03-10-2008, 02:58 AM
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indent Her steps were fluid, solid, quiet. This was her place and always would be. God’s light, Azathoth’s light, it shown through those broken windows and ancient stained glass. He whispered in her ear, as he always did. His voice would never leave her, even though she had lost so much. That devil had taken her son and nearly taken her life, but she knew that Ahren was her boy. Even after so long, he wore her sign. She had watched him with the quiet perseverance of a great cat. There was one terrible flaw in what she had seen though—a scarred, ragged man who was a constant.
indent The city was safety though, and here, she was queen. Like a pale ghost the white-coated woman moved, unafraid of the ruins around her. Not one strand of her hair was anything less then pure white, as it had turned after that faceless man had taken her. How cold and unforgiving he had been, under the full moon, a moon as yellow as her eyes. They burned in the half-light of dusk, the eyes of a jack o’ lantern, the eyes of a hawk, the eyes of all terrible things that walked in the devil’s hour. Thavardo was none of these; truly, she was far worse.
indent Her steps were fluid, solid, quiet. This was her place and always would be. God’s light, Azathoth’s light, it shown through those broken windows and ancient stained glass. He whispered in her ear, as he always did. His voice would never leave her, even though she had lost so much. That devil had taken her son and nearly taken her life, but she knew that Ahren was her boy. Even after so long, he wore her sign. She had watched him with the quiet perseverance of a great cat. There was one terrible flaw in what she had seen though—a scarred, ragged man who was a constant.
indent The city was safety though, and here, she was queen. Like a pale ghost the white-coated woman moved, unafraid of the ruins around her. Not one strand of her hair was anything less then pure white, as it had turned after that faceless man had taken her. How cold and unforgiving he had been, under the full moon, a moon as yellow as her eyes. They burned in the half-light of dusk, the eyes of a jack o’ lantern, the eyes of a hawk, the eyes of all terrible things that walked in the devil’s hour. Thavardo was none of these; truly, she was far worse.