FOLKLORE


[ M ] Ambient Guilt
#1


Painted In Petals



"The bitch is back," Sinead drawled, slipping beneath a dew-laden bush. Blueberries brushed her brow and rested against her cheek. Draped within the foliage, she looked similar to the whore that she had been two seasons before. Chocolate eyes were half-lidded and a sly smile played upon her lips. Save for the ice within her gaze or the stiffness in her limbs, the young woman might have looked alluring. All false seduction aside, however, the child had grown. She had been a yearling when Arwen had first bought her from the slaver and cupped her pale cheek within his hand. A collar of bruises had laced her throat before she'd been pushed into a satin prison. The brothel had been her school and she had been a devoted scholar—until, of course, a man became too "insistent". Fear and insecurity had been a fine motivator for months but pain and brutality had quickly soured her taste for the caves.

Likewise, she had always carried a healthy hatred for all who worked alongside the blue bitch.

Having grown more ballsy since Lachlan had nearly taken her again, Sinead had returned to the Pine Forest. Whilst it had been her childhood home, the forest's proximity to the brothel had left her scared and shaking. It had been some time since last she'd visited and—needless to say—adrenaline was coursing through her veins.

She had only intended to run a few old trails to blow off steam but Alecto's scent had been too delicious to ignore.

Now, she gazed upon the ebon' creature with the ravaged face. The "bitch" she referred to easily could have been herself or Alecto—and Sinead did not bother to elaborate.

"We are all young and naive still."

code by claerie , image by Dan Cook
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#2
Alecto KalonThe Widow

It seemed she was still dreaming, for the bushes began to speak. The bitch is back. Four words sparked all kinds of emotions within the midnight wolf. She didn’t dare turn to face where the voice came from. She could scent the seductress, there was no mystery between the two of them. Anger, betrayal, and a million deviations of these emotions coursed through her blood stream. Heat flushed across her face and the hairs on the nape of her neck threatened to rise. However, she pushed it all to the side.

Their last conversation all those months ago remained fresh in her mind. The widow had extended her hand for the last time in the cramped cave. She hadn’t forgotten how the tear laden maiden had torn it to shreds. Lowering her nose to the earth, she continued scenting for the fawn she had been tracking. Ignoring the fact that each time she blinked, memories of chocolate eyes haunted her.

The bitch was back indeed, but this time the widow would no longer be in her corner. The chains that had bound them both to a common origin were broken and no longer rattled around their necks. There was no longer anything between then, the earthen wolf had seen to that. Perhaps she was acting like a child, but she didn’t care. In her vulnerability the other had shattered her, the mercenary was not prone to forgiveness.

“The black widow spins her web of animosity, and slowly smothers herself within it.”

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#3


Painted In Petals



Hmmmmmm? A new light sharpened in Sinead's gaze as the widow ignored her. Beyond a ruffling of fur along the nape, Alecto maintained the illusion of solitude. Honeyed eyes did not fall upon the whore—but why would they? It was not as though Sinead was one to capture attention. Her fur was a plain brown, one pulled from the soil and forced upon her as a cloak. Hints of cream belied porcelain skin, but she possessed little else beyond demure purity. It was this very lack of opulence that left her attitude so loud.

Delicate paws carried her forward, gaze half-lidded.

"You seem busy," the she-wolf murmured. Chocolate ears folded against her skull in a guise of sadness. A forlorn expression softened her features as she neared the spider's spine. "Am I too old for you now?" She whispered idly, syllables dripping with a sadness she did not feel.

Like a girl strumming the strings of a guitar, Sinead plucked the chords of a somber song. She lingered upon the final notes, sensual in every touch.

"And here I thought you'd never steal another whore for yourself, but here you are," Her lips parted and—assuming that Alecto had not danced away by now—she nibbled the base of the hermaphrodite's tail.

"We are all young and naive still."

code by claerie , image by Dan Cook
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