Thalassa
Feeling much better about life and everything in general, Thal is actually looking forward to the Festival. She doesn't have any lovers or lanterns in tow, but neither does she have a gaping hole in her chest or the associated guilt. Her body feels light as a shadow, untethered from its anchor and given reign to slip through the field. The only sign of her physical form is the cold that catches her skin, encouraging her to pull down the silken sleeves of her ashen gown. It's a brighter color than she's used to wearing, a muted gray that hugs her form like the reflection of smoke on the ocean, but she wears it well, her dark hair and blue eyes standing in contrast as she surveys the crowd.
Her head dips in friendly greeting to Astaroth and Dantalion, making sure to shoot him a sharp grin that says she hasn't forgotten to include him this time; however, she chooses not to approach, giving the couple some space as she drifts closer to the dance floor. Deft fingers snag a flute of cider, the drink going down easy enough as she lingers just close enough to the dancers to show interest, an invitation sealed with the elegant flick of her tail and the gentle sway of her hips, a siren song for any who cared to listen, beckoning them to lose themselves with her. The enticing image doesn't hint at the sharpness of her fangs or the daggers hidden behind the slit of her dress, security measures for those who might take more than what she's offered.
Her head dips in friendly greeting to Astaroth and Dantalion, making sure to shoot him a sharp grin that says she hasn't forgotten to include him this time; however, she chooses not to approach, giving the couple some space as she drifts closer to the dance floor. Deft fingers snag a flute of cider, the drink going down easy enough as she lingers just close enough to the dancers to show interest, an invitation sealed with the elegant flick of her tail and the gentle sway of her hips, a siren song for any who cared to listen, beckoning them to lose themselves with her. The enticing image doesn't hint at the sharpness of her fangs or the daggers hidden behind the slit of her dress, security measures for those who might take more than what she's offered.
Would you like me to be smaller, weaker, softer, taller?
Would you like me to be quiet?
Would you like me to be quiet?
