[AW]  The Early Morn'

Thread Closed 

Dahlia

of

6 y/o large Female
©
Black Dahlia


A creaking shadow, omnipotent and dark her subtle encroach was bellied only by the sunlight that streaked through the sagging branches and illuminated the inky blackness of her frame. In a rare display of use, her four limbs (the actual pawed extremities) pulled her lithe frame through the dense foliage while her wings, massive and stretched like a quad of endless plumage were folded against her spine and draped over her rump to drag behind her like a stunning gown with a whimsical train. The only reason she walked at all was because the low branches made it impossible for her wings to carry her... so this would have to suffice. Never-the-less, her eyes, twin pools of molten gold bore unto the world around her, watching and absorbing the foreign land with something akin to childish curiosity. This land was so different, so foreign from the one she'd been born unto that she doubted she'd ever explore all of it's nooks and treasures.

Ears swung back to pin against her crown as a sorrowful willow with branches that pooled against the ground not unlike her wings, marred her path . Dahlia sighed. The poor things. She closed her eyes, sealing off the only pool of color that marred her lithe frame as she passed through the boughs. When she opened those twin oculars once more, she gasped as two wolves stood seemingly unaware of one another or at least... she hadn't heard them exchange words. Dahlia's eyes flickered between them and her wings rippled, lifting and branching out instinctively to curl around her. They shifted independently, graceful and eerily dexterous. It looked as though they acted without her conscious control and to some degree that was true. Oblivious to the split in her psyche, Dahlia was unaware of The Heretic, malicious and violent, that twisted portion of her psyche was everything the beautiful girl was not.

“My apologies, am I interrupting? I haven't meant to intrude if such is the case.” Soft and gentle, her words bled pure empathy. She was emotion given physical form. There wasn't a vile bone in this side of her consciousness and if they asked her to leave she would. Her wings fluttered, rising and falling like gentle barricades in time with her breath. They were ready to move, ready to defend at a moments notice.


“The Devout Speaks” | "The Heretic Speaks"







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