Post by Nakodai on Oct 3, 2007 18:41:08 GMT -5
(Okay, so this is basically my way of bridging the gap between my leaving and coming back. Nothing big, but humor me? Timeline-wise, it takes place the morning of the attack on the Dancing Devil, which is to say, the morning after the events of Unholy Preparations...? I figure everyone needs a little shut-eye before they jump into an epic war, right? =P p.s. I hate the name, but I couldn't think of anything better. It sounds so Depeche Mode-y. o.O;
Nakodai stood before the towering door, gazing over its form as the last haze of sleep receded from her eyes. It was beautifully crafted, intricately carved and inlaid with jagged obsidian and what looked to be a rare iridescent quartz. In one of the larger pieces she caught sight of her reflection and frowned. She had declined a room the previous evening, preferring open air to a dimly lit stone box; but the barren earth and lifeless trees outside had done her little good. Her hair was tousled, bits of ashen twig tangled in its ebony tresses. Her tunic was rumpled and sliding dangerously off one shoulder, revealing the honey-colored markings of a female lynx.
After several unsuccessful attempts to right the stubborn fabric, she resigned with a sigh. He would see her as she was, if he would see her at all.
Placing a slender hand against the cold stone she knocked, surprised at the hollow sound it made. Her ears flattened instinctively, and she glanced over her shoulder at the hob that had led her here, but he was gone. He had sensed what she was here to do.
She bit her lip, and waited.
Nakodai stood before the towering door, gazing over its form as the last haze of sleep receded from her eyes. It was beautifully crafted, intricately carved and inlaid with jagged obsidian and what looked to be a rare iridescent quartz. In one of the larger pieces she caught sight of her reflection and frowned. She had declined a room the previous evening, preferring open air to a dimly lit stone box; but the barren earth and lifeless trees outside had done her little good. Her hair was tousled, bits of ashen twig tangled in its ebony tresses. Her tunic was rumpled and sliding dangerously off one shoulder, revealing the honey-colored markings of a female lynx.
After several unsuccessful attempts to right the stubborn fabric, she resigned with a sigh. He would see her as she was, if he would see her at all.
Placing a slender hand against the cold stone she knocked, surprised at the hollow sound it made. Her ears flattened instinctively, and she glanced over her shoulder at the hob that had led her here, but he was gone. He had sensed what she was here to do.
She bit her lip, and waited.