Post by aziel on Jan 2, 2007 7:47:58 GMT -5
Just as the night was turning over it’s rule to the bright sun, the little angel finally made her entrance. Like the southern bell she moved, clinging to the shadows, her white dress billowing out behind her. Her steps were sure and steady, the sound of twings cracking reverberating across the cold, dawn winds. Yet something about her flawless grace was off, as if it were impossible to be this lovely and completely normal. Perhaps it was the way her bright blue-green eyes were hidden underneath the thickest of lashes as she peered at the world with childish innocence. She was lovely, this little angel, and she was perfect. She moved with practiced ease, this little roach, unfit to walk upon the ground below your hooves.
She fit so well, this little mare, into the colored background of the dawn. It would seem she was but a saintly ghost lost in the realm of the living. Only when she passed under the shadows of trees could she be seen as the snake she was, twisting and turning about other’s legs, purring a sick melody of seduction. The scars on her body were reflected harshly under the early sun, the marks of her corruption. Those ugly marks on the body of perfect, created as daddy had plunged deep, sending rivers of blood down her white hocks. How she had been possessed after than fateful evening, when mother had rested under the willow tree, breathing so calmly in her deep sleep. Oh momma, why did you always have to be such a heavy sleeper? A tear, one single diamond, ran down the sculpted planes of her small face. The little daughter, so twisted by the workings of males, borne from that same cruel mating that had ruined her. Borne to a life of sin and deception, for the child of such working can be destined for none but those same rituals.
Turning with all the whirls of an artists she collapsed, into the soft diamond encrusted grass, feeling how the chills took over her body, and reveling in that pleasurable pain. Her lashes swept down artfully to cover her piercing eyes from view. Her last act, before rest overtook her battered body, was to lift her head and call out. The sound moving so swiftly and so sweet on the dawn air. She is calling to you, stallions, make of her what you will.
She fit so well, this little mare, into the colored background of the dawn. It would seem she was but a saintly ghost lost in the realm of the living. Only when she passed under the shadows of trees could she be seen as the snake she was, twisting and turning about other’s legs, purring a sick melody of seduction. The scars on her body were reflected harshly under the early sun, the marks of her corruption. Those ugly marks on the body of perfect, created as daddy had plunged deep, sending rivers of blood down her white hocks. How she had been possessed after than fateful evening, when mother had rested under the willow tree, breathing so calmly in her deep sleep. Oh momma, why did you always have to be such a heavy sleeper? A tear, one single diamond, ran down the sculpted planes of her small face. The little daughter, so twisted by the workings of males, borne from that same cruel mating that had ruined her. Borne to a life of sin and deception, for the child of such working can be destined for none but those same rituals.
Turning with all the whirls of an artists she collapsed, into the soft diamond encrusted grass, feeling how the chills took over her body, and reveling in that pleasurable pain. Her lashes swept down artfully to cover her piercing eyes from view. Her last act, before rest overtook her battered body, was to lift her head and call out. The sound moving so swiftly and so sweet on the dawn air. She is calling to you, stallions, make of her what you will.