath moonlight, wrapped in golds and blacks to match that of her own.
Allowing her own sin to seep through skin, it’s with light footfalls that she carries herself towards him, circling nonchalance around her own ornate throne. It smells of blood, crimson and rust in all its glorious ruin. Vision of rotted skulls carved with the utmost display of elegance, as beautiful as she could make them. They told a sordid tale of vengeance, of despair and a cruelty that she’d ingrained so deeply into her nature it was as if she’d freed herself from shackles that compassion had restrained her in, only to forge anew.
Nimble digits scrape against his skin, nail to flesh in a moment of shaken breath. He, a weakness in which she’s willing to allow to poison her if only for moments of brevity. If only for nights biting down, drawing blood, aching for companionship. If only for moments where she allows her foolish desire to be seen, to be felt, overpowers her need to live amongst the shadows. The slight warmth of his skin against that of her own pointed digit is enough to bring shiver to her spine, to course through her veins. Her waltz, a dance with the devil himself, comes to a halt as she grazes his collar bone, a momentary lapse as she presses palm against the nape of his neck. Nails dig into his skin, is it out of adoration or to remind him that she herself is nothing but a wild beast, a howling monster who seeks something likened to love within his gaze.
“ Marius. “ His name comes out like she’s taken to confessional, as if he is her greatest secret, her greatest sin. Perhaps, she wonders, he is. “ My wicked –– “ Words slide from her tongue, serpentine in delivery. She ceases herself. for he is no king, no prince by her side. But, a wickedness, a fallen angel as much as she. Her teeth are carnivorous, as if they seek to bite away at his flesh. Tongue gliding against bottom lip as she leans in closer, words whispered, ghost numbing her skin as hairs raise beneath her cloak, her guarded features. Arching her brow, her question is that of a simple nature, curiosity eating away at her all the same. “ What draws you in so near so late , hm ?”