speak the incantations — [the vvitches].
Oct 9, 2019 14:30:50 GMT -5
Post by gunner, d9 ₊⊹ 👹 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Oct 9, 2019 14:30:50 GMT -5
[presto]
[/presto]
Beneath the tragedies, the heroes and the sinners, the massacres—this was a game, a checkered board with the pawns and the knights in place; this was a performance of blood and bones, the stage a graveyard. In order to win it, to appease the ravenous audience, one must be sly enough to collect the wiliest dancers, the prettiest actresses, and the most sullen princes.
The first, the dancer, was Slate Rothul, bird-boned and petite yet burning fiercely with a warrior’s ruthless ambition, the sort that made her unafraid and wild enough to tear down a kingdom even with her bare hands. She had lived and had a mausoleum of scars to prove it. A mere silver blade, when wielded in between her steel grasp, became an army.
The second, the actress, was Penelope Marcet, with a smile that could rework itself from a cherry-sweet and innocent thing to the beak of a loaded pistol at any given moment. She knew the curtain calls, wore the glamour around her form as one would a robe, had learnt the lines. No matter what light was cast upon her, it always became golden and aureate in the end.
The third, was the boy I’d given a smile to: sunken eyes and cheeks, a gleam in his eyes that resembled barbed wires, dead and thorned fields. He was the prince of a kingdom long forsaken, now a carcass of stones and ruins over which ghosts and phantoms danced.
But, I’d be the true haunting.
“As I was saying, it’s a danger to be a lone-wolf in a place where everyone is a predator,” my tone was a spell, eager to coax him onto our palms, “we need you as much as you need us.” I raked a hand through my silver hair to feign nonchalance, keep the tension to a minimum, don’t let the threats show yet. “When the cages are opened, all the wolves want to run: they want to tear everything apart, limb by limb.”
Then, my lips curled into a smile, honed to a polished, dangerous edge. I was the trickster here, the cold hearted villain, Death's warrior. I let all of them see it.
“We don't want you to be the first to get torn apart.”
[/presto]there's blood on your lies
disguise opened wide
there is nowhere for you to hide
the hunter's moon is shining
disguise opened wide
there is nowhere for you to hide
the hunter's moon is shining
Beneath the tragedies, the heroes and the sinners, the massacres—this was a game, a checkered board with the pawns and the knights in place; this was a performance of blood and bones, the stage a graveyard. In order to win it, to appease the ravenous audience, one must be sly enough to collect the wiliest dancers, the prettiest actresses, and the most sullen princes.
The first, the dancer, was Slate Rothul, bird-boned and petite yet burning fiercely with a warrior’s ruthless ambition, the sort that made her unafraid and wild enough to tear down a kingdom even with her bare hands. She had lived and had a mausoleum of scars to prove it. A mere silver blade, when wielded in between her steel grasp, became an army.
The second, the actress, was Penelope Marcet, with a smile that could rework itself from a cherry-sweet and innocent thing to the beak of a loaded pistol at any given moment. She knew the curtain calls, wore the glamour around her form as one would a robe, had learnt the lines. No matter what light was cast upon her, it always became golden and aureate in the end.
The third, was the boy I’d given a smile to: sunken eyes and cheeks, a gleam in his eyes that resembled barbed wires, dead and thorned fields. He was the prince of a kingdom long forsaken, now a carcass of stones and ruins over which ghosts and phantoms danced.
But, I’d be the true haunting.
“As I was saying, it’s a danger to be a lone-wolf in a place where everyone is a predator,” my tone was a spell, eager to coax him onto our palms, “we need you as much as you need us.” I raked a hand through my silver hair to feign nonchalance, keep the tension to a minimum, don’t let the threats show yet. “When the cages are opened, all the wolves want to run: they want to tear everything apart, limb by limb.”
Then, my lips curled into a smile, honed to a polished, dangerous edge. I was the trickster here, the cold hearted villain, Death's warrior. I let all of them see it.
“We don't want you to be the first to get torn apart.”
i'm running with the wolves tonight
i'm running with the wolves
i'm running with the wolves tonight
i'm running with the wolves
lyrics: aurora - running with the wolves
i'm running with the wolves
i'm running with the wolves tonight
i'm running with the wolves
lyrics: aurora - running with the wolves
[/presto]
[/presto]
