Esmerée Calantha
you should see me in a crown
some say the moon is indifferent to your suffering.  some say, the moon is too reclusive, too cold, to find comfort in.  perhaps, it's only between those secret hours between deep sleep and not-waking. when streets are empty. when hearts are broken. when the oceans purr a steady hum of recognition, yet still, it's the loneliness that is promised back to you with every darkly, ushering wave.  with every retreating dream, that leaves you by daybreak, wondering, who are you.  the moon knows you in ways like this.  touching, but not touching. feeling, but not feeling.  loving, but not loving.  how can you kiss the moon, when she is so buried in darkness and in stars?  she comforts you with her silence.  in the deep of night, her white burn, is far hotter than any sun. yet still, she lets you gaze.  still, she lets your eyes wander over her with intimacy, with hunger. so that you may find peace within her cold embrace.  she gives you light, where god has abandoned you. she tells you that you are made of darkness, and the stars and the oceans and the mountains and forests, too; they all whisper in helpless affirmation, she does love me - the moon.

esmerée is wildfire in a tempest sea of blue. the darkness holds her close, as the night draws its arms around her like a lover. when she descends into the mouth of the cavern, she burns hot, cruel. and like a wicked hurricane, so gracefully does she take the whole night with her in a storm of irresistible violence. her fur flutters in the wind.  her curves shimmer with heat. the stars stir with passion for the way silver comets dust her blood-red bodice and dips it in celestial ink.  tonight, her blood-skin looks almost silver. tonight, she is not flesh and bone, nor sin and hunger and blood-stained sheets; but smooth porcelain, iron. arrow.  sword.  and when she feels this way, when she feels like winter.  she does not sleep.  she does not care to be with them, who linger behind warm dens and hold their families, close.  she does not want walls, nor mortals and kings and gods to offer her false revelations. somethings are too wild to love.  some lovers, too beautiful to be kept in a cage.  esmerée is not made for love.  

and sometimes, i dream of kingdoms.  but instead of earth, i would have bones. instead of walls, i would have forests. instead of school and church, i would have fur and blood and sacrifice keep me warm. i would sleep beneath the stars and become their religion.

and when she looks into the reflection of the water, she can see all that darkness rising within her.

art by euryalee

he was a creature of the night. in the shadows he shone bright; but not in the way that she burned. softer, more subtle, but all consuming at the same time. moonlight on a dark night, drawing the eyes; he welcomed them and did not shy away. let them stare, his admirers — as they should. this land was new and unfamiliar and he yearned to unlock its secrets. there was much to discover and many places to explore and though the desert was his home he was not satisfied to know only it’s curves. there were forests and swamps and oceans to learn; how was he to conquer if he did not possess the knowledge first? the deep black of the tunnels drew him, tonight, and he wandered haphazardly without much thought to being lost. he had time and a full belly and thus nothing to fear. when he came upon her — a statuesque vision set before a water mirror — he grins. the night had gone from vaguely interesting to much more so, and he is drawn to her like the proverbial moth. behind the grin a monster lurks, but years of practice keep it muzzled and masked. by all appearances he is the perfect gentleman, his voice spilling in to the air with an echo - “see anything interesting?”

image by moogle, code by koi

Esmerée Calantha
you should see me in a crown
Evening shadows, swarthy and creeping, curl hungrily against her svelte form.  Darkness, like an embrace, is a comforting feeling for Esmerée.  It settles like a veil across her shoulderblades, her slender hips; descending the edges of her spine with a caress almost wanton.  Her elegantly-carved skull tilts curiously, ebony lashes rippling in jet-black crescents, as they cup divine her wide, violet eyes.  Her eyes peer from beneath the rim of their heavy lashed-gaze, all sultry obsidian and delicate lilac shining in the blackness of night.  She leans closer to the edge of the water, her reflection glimmering eerily before her (subtle, elegant, mysterious), but the maiden does not smile at the image she sees.  There is little moonlight here, beneath the watery abyss of the tunnels, and what little light passses through is filtered only by the twisted rock formations hanging from the ceiling.  And the darkness in her heart is there too, when she hears the voice of another. If it surprises Esmerée, her surprise does not show. The voice reaches her in smooth, masculine tones, and when she turns toward the source, her tongue slips around her fangs, now bright and smiling against her inky lips. The voice matches the face, she thinks with a dark purr.  "Only what I see everyday, "  Esmerée lifts her head away from the water's edge, turning towards him fully, her talons flexing above the damp earth.  "What do you see?"

@Alaric


art by euryalee

The answer was not what he had hoped for and he snorted, disappointed. Give him something more, dig deeper little flame. "And what do you see everyday?" He questioned, without immediately answering the question she had asked in return. He moved closer, assuming she did not oppose to his company, drawn in by her smile. There is something... dangerous... about her, and it intrigued him more than anything else. Pretty to look at but packing a punch? That would be his kind of lady. The water was still and reflective and he turned his gaze to its surface, studying his reflection intently enough that it was clear he gave some weight to the topic. What did he see? It was a harder question than he anticipated, and a few things skirted through his mind before he finally settled on - "possibility." Forest eyes shifted back to her face with an arched brow that seemed to ask, "satisfied?"

image by moogle, code by koi

Esmerée Calantha
you should see me in a crown
She feels his gaze resting upon her; those viridian eyes mirroring her duskier, lilac pupils.  There is something sharp about them (his eyes), it almost makes her feel uncomfortable for the way they shine in the darkness, like the scales of a snake - glinting and venomous.  Is he like a serpent? Esmerée wonders, having tasted a sliver of his cunning, his charm.  Her own gaze moves over him, as if to slowly tear into him.  As a rogue lioness, she is not used to the company, but even this doesn't show upon her face.  Her face is icy, devoid of warmth, her smile a ghost-caress against her sable lips. When he draws closer, her tail begins twitching, but she cannot discern whether out of agitation or intrigue. He presses her with another question, and it almost makes her recoil.  Esmerée disliked being asked so many questions, but even this, she keeps to herself. "I see eyes full of secrets - perhaps, even loss," She begins, her voice low, eyelashes fluttering - but it all ends abruptly, intent to shut this man out. And I don't share my secrets, she thinks to herself, blinking, unabashed. Esmerée pulls away from the water's edge, brushing past him.  "I expected more,"  She smiles, but this time the smile is not kind. Her tone of voice is almost taunting, as if to say: not satisfied. Suddenly, the walls feel too narrow, the atmosphere heavy, intense.

"I see a man hungry for power," she pauses, her dark smile turning into a smirk. It is a guess: but wasn't that the world of men? Weren't they all hungry for power?

@Alaric


art by euryalee

secrets? loss? wasn't that everybody's story? he might have scoffed, were he not so practiced in the art of deception. he might have laughed and called her foolish, but instead he regards her with an even gaze lacking of any such mocking. he does not pity, either; it is not his way. "shame," he murmured, "to disappoint you so soon." heck, she didn't even have a name yet. the way things were going he half expected her to deny him one, and to reject his in return. power hungry? at this he scoffed - "you think me so shallow?" oh, but he was, he just did not wish to be so obvious. "power is only one piece of the puzzle, my dear, but it is not what makes my heart beat." a lie, of sorts, for he indeed had thrived as a king. his fall from grace had been hard to stomach, and he loathed the beast that had brought him such loss. "i came here for a new start; power is not the possibility i speak of." he shrugged, as if he was not bothered by her assumption.

image by moogle, code by koi

Tell me, would you kill to save a life?
Tell me, would you kill to prove you're right?
Crash, crash, Burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground
Esmerée blinks, eyelashes fluttering against her shadowed visage.  Aggravating.  It would appear that they'd set off on the wrong foot - it is hardly the type of company she prefers, not with such a brazen, outspoken male where dialect seemed almost predictable.  Had she been younger, she might have rolled her eyes, might of said something spiteful and wicked.  Instead, the smirk remains upon her delicate, inky lips; a brow elegantly raised, silently flippant and questioning.  It would be easy to leave him there in the darkness - let his voice echo against the nothingness of space.  It would be easy to curse his existence, and she is almost tempted to.  Fuck you - The words would have rolled so easily off her tongue. But, she can't bring herself to be that cruel. Not yet.  "Tell me then," Her voice is softer, now, because she is curious - because there is nothing else for her here, and she thinks, he could mean something to her. "What is it that makes your heart beat?"

@Alaric


art by yumpy

He is drawn to her like the proverbial fly to honey, moth to flame; he wonders if she will burn him if he flies too near. There is heat, after all, he can feel it course through his body with each flutter of lash and twitch of delicate lips. you, he wants to say, because in that moment it is all he can think of. In that exact moment with her close enough to touch in a secluded cavern… it is all he wants. he steps her way, unable to smother the sudden desire to be closer. brutish and harsh though he may be (and entirely uncaring of those who thought so) he was not oblivious to desire. one sided, perhaps, but he decides to make his thoughts clear and give the answer he wanted. “right now? You.” and he watched with curiosity, tense and ready for the angry retaliation he expects.

image by moogle, code by koi

Tell me, would you kill to save a life?
Tell me, would you kill to prove you're right?
Crash, crash, Burn, let it all burn
This hurricane's chasing us all underground
Desire.  Hunger.  Violence. Passion.  These were things that set her on fire. Her mind drinks the whiskey of his words, his confession making her blink once again;  although this time, she is still and silent, violet eyes devouring the rugged lines of his profile like an angel of wrath.  The tunnels echo with the lilt of their voices;  the shadows thick, swelling, moving against her curves like obsidian snakes.  Still, it is not the clammy feeling of the subterranean caves that settles like a forbidden prayer along her hips, but rather the way he stares at her with a devouring promise. Heated, lupine, filled with what she can only assume as wild, primal thoughts.

Esmerée is aware of the way he watches her, aware of the nearness of their bodies. Even in the darkness, she can feel the heat of his eyes tracing her physique, and she wonders for a moment, if he had been studying her so closely all along.  For awhile there is only the unnerving silence, the heaves of their breaths, mingling like twin flames in the dark.  Onyx lashes unfurl, tapering against her high cheekbone, fluttering slowly. She meets his stare with a bold hunger of her own, one drapped in the promises of sin and sensuality. "Is that so,"  She drawls softly, voice purring, bodice twisting towards him. "And what would you have me do?" She whispers against his ear, her voice thick with venom and honey.

@Alaric


art by yumpy

There is a yearning sparked to life, a smoldering desire he had not felt in months. She taunts him, teases him, and he growls low in the space between them. It echoes in the cavern, and he takes a step to press his chest against hers. "I would have you in my home," he spoke quietly, a huskiness to his voice that was no there before, "and in my den." He was bold and he did not care - she would either accept it or she would run. Alaric would not chase her (he was not that cruel) but he would be disappointed if this... game... ended so soon. He sought to press in to her, to lower his mouth to the side of her neck, his breath hot against her flesh. "Come home with me." It is not a question but not quite a demand - a statement, a desire brought to life. He could claim her, he supposed, but he would much rather have her come willingly. @Esmerée

image by moogle, code by koi