07-30-2009, 07:29 PM
[html]
http://i233.photobucket.com/albums/ee19 ... _table.png); background-position: top center; background-repeat: no-repeat;">
Her chin touched his muzzle, shifting slightly with each word as she continued speaking. Samael listened, not only to the words emitting from her lips, but the simple sound of her voice that was so familiar, and yet so strange to his ears. It had been so long, he’d dreamed every inch and every aspect of her had been branded into his memory eternally unchanged, unable to be extracted even through sickness, and yet even now as he looked on, there were things he was surprised to see, yet knew they’d always been. Shapes and colors he hadn’t been aware were there, his original memory altered and blurred over the course of time and age. Yet he studied her as much as he could, determined to never again forget anything about her, taking in her voice and committing it to memory as he face and scars. Her hand moved his, tracing his fingers across a near-deadly scar carved into her belly. The touch angered him, the source sparking hellfire within his pale chest. Crimson eyes burned, fangs involuntarily baring beneath blackened lips. Astaroth had nearly killed her, and Eris had abandoned her. The little brat she’d traveled half way across the world to rescue had left her own mother to die, uncaring of her fate as she bled to death in some remote, far-away land.
Samael’s mane and hackles bristled violently, seeming to spark with static energy toward this sickening turn of events. “Fuck the little bitch,” he snarled, uncaring if even now, Kaena still held some affection toward the being and defended her even after such a betrayal. “And fuck that useless bastard,” the coyote growled, apathy distinctly turned toward aggression for his supposedly satanic sire. He’d dare to lay his fingers on his mother, and attempted to end her life. Samael would not stand for that. If she hadn’t sent him to hell already herself, the Prince of Fear would track him down himself, tearing out his throat for harming his Kaena. “Let someone touch you while I’m around,” he hissed through his fangs, claws biting into the palm of his own hand as though he desired to lay them into some poor soul’s still beating heart, releasing some of his pent up frustration.
Her chin touched his muzzle, shifting slightly with each word as she continued speaking. Samael listened, not only to the words emitting from her lips, but the simple sound of her voice that was so familiar, and yet so strange to his ears. It had been so long, he’d dreamed every inch and every aspect of her had been branded into his memory eternally unchanged, unable to be extracted even through sickness, and yet even now as he looked on, there were things he was surprised to see, yet knew they’d always been. Shapes and colors he hadn’t been aware were there, his original memory altered and blurred over the course of time and age. Yet he studied her as much as he could, determined to never again forget anything about her, taking in her voice and committing it to memory as he face and scars. Her hand moved his, tracing his fingers across a near-deadly scar carved into her belly. The touch angered him, the source sparking hellfire within his pale chest. Crimson eyes burned, fangs involuntarily baring beneath blackened lips. Astaroth had nearly killed her, and Eris had abandoned her. The little brat she’d traveled half way across the world to rescue had left her own mother to die, uncaring of her fate as she bled to death in some remote, far-away land.
Samael’s mane and hackles bristled violently, seeming to spark with static energy toward this sickening turn of events. “Fuck the little bitch,” he snarled, uncaring if even now, Kaena still held some affection toward the being and defended her even after such a betrayal. “And fuck that useless bastard,” the coyote growled, apathy distinctly turned toward aggression for his supposedly satanic sire. He’d dare to lay his fingers on his mother, and attempted to end her life. Samael would not stand for that. If she hadn’t sent him to hell already herself, the Prince of Fear would track him down himself, tearing out his throat for harming his Kaena. “Let someone touch you while I’m around,” he hissed through his fangs, claws biting into the palm of his own hand as though he desired to lay them into some poor soul’s still beating heart, releasing some of his pent up frustration.