03-22-2008, 03:17 AM
[html]mall-caps;color:#ffffff;line-height:7px;font-size:10px;">I want to see the look in her eyes,
when her body parts ways with life.
_____Gaze didn't break away from the stone even when he spoke, taking in the marks etched on the surface of the rock. Listening, taking in the words the stranger uttered despite giving no indication she even heard what he said. "Demons?" she repeated, gold eyes finally turning back to the pale-haired man, a cold smile tracing her lips. Her expression was devoid of warmth, yet filled with an evident humor and laughter — mocking herself more than the story this man had told her. Demons were a notion she could understand. An entity she could believe in, though her's were more mortal than anything else, cast in flesh, blood, and bone [at least, at one point], rather than the whimsical shadows that lived in nightmares.
_____"What happened to them?" she asked, questioning about the fallen pack, yet hardly caring about a bunch of wolves long since passed into dust and memory. It was nothing more than a story to tell. A narrative bearing the souls of creatures dead and forgotten, longing to again be heard, if just one last time. Kezia was nothing more than a ghost. Hardly even a memory, leaving behind nothing as she walked the land without a true purpose, like a corpse without a soul, moving and speaking, yet holding nothing behind eyes so blank and hollow. Yet, unlike her sire she longed for something more. She longed for a place in the world, if just for the time that she lived and breathed until death took hold and buried her beneath a blanket of six feet of dirt and time.
_____Her soul may had been stolen, but it's ghost cried for something more, calling out for a creature once called Kezia.
when her body parts ways with life.
_____Gaze didn't break away from the stone even when he spoke, taking in the marks etched on the surface of the rock. Listening, taking in the words the stranger uttered despite giving no indication she even heard what he said. "Demons?" she repeated, gold eyes finally turning back to the pale-haired man, a cold smile tracing her lips. Her expression was devoid of warmth, yet filled with an evident humor and laughter — mocking herself more than the story this man had told her. Demons were a notion she could understand. An entity she could believe in, though her's were more mortal than anything else, cast in flesh, blood, and bone [at least, at one point], rather than the whimsical shadows that lived in nightmares.
_____"What happened to them?" she asked, questioning about the fallen pack, yet hardly caring about a bunch of wolves long since passed into dust and memory. It was nothing more than a story to tell. A narrative bearing the souls of creatures dead and forgotten, longing to again be heard, if just one last time. Kezia was nothing more than a ghost. Hardly even a memory, leaving behind nothing as she walked the land without a true purpose, like a corpse without a soul, moving and speaking, yet holding nothing behind eyes so blank and hollow. Yet, unlike her sire she longed for something more. She longed for a place in the world, if just for the time that she lived and breathed until death took hold and buried her beneath a blanket of six feet of dirt and time.
_____Her soul may had been stolen, but it's ghost cried for something more, calling out for a creature once called Kezia.