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★ ☆ ✰ (vespertine) wrote in bellumlogs,

Re: Outside the Palace
An insurmountable horror rose up into her throat. Her screams were deadened as suddenly as a candles flame between two wetted fingers; a whimper tapering off the finish of it like a tiny blue banner. The strident aroma of freshly spilled blood, of the sticky feel of cooling blood upon her, the sting of wretched little cuts that bit her hands, arms legs, inspired her heart to continue galloping hastily toward an indistinct escape--even if she was stuck. It was the moist and terrible, ripping sound of skin being separated from skin, of ventricles being torn, that kneaded her clambering anxiety into a lazier, more idle procession with the absence of sound. While still roped within the subjugation of the vines, she had looked down toward her hands, at least... what she could see of them.

It was not her blood alone that shamelessly stained her pale, trembling fingers. She could discern this by the smell. This blood, mingled with snow, gingerly piggy-backed the enchanting scent of vodka, hate, and honey. It made her mouth water at once so much so, that she had to swallow. She was ready to wake up now. She was ready to forget; she shut her eyes tightly. Everything stung or tingled. The villagers had resumed being wrathful--or at least, what was left of the villagers--and she was beginning to feel as if she might faint, when:

Taste it, it whispered sweetly and warm to her, lilting, like a lullaby on a swing anchored to the moon. It appeases. Mmmm, I promise. Lily, with quivering wrist, impressionable as she could become having faced this situation, yielded.

Her tongue slid from the base of her opened palm, to tip of her finger.

A villager, having heretofore escaped the wrath of tiger and vampire, saw her do this, sharply gasped, and hurriedly swung at her hand with a branch he'd picked up as if being witness to an event so seemingly obscene damned him already. It hit her wrist, ricocheted from her jaw, with a force that knocked the rest of her free from the vines. It also got her hand away from her mouth as intended and back into the snow and blood. That presence, that voice wasn't too happy. The stroke had hurt badly, until it hummed.

Much like anyone hiding a beast in them that they did not know how to access, she merely growled as a warning for them to keep away from her.

Wasn't working. They still persued.