And it burns like a gin and I like it,
Having spent plenty of time fitting back into the confidence and autonomy she'd been missing for so long, the rise of the blood moon is Thal's equivalent to the breaking of dawn. Shadows fall away to make room for the brightness of blood and fire, reflected in the blue mischief of her eyes, the glint of her fangs, the tilt of her horns. She doesn't blind or crash through the party, doesn't yell or shove her presence on anyone, but she demands attention.
Brushing against the blood red leather of her jacket, dark hair falls in wet ripples down her back. Droplets fall like diamonds from their strand tips, casting a sheen across the black leather of her boots, up to the pale fingers that dance with fire, the movement hinting at how her body might move when she finally gives in to the revelry.
Her tail waves behind her, invitation in the sway of her hips and the hug of fabric against her body. It's not the provocation of flesh or scandalous clothes, but the enticement of chase that so many Ancients relish, including the sharp tang of blood and danger that come with the metal daggers strapped across her body.
In her procession through the party, Thal catches sight of Dantalion and Astaroth, shooting them a wink and moving on her way. She'll leave them up to their own chaos, content to find her own tonight as she strikes out confidently for the alcohol, like a wild animal to the watering hole, lying in wait for her meal to arrive.
Brushing against the blood red leather of her jacket, dark hair falls in wet ripples down her back. Droplets fall like diamonds from their strand tips, casting a sheen across the black leather of her boots, up to the pale fingers that dance with fire, the movement hinting at how her body might move when she finally gives in to the revelry.
Her tail waves behind her, invitation in the sway of her hips and the hug of fabric against her body. It's not the provocation of flesh or scandalous clothes, but the enticement of chase that so many Ancients relish, including the sharp tang of blood and danger that come with the metal daggers strapped across her body.
In her procession through the party, Thal catches sight of Dantalion and Astaroth, shooting them a wink and moving on her way. She'll leave them up to their own chaos, content to find her own tonight as she strikes out confidently for the alcohol, like a wild animal to the watering hole, lying in wait for her meal to arrive.
Thalassa
put your lips on my skin and you might ignite it
