Where Have All The Good Nights Gone? Nov 22, 2007 14:06:16 GMT -4
Post by peirene on Nov 22, 2007 14:06:16 GMT -4
The dew in the morning was heavy, frost, mist, whatever type of perspiration that was able to collect on the leaves and earth, was. Morning held silhouettes of light not dark. The sun peeked through the tree's loosely, branches victim to the light and becoming swallowed up in the eventing shine. Peirene faced the sun, challenging it with her tousles of black hair that swelled over her body. Her icy eyes stared at the light on the horizon, her hips the only thing to twist her into a walk, and stroll the forest in a weightless glide. Her feet touched the hearth of the ground, where blood could have soaked into it's soil. This was said to be a battleground. Or at least the open part of the forest she had unconsciously wandered into. Saer-Nin had stationed himself at the Inn. He was taking care of his business for Atticus, and she was given free reign to explore the West lands. She felt somewhat irritated. He had been focusing his attention on The Warlock King, and less on her. Peirene refused to admit she was jealous, But the tense, cold shivers that coursed her body as though she was riddled with fever, begged to differ. Her bed was cold and empty when she woke, and dare she feel forsaken now alone in the forest; just another day.
The security of a nearby tree let her fall against it with will, her eyelids dropping heavily over her eyes. The limp white dress clung to her body. It was soaked, pockets of air bubbled out along the creases of the white dress. Her skin was visible beneath it, though her breasts were covered by the black tangle of hair that clung with the dress to most of her body. It was a defense mechanism. She was a water witch, manipulator, puppeteer. With water she could do almost anything an imagination could think up. So she was constantly drenched so that she may use the moisture as she needed. She pushed forth and kneeled to the ground where the battles and brawls took place. Peirene picked up her head and turned to the sky and held her hands to her face. Her skin was so soft, white like porcelain, odd to touch as her fingers froze numb. Peirene pulling her hands down, and as went with the digits did the liquid of her skin. The shine of her flesh disappeared when the water lefts it's comfortable hold. Her hair became lighter, less matted to her skin, the waves lofting down lazily to flop her back. An orb of water swirled around itself, like a marble, precious to a keen eye. Her hand tensed slightly, and the orb turned solid, the ice freezing from the outside in until the last speck of water flicked in a slight stem of ice, breaking off and falling to her bent legs.
Her head crooned to the side, her neck exposed from the arch and the eventual fall of her hair. She adored the beauty from a different angle. The color of the cold was the same as her gaze, light in color, almost vacant of hue. "I will love you...." A gentle hum in her voices vibration, smooth as silk. Her lace and his leather, Until her dying day.