05-01-2012, 07:40 PM
Oh, she had been beautiful once.
Years and years ago, Linquilea Yae was a sight to behold. She was lovely in mind and body, her spirit untainted by the madness that so darkly curled around it now. She'd learned to harness it, use it to her advantage when she could no longer let the hatred fuel her every motion, but it had tainted her a bit. Her face had always been masculine in nature, slightly less angular than the typical female and heavier, but now it reflected her brutality and madness. The dark Queen hated it, hated that she could so easily be ruined by something she could not control. But that was the story of everything, wasn't it? Life, it seemed, always spun a way from her in ways she did not care to recall. The physical alterations she'd undergone since losing them were the least of her problems.
The dark woman stood on the cusp of a meadow, her dark golden eyes narrowed on the form that was not too far away from her. Her own dark hair whipped around her face as she stood in her bipedal form, but she made no motion to tame the angry locks. She knew how she looked - an ethereal demon, wrought from hell itself, standing like a statue before she made her deadly move. Linquilea reeked of danger, of venom and hatred and spite, and those who came around her knew whether or not they would live or die. She was not careful that way. But in the glory of the storm she heard the call of the stranger and tilted her massive head back as well, releasing her own cry that sounded perhaps a little sadder than one would have imagined.
Years and years ago, Linquilea Yae was a sight to behold. She was lovely in mind and body, her spirit untainted by the madness that so darkly curled around it now. She'd learned to harness it, use it to her advantage when she could no longer let the hatred fuel her every motion, but it had tainted her a bit. Her face had always been masculine in nature, slightly less angular than the typical female and heavier, but now it reflected her brutality and madness. The dark Queen hated it, hated that she could so easily be ruined by something she could not control. But that was the story of everything, wasn't it? Life, it seemed, always spun a way from her in ways she did not care to recall. The physical alterations she'd undergone since losing them were the least of her problems.
The dark woman stood on the cusp of a meadow, her dark golden eyes narrowed on the form that was not too far away from her. Her own dark hair whipped around her face as she stood in her bipedal form, but she made no motion to tame the angry locks. She knew how she looked - an ethereal demon, wrought from hell itself, standing like a statue before she made her deadly move. Linquilea reeked of danger, of venom and hatred and spite, and those who came around her knew whether or not they would live or die. She was not careful that way. But in the glory of the storm she heard the call of the stranger and tilted her massive head back as well, releasing her own cry that sounded perhaps a little sadder than one would have imagined.