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| Setting | Location | Form | NPCs |
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Location: Coast, SL Date: 25 Aug* (Backdated) Weather: Cold, overcast Time: Night |
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370
Eris is by Mel!
The dark-hued hybrid swayed, her body moving from one side to the other in a slow, rhythmic manner. The fire burned in front of her, bright and warm against the delicious sharpness of the night. Cool weather had swept in unexpectedly, heralding the winter's steady approach. Her blood sang with the fire and the loveliness of this cold. Her hair was well-kept and her body smelled only of spice and oil and smoke. There was a fastidious cleanliness about her that had not been present since the previous fall at the very least. Perhaps it was altogether new -- the dark-hued woman had never been quite so put together before, practically radiating with her happiness.
Most of this change in her could be attributed to Pandemic. There was more than simple satiation and contentment within her, though. It felt to Eris as though the whole world was slowly turning again, righting itself after having been upside down for so long. Perhaps this was all Pandemic's doing. Her gold-green eyes half-lidded and she smiled to herself, raising her muzzle toward the silver half-disc of the moon as she swayed.
Her hands worked upon the creature she'd killed, slaughtering it and spilling its blood over the place where Shibboleth had burned. Though she readily soaked the ground with blood, she would never set a fire in quite the same place, though the burn scar was still visible there. The grass hadn't grown during the summer -- the bare, bald patch of earth where she'd burnt her baby was eerily appropriate. She caressed the cerise-stained ground, running her fingers over the hard-packed dirt lovingly.
She leaned forward, and a wordless prayer emerged from her throat, half growl and half whine, as she remembered the lovely paleness of Basilaris's coat; the burning orange eyes of her Larkspur; the eyes of Solanaceae, so like her own; and finally, the sickly-sweet scent she so associated with her Shibboleth, never given any chance for life. Though there was sorrow in her, it was eclipsed by her joy -- her dead were dead, but she was full of life. Singing and screaming and ever-lovely life.
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