i am not alone
#1
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DAMPWOODS - EARLY EVENING
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The thick forest seems to be set on stopping her progress. Tenacity is a defining trait of the D'Angelo female though, and through sheer stubbornness does she make her way. Each step is careful and measured - her form is fuller and better fed than it has been in years, but old bones ache - she doesn't want to risk a fall. Bright gold-green eyes peer out from her downy white face and she snarls briefly at a gnarled tree root that seems set on catching her and bringing her to the earth. Misery jabs at it with the carved stave she uses as a walking stick, laughing in a wicked, quiet little way. Tiny bits of vengeance always warm the hardest of hearts.

There is purpose to her venture. This is something that has been lacking for the mad woman in these years - oh yes, she has led the Khalif, yes, she is divine now - but this is family. You abandoned him. The whispered voice of Damian, beloved Damian always in her ear. "He will understand." The words are low and measured in her sweet voice, spoken to a ghost. His scent has been trailed and followed - her sight is failing and her muscles have grown weak but she can still find a trail - and soon her pretty little Lark will be before her again.

Fire burns in her soul. It has been years, ages since she has truly communed with Tak. Born in darkness, fur as black as the deepest of sins - age has turned her to downy whiteness. One ear is marred by charcoal, other patches stain her, but she is more white than black these days. Salvation. Damian whispers the word like a joke - she can hear that teasing, sweet laughter in his voice and it makes her shiver-shudder. They think she has been saved, her brother-cousins, her sister-aunts, they all think she has found her way to Ankh. But a soul born to the night never really learns to love the sun, her heart is his. The red-eyed god, the devil in the moon. Tak, Damian, they all run the same these wicked days. Thoughts of god slide away though as she approaches the cabin - Larkspur lives there, Larkspur yet another in a long line of pseudo-sons who hold her lonely heart.




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