(log) Crawling all over, behind ears and behind words (Active/Closed?)
Name(s): Ghost Widow, Akabane (closed at least for the early parts, but poke me or Ryan if you would like in and we will see what we can do :D)
Location: Outskirts of the Forbidden Forest
Week: 32
Time: Friday, Early evening
Rating: Hah. Creepy. That is the rating.
It was well enough that she was able to wander the grounds from time to time, the liberty all the more appreciated after her recent confrontations with the slut Dalmasca and that Tilman bloodrot. That they could harm, and would even think to was utterly confounding. Did they not know who she was? Did they not know what she was capable of?
Apparently not. Ah, well. It would be all the more tragic for them in the long run. Mia Fey had already felt her bite and so would they. Her fingers twitched a little, venomous spiders with a life of their own. Magic was the craft of the worthy, to be sure, but what could be sweeter than inflicting mudblood pain upon those who apparently held the tainted flesh of whores and brigands so dearly in their hearts?
They think to rise above their station and those traitors would allow it - encourage it. Such a thing is not to be borne.
A smile spread over her lips and she absently wondered just what colours the whore would turn if her fingers could close around her throat - blue to match her eyes, perhaps? And if Shalice Tilman lay in a pool of her own blood, would that eye-catching hair of hers (typical of the tramps that belong on street corners to catch the wanton affection of desperate men) change colour? Or perhaps if Dalmasca or Kuchiki or the wealth of wretched barrels of fine bloodlines tainted with the rotting, maggot ridden love of the foul flesh and blood that clung to bones of stolen magic, what if they where hung and drawn and quartered?
But she was getting ahead of herself. Such eye catching muggle deaths would be fine, to be sure, but they lacked the more delicate touches of a mind and soul slowly twisted. With this in mind, she waited for Akabane.
With this in mind, she planned their ruin.
Location: Outskirts of the Forbidden Forest
Week: 32
Time: Friday, Early evening
Rating: Hah. Creepy. That is the rating.
It was well enough that she was able to wander the grounds from time to time, the liberty all the more appreciated after her recent confrontations with the slut Dalmasca and that Tilman bloodrot. That they could harm, and would even think to was utterly confounding. Did they not know who she was? Did they not know what she was capable of?
Apparently not. Ah, well. It would be all the more tragic for them in the long run. Mia Fey had already felt her bite and so would they. Her fingers twitched a little, venomous spiders with a life of their own. Magic was the craft of the worthy, to be sure, but what could be sweeter than inflicting mudblood pain upon those who apparently held the tainted flesh of whores and brigands so dearly in their hearts?
They think to rise above their station and those traitors would allow it - encourage it. Such a thing is not to be borne.
A smile spread over her lips and she absently wondered just what colours the whore would turn if her fingers could close around her throat - blue to match her eyes, perhaps? And if Shalice Tilman lay in a pool of her own blood, would that eye-catching hair of hers (typical of the tramps that belong on street corners to catch the wanton affection of desperate men) change colour? Or perhaps if Dalmasca or Kuchiki or the wealth of wretched barrels of fine bloodlines tainted with the rotting, maggot ridden love of the foul flesh and blood that clung to bones of stolen magic, what if they where hung and drawn and quartered?
But she was getting ahead of herself. Such eye catching muggle deaths would be fine, to be sure, but they lacked the more delicate touches of a mind and soul slowly twisted. With this in mind, she waited for Akabane.
With this in mind, she planned their ruin.