She painted like one possessed by their emotions. The desire and hope, the possibility of a change to her future and the opportunity to perhaps heal left the paintbrush flying against the canvas. It would paint such bold, brilliant hues radiant as a blood moon against a night sky as the little Slav painted her emotions out on canvas.
He had seemed with his power, his nature, and his ways to be a king, deserving of the title of Ulfric even though he claimed himself as nothing more then a soldier. He would know of the scars, would find them on her flesh within their walk within the forest as they spoke in hushed tones about their pasts. Such quiet tones to make certain that such confessions of their lives would not disturb or disrupt the night.
The night would always have ears, hungry predators to wait for the weak. His touch had soothed her as it traced patterns at the raw marks at her throat. His blue eyes something so fierce with hunger for the same wish of release of pain and sorrow. His eyes seemed like the doorways of a escape from all the pain and torment her life had known.
She painted every emotion out on that canvas even as exhaustion and tears blinded the alchemy of her silver-gold eyes and the vision of the image before her began to blur.
So many times Merahsha had wondered about the workings and wills of fate, the cruel device and decisions the hands of destiny would make. Were they all nothing more then pawns in this great game of life" She wondered so her place upon that board if she was nothing more then a game piece.
After all she had been a pawn and token between the vampires and the Neverwhere pack in London as a territory promise of alliance that there would be no blood shed between the two races for she would be their Blood Doll.
To a moment of a scarred tree that bore the initials of those budding into a wild romance only to watch the great tree left as nothing more then a stump when rage and insanity won out over love.
To the time where she could find herself lost in the night where one believed as beloved and one never to harm would leave scars and bruises upon her flesh as his own rage took him from her.
Her beloved mates, ever lost to the Wild Dark of their own minds. Would he end the same"
The little Slav had to wonder if perhaps she was their curse, the reason for their madness as the final brush of paint completed that masterpiece.
She would sink down to her knees as the exhaustion overcame her and she found herself staring up into the still wet depths of painted blue. Like glaciers and frost that could become so warm, his eyes would blur as the tears blinded her again and she turned away from the vision of all that was quickly becoming her heart's desire. Alastor.
He had seemed with his power, his nature, and his ways to be a king, deserving of the title of Ulfric even though he claimed himself as nothing more then a soldier. He would know of the scars, would find them on her flesh within their walk within the forest as they spoke in hushed tones about their pasts. Such quiet tones to make certain that such confessions of their lives would not disturb or disrupt the night.
The night would always have ears, hungry predators to wait for the weak. His touch had soothed her as it traced patterns at the raw marks at her throat. His blue eyes something so fierce with hunger for the same wish of release of pain and sorrow. His eyes seemed like the doorways of a escape from all the pain and torment her life had known.
She painted every emotion out on that canvas even as exhaustion and tears blinded the alchemy of her silver-gold eyes and the vision of the image before her began to blur.
So many times Merahsha had wondered about the workings and wills of fate, the cruel device and decisions the hands of destiny would make. Were they all nothing more then pawns in this great game of life" She wondered so her place upon that board if she was nothing more then a game piece.
After all she had been a pawn and token between the vampires and the Neverwhere pack in London as a territory promise of alliance that there would be no blood shed between the two races for she would be their Blood Doll.
To a moment of a scarred tree that bore the initials of those budding into a wild romance only to watch the great tree left as nothing more then a stump when rage and insanity won out over love.
To the time where she could find herself lost in the night where one believed as beloved and one never to harm would leave scars and bruises upon her flesh as his own rage took him from her.
Her beloved mates, ever lost to the Wild Dark of their own minds. Would he end the same"
The little Slav had to wonder if perhaps she was their curse, the reason for their madness as the final brush of paint completed that masterpiece.
She would sink down to her knees as the exhaustion overcame her and she found herself staring up into the still wet depths of painted blue. Like glaciers and frost that could become so warm, his eyes would blur as the tears blinded her again and she turned away from the vision of all that was quickly becoming her heart's desire. Alastor.