Death Becomes Her

[Lost]

It felt as though Crystal watched from afar as some proud and noble femme paraded through the land, tossing her crown with such arrogance that it could not be her own bodice moving in such a way. Her pallid hide was stark in the dank landscape, like the sun sucumbing to the inevitable night, in that brief moment of hope before the darkness comsumed all. A harsh cry escaped from her larynx as she sought her lord - already she had come to think of the masc as her master, not her captor. The winter had fallen, and the time of breeding had befallen them. Once she had evaded the brute, but this time it was not to be. She knew how he lusted for her, knew that this would be her only chance to sway his actions to her will. For once he had tasted her, the allure would shatter, the spell broken and cast aside, and she would have nothing with which to enchant him. She could not allow that to happen.

Impatiently she pawed at the tortured earth, the elegant action concealing the fear that beat deep within her being, eating away at her, eating at her bones like the winter ice eating at her flesh, a constant discomfort that she had learned to endure without comment. For to show her fear, her weakness, would be fatal. Her master must believe her to be without flaw, or he would cast her aside without hesitation, or worse, strip her soul from her corpus and cast her into hell - for where else could this deception lead?

The biting zephyr lifted her satin threads from darkened nape, and she wheeled in a tight circle, and then all four of her most enticing features stretched to their limits as her circle widened, only to come to an abrupt halt. Blood rushed through her veins, filling her with the vital life force that would sustain her through these coming hours, should her lord permit it. Could his will be twisted to match her own? Only time would tell.

[FalconX]

The ghostly moon was taking over the night sky and the shining sun was finally lowering its blistering rays. The brute cast and irritable glance at the sun but then switched the gaze at the round moon. A full moon. Picture perfect, one could say. Because the sun was now vanishing from the vast expanse, the stars were now speckling the dark blue yonder. Ebon velveteens drew back to expose ivory fangs, lining both the top and bottom of his jowl's. His mahogany eyes flashed from underneath his pitched black forelock. The scent of death laced his nares and drew him farther into his lands. The valley in which he walked was a perfect dark land. Indeed, spectacular for the dark royals. His own Queen he had not seen in days. The massive ink black and moon-washed white brute was growing irritated. True, he had, had foals. However it was unpleasing that none of them were his heirs. Only the King and Queen's foals would be heirs. Yet, the stallion thought with disgust, he had yet to have a foal out of his Queen.

Two toned threads clung to his muscular boa. His canvas was stiff from the sweat that had dried from his earlier run. Of course it wasn't a run for fun, he was trying to catch some blasted rabbit. What for you ask? Well, simply because he wanted to kill something. A scowl lay deeply imbedded on his maw and he surveyed the landscape with a harsh critiquing eye. Dark brown twin pools stared almost lifelessly at the land that was under his rule. It was all his. Though even that thought did not bring the stallion's mood up.

Nares dilated and he greedily took in the scent of his Queen. Yes! It was breeding season and here she was. Unlike the last time she had come in season he had been able to find her now. The scowl was lessening and a smirk was replacing it easily. Acoustics tilted forward and he let his pillars sweep his bi colored frame into a lope. Following the aroma of the femme as easily as if she were leading him there herself. Finally his visionaries took in what he had been waiting for. Resting upon the golden femme fatale. Parting his velvet kissers he uttered lyrics in a serpent like voice "Crystal, it has been awhile, hasn't it?" The brute was not here for pleasantries however. He was also very sure that the sun-kissed maiden knew it.

[Lost]

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


As the sun fell to its rival, the feared one breached the horizon, his aura preceding him - an evil presence among the tainted night. Fear welled up within her like the rising tide, threatening to drown her and wipe all else from her existence. But she would not sink. Slowly she pushed it deep down within her, so that by the time her master was before her, no trace of it remained. By her mother's memory, she would not go gentle into this dark night; she would lead the way.


Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.


And so the rutting stag saw fit to utter his sweet nothings, the femme of light mused silently, seething inwardly but daring not show one ounce, one heartbeat, of her true self to this creature that would tame the wild. Off fore twitched once in anticipation of that which was soon to come - she feared to bring a child into this land, feared that in doing so she would become weak, and her master would have a tool with which to break her to his will at last. Not an act, not a dance nor performance, but truly broken, to the point that she had no will of her own, and no desire to possess one. Such was the fate that would befall her if she made one wrong move. And so, the stakes were high.


Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


Silken threads were tossed high over a golden hide, and all too elegant limbs broke into a high stepping trot, carrying her over the few short feet that separated her from her fate, and beyond, so that she paraded a circle about him, and came to rest with her rump alongside his, but tantalisingly out of reach.

"Too long indeed, my lord," she responded huskily, "but I am sure that is not what draws you to me this hour."

Through lowered lids she gazed deep into the butcher's occuli, and it was as though she gazed into those of her own sire - so clearly she recalled the incestuous lust, the desire to cause pain and suffering; the very essence of darkness. But which master was stronger, upon whose side would lucifer fight? She prayed she would soon find out.


Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.


"You seek an heir, do you not?" she demanded of him. "Something none but I could grant you? Then you shall have one."

But not yet, she amended inwardly, dancing one step further from his side, a wraith, always just out of reach, elusive as the wind itself.

"But I will not give of my body to just any beast, fit for naught more than slavery to the four leggeds. Only the strongest may partake of me, and I have my doubts of your worth."

A pause descended, and even as the femme plastered a haughty look upon her facade she feared she may have over played her role, and that Dazeedo must surely strike her down for her blasphemy. But she must not cower now, or all would be lost. She had not choice but to thrown down the gauntlet.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


"You claim to be a most fearsome creature, that daemons cower and mortals shake in your presence, and yet not one stag have you slain, nor even engaged in battle. If you would take my body, you must first prove your worth."

Could it be done, even if her captor believed her speech, would he travel to distant lands to seek out her sire, would he battle? Could he win, and claim her dam? Would the battle weaken the prince enough so that in the end, both her and Daydream could escape? So much hung in the balance, and more than one fate would be decided before the sun rose on a new day.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"Find my sire, Complications, and slay him."

Note: Poem is "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas.

[FalconX]

The brute moved forward, the moon shining on his ink black and moon-washed canvas. Long ebony whipcord flashing back and forth behind him. Winter had just recently started to ebb away and give up to spring time. The flies were also gaining their courage once more, already plotting to come and suck the liquid that kept the equines alive, blood. His irritated gaze went to his back, where several black pests flew off and then landed once again. His mahogany gaze stayed upon the sun-kissed femme. His Queen, his ever elusive Queen. So long ago he had claimed her from the meadows. She was a light, and he was not put off by that. She would produce and healthy and beautiful or handsome foal. Or perhaps foals, in the plural sense. A smirk stayed on his ebon mug and he watched her. The moon making her glow like an angel in the night. Her one condition to come with him was that she would not be a low rank, that she would be his lead mare. For some reason he had accepted that instead of making her do as he wished, using his force. The femme before him seemed to feel an emotion he had never had, though it was unfamiliar to him and he could not place what it truly was. Perhaps, this golden toned beauty was afraid of him? The thought entered his wicked and twisted mind, and immensely pleased the monstrous brute. Long banner again smacked his flank but he paid no mind to it. Flies were just flies. He couldn't rid himself of them, so he merely did not think of them.

Visionaries watched as she broke into a graceful and alluring trot, her elegant motions seemed to reel him in, yet he made no move to go toward her. Her lovely golden frame was now far closer to him that before, the heat radiating from her bodice was driving him mad, once again breeding season had passed. That fact taunted him, making him angry, driving him insane. The one femme that could produce his heir, had yet to do any such thing. Orbs narrowed and he continued to study the femme fatale, the touch of her rump alongside his brought a shiver down his spine. Though he suppressed his urge to do anything. Her husky vocals that reached his ears seemed to say that she had not spoken for awhile. He had remembered her sweet and melodious voice before, his enchantment with the femme before him was thinning. He was growing bored of this golden beaut. She had given him nothing, except something to admire, from a distance. He did not like the rule, look yet do not touch. If he saw something and liked it, heck yeah he touched it. Again lyrics came from her silky maw and he dipped his two toned crown in a silent agreement to her words. She was clever, he would give her that.

The bi colored monster rolled his eyes in his skull at her demanding lyrics. Of course, he words were accurate. Audits flicked back and forth as if he was almost unwilling to stand here and listen to her words. "Yes I do. Were you expecting fancier words?" A sigh came form his parted lips and his narrowed visionaries continued to study the femme. She seemed to think she was higher in authority, above him in every way. If she pushed him, he would show her how wrong she was. This game of hers was irritating him, making him incredibly mad. "I expected nothing less, for you are my Queen, and my heirs shall come from you" He hissed the words though she had already consented to give him an heir. Next breeding season, so soon he would have a foal that could take his place, should he die. His gaze moved back to the flicka's veneer. Again, just as she said yes, she stepped out of reach. It seemed that she was unattainable. Never to be grasped by him. Again orbs narrowed and a scowl showed on his mug, parting his lips he uttered venomous vocals. "No, my worth is proven. It is yours that is not."

"You want me to kill your father?" His question held a ridiculing tone. Scoffing at her desires. To kill a stallion far older than he, it wouldn't be fair. His youth at times, was against him, making him seem foolish at best. However if this brute was to old, he would be far older than it was possible to fight a brute of such power. His boa arched and he stared intently at the mare that wished for him to kill. "Not so light it seems?" He smirked at her request, how ridiculous it truly was. He did not have to prove that he was worthy of a foal from him. Surely this request, was one to be able for her to flee from him. He would never allow that, yet why would she want her sire to be killed? This brute had not even heard of a brute called, Complications.

[Lost]

She dipped her crown to her captor, concealing the emotions that flashed briefly over her mask.

"I am what I am, m'lord," she replied in the tone of innocence, the voice that had been hers before she came to this place. Shame tinted her vocals even as she realised the truth of her words. This place had changed her, the games she had been forced to play had taken their toll on her. So intent had she been on obtaining her goal that she no longer even knew if she still desired it. To be free - free to do what? To roam and frolick like a filla? To what end? Or to free her dam, who's life had most likely already been stolen by her sire, and if not, then surely she was insane beyond saving. The light flickered and faded from her eyes; what was there in this world worth having, what difference would it make? She would always be a slave, a trophy to be owned by one beast or another, a toy with which to be played until it was broken and cast aside.

Then let him break her. Let him steal the life that Nacht tried to take all those moons ago. The mere presence of her master seemed to suck the soul from her weary corpse, and she suddenly wished nothing more than for it all to be over. And there was one sure way to ensure this arrogant creature visited death upon her. In defeated tones, she utter:

"Forgive me, I would ne'er demand you fight if you would rather walk the path pf peace."

Turning from him, she listened for the sounds of fury, and awaited the inevitable murderous rage that her unspoken insult must provoke.

[FalconX]

The beast rolled his eyes within his skull. One ebonite piston stamped upon the ground in his annoyance. "Do not act innocent femme. For I know that you are not." A scowl was deeply embedded upon his mug and he watched her with slight distaste. Perhaps he should just remove her as Queen. What right had she to stay in such high a position, when there were others more willing to produce him heirs and heiress's and, dark. Long banner flashed upward and dashed against his flank, mahogany lanterns studied her, waiting for her next comment. This mare was unpredictable, though she was indeed a light. Yet her new life was twisting her, changing her, living in such a land would surely do that to all who entered. An almost satisfied smirk came to his kissers and stayed there, firmly set in place. The beast tossed his skull to the side and in effect, caused torrents of his two toned mane to be in disarray, before settling once again on his muscular boa.

Acoustics slanted forward and caught the whispering tones of the mare as she spoke to him. The path of peace? What authority had she to tell him that if he would rather walk the path of peace? Did the dumb femme not know that he was the king of the darks? He wreaked havoc and uttered the battle cry that would destroy others. Crushing those weaklings beneath his coal black pistons. Fury seemed to blind him and the hot anger rushed through his veins. Brown eyes flashed and his banner moved back and forth quickly in show of his irritation, no, his anger. "What right have you to say such things?" He bellowed in rage at her. Then he realized, she wanted to die. He would be giving her what she wanted. Though some may think of him as dumb, he was quite intelligent. A hiss of anger came from his parted velvet kissers. "Femme, you are a smart one, eh?" A low cackle came form his mouth. "But you're not getting out of it that easily."

[Lost]

The sun kissed femme twisted easily on her elegant limbs to face her master, facade a show of mockery, though not all of it was faked.

"It seems I am not the one who seeks to take the easy way route, my lord"

Quick retort came all too readily to her kissers - could it be that the shadow of this land would claim her soul with so little battle? She sensed that everything she had dared hope for was but a moment from being snatched from her - and her only ally in the place was Dazeedo's arrogance. Though she had evaded him thus far, she knew much of his kind; knew the daemon that lived within him, craving power and respect. Her very existance would chance this eve - the brute would concede to her wishes, and his arrogance, or he would slay her. There could be no going back.

Honey'd occuli blazed with her sire's fury, a trace perhaps of the deamon that dwelt within her most hidden depths, her petite face contorted with rage - yet perhaps more alluring for it. With the tongue of the serpent, she demanded:

"Dare you call yourself a king when one stronger, more cursed than you, lives beyond the wilderness, mocking your kingdom? What 'king' would be satisfied with this meagre collection of curs when he could have the pick of the finest femmes to curse this mortal plane? King? Nay, you are but a peasant."