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Buttercup last won the day on November 22 2010

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  1. Strands of platinum whipped back and forth with tempestuous fury, licking and biting at a youthful visage with naught but cold indifference etching the soft lines of her expression. The crushing weight of his presence took a measure of time to get used to, but the woman's body adjusted, and it no longer felt as though her bones were splintering. However, the closer he became, the greater the discomfort; with a curl of her top lip, that singular expression animated what words failed to convey. witness the fruit of our... It took every fiber of her existence to rein in the gag distorting her mouth; while not even spoken, that word caused a splash of bitterness washing along the surface of her tongue. Such a negative reaction only marred her countenance briefly, then with guided words she resumed her impassiveness. I would have been easily found…daughter…had you the strength to do so. "Had I the desire to do so." She waited patiently until he finished before sharply correcting his assumptions. "You were gone; someone else took your place and taught me all I needed to know to survive and prosper." It was in that moment that she remembered the bloom once cradled in her hand. Pulling her gaze from him, she returned it to the petals and how they'd begun to wilt in the overbearing presence of chaotic power. Taking a step in retreat, Tziporah once again brought her hands to the browning flesh and tenderly caressed them with the tips of her fingers. This glimmer of innocence trickled from her touch, gifting life once again into the pale flower. Her digits started waving around the space surrounding the bloom and it would soon come to light exactly what she was doing: weaving the very threads of chaos to erect a barrier around the delicate plant. "What ever I so wish, be you here or not." Her head inclined so that she may silently regard the plant she labored to save, thoughts dancing on her lips yet her voice denying their birth, save for one. "Bereft not by your choice-- then who or what took that choice from you?"
  2. Long, dark lashes flutter at the first utterance of his voice, though the vitriol was to be expected after the acid she spat. "Is it?" That same glimmer of toxic green lifts to regard his expression as his attention fixed on the canopy above. Her aura, invisible to the naked eye, momentarily shuddered-- as though her heart skipped a beat and caused a brief flutter. Tziporah's expression may have been frigid, but the energy surrounding her flailed wildly. How dare he. "I don't revel in massacre like my mother." Adjusting her stance to fully face him, both hands entwine at the base of her spine. At least I now know that I was not deemed worthy. The hint of possessiveness in his tone drew her attention, causing eyes to pinch in a calculating squint. "What ever I so choose." Spoken like a true queen, she didn't allow his standing over her to sway her response. "...and how did I become worthy enough of your attentions for this encounter, father.?"
  3. hi

    how r u?


    1. Buttercup


      Hi.  Good, you?

  4. A dark and writhing presence was felt long before the sharp edges of his words carved out portions of her heart; it stung, tore, and burned with a familiarity in which she'd never truly known, save for the tumultuous and uncontrollable power coursing through her veins. His sudden manifestation, however, only added to the rancor that festered in the pit of her chest and it was the bloom in which she so lovingly tended that paid the penalty for his arrival. Just by her touch, the edges of the brilliant pink petals started to brown and wilt, though went no further. The brewing storm calmed. "Oh," She breathed and sighed her response, disinterest hanging heavily in her intonation. She seemed almost... bored. "....what a relief." Tziporah's head tilted just enough to catch him skirting her periphery as a blurred silhouette. "...that you were, instead, imprisoned and otherwise indisposed, and not salivating over an open expanse of thigh. How uplifting it is to know that she was lying." Poison dripped from each syllable, heavily laden with sarcasm and bitterness. Taking a single step backward, she twisted herself enough to peer at her father over her right shoulder; there was no denying that she was his spawn for they shared the same toxic green glare beneath a veil of thick lashes...and the same explosive temperament. The moments of silence that existed between their exchanged words allowed for her to carefully observe her surroundings; from his stance, to how he was clothed, and his overall appearance was quietly scrutinized. She, to the disbelief of those that knew of her, dressed similarly to her mother, though the armor had not seen an age of misuse and was meticulously cared for, and had a healthy combination of metal adornments, leather, and wispy cloth. It seemed hers was more for show than form and function.
  5. Decadence in measure cannot oft be maintained; temptation, whilst adamantly resisted, is a cruel and cunning mistress whose lips whisper bittersweet truths. Who are you to deny this birthright? Vacant words tantalize the recesses of her thoughts and weigh the edges of a pale smile. The path she gleaned free of travelers allowed monsters to pervade the sanctity of her solitude. The voice so unceremoniously brash held no gender, though she heard it in both her father's and mother's colorful intonations; he ever the melancholy whisper and she the flicker of black rage. Raw emotion seeded in her heart and bore fruit, and the nectar therein coursed through her veins with each thrum of her pulse: uncontrollable rage tempered by icy calm. Her existence was an enigma-- to be born of both creation and destruction, of order and chaos. With the rustle of nearby foliage, her attention tore from those invasive thoughts and she was bequeathed a momentary reprieve. Who are you to squander this power that we have bestowed? The relief of absence was fleeting, for then returns the whispers carried by the warm breeze. Eyes of toxic green, wreathed in a halo of long, luxurious lashes, redirect their attention to the task at hand: she was looking for them-- both of them. Not long ago she felt a heaviness plague the land that has long since dissipated... but was still sensed. Soft fingertips caress the bulky leaves of a nearby plant, thumb taking care to gently caress the struggling bud shrouded by its fuller brothers and sisters; with an audible sigh, the foliage blossomed at her touch, stretching itself full and surpassing even the hardiest bloom. "So this is where you've escaped to Xintylin, Colvin... a land bereft of me." [Enter: Tziporah Arenios]
  6. ??

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Buttercup


      Fabulous.  Working a lot though but it is starting to slow finally.

    3. Pasion Pasiva

      Pasion Pasiva

      That makes me so happy...I have an idea for a little role play event if you're interested. 

    4. Buttercup


      All you need do is message me on discord lovey.  I am always on there.  ?

  7. Voidal indifference guided Xintylin's gaze across the girl they came upon in the corridor, delicate head craning left and right as she observed in silence. As the little queen and the woman exchanged words, crimson irises focus on the confusion painting such pretty images across the servant's features, like a masterpiece unfinished. The edges of blackened lips flirt with the promise of a smile, of the ghost of emotion, with Raspberry's proclamation that she was her mother. With her words, Xintylin's grip on the child grew a tad tighter. "Dey shouldt be vorried," The predator purrs, fathomless pools drifting up toward the young woman's visage. "My broken preencess ees now whole." Pillowy lips tense and press to the child's brow; to onlookers it would seem an empty action, devoid of true sentiment, though Raspberry would understand differently. "No," She chimed in, lifting her chin in defiance toward the woman's blatant disrespect of the Regent's words. "I hem not a queen..." The tune that slithered from betwixt her lips adopted its more venomous intonation. "I hem a King.. a conqueror...a varlordt.... Queen implies veakness because ov my gendar..." She adjusted Lucia in her arms and dipped her head in silent acknowledgement of -something-. "...and I vill not be definedt by eet." Lowering her head, Xintylin's lips drift along the child's ear, poisonous words whispered in the guise of .... learning. "Shall ve show 'er vhat 'appens t'dose dat.... qvestion yer vill, my sveet?" We can string her up in the gardens and dance in the crimson rain, together.
  8. Soft, fleshy pads of fingertips dare caress the cherub-like features of the small child as she turned her head up to regard the thick, meaty vines and lush, silver petals making their way toward the ceiling. Thumbs roll across the swell of Lucia's cheeks with all the affection one would afford to their own offspring. While Xintylin was unable to peer into the labyrinthine depths of the child's mind and sup on her thoughts, she could—however—read the cold regard the child had given her in lieu where she'd been. Trust was a demon to them both—but Xintylin had only ever spoken truth, even if it wasn't what anyone wanted to bear witness. "…I can show ye' a glimpse ov my prizon, baby…if dat is some'ting dat ye' need." Lucia's soft sobs elicited silence from the eldritch monster, and rather than continue speaking, fingertips gently combed through the child's hair and comforting sounds filtered through her lips. When the weight of her burden became too much, Xintylin plucked Lucia from the ground and held her aloft in her arms, choosing that time to stand fully erect and give her shoulder for her little horror to rest upon. "Ye', my dearest love, are de' reason I am no longar bound in chains." One arm snaked across Lucia's shoulders whilst the other anchored itself beneath her rear, like a mother would hold a fussing babe. The Warlord nuzzled her mouth against the child's head, planting a lingering, singular kiss to her scalp. "Fer ye'….I vill murdar de vorld." While in her grasp, Xintylin meandered through the stalks of flowers and lush grasses—whose blades and petals moved in the direction she walked; even if it took her all evening, she'd navigate the winding corridors of the castle and find the room designated for the child in her arms. "Now… off te' bed ve' go."
  9. Slender, toned limbs wrap around the tiny frame of the child as a serpent would its prey; each inch she further fell into Xintylin's grip, the tighter her hold became, but never was it too overwhelming that Lucia couldn't escape if she so desired. Fingertips comb and tangle themselves in the child's tresses, the edges of nails scraping the scalp with motions of comfort, whilst her lips sung gentle coos to calm Lucia's frazzled nerves. "Where did you go?" The edges of sable lips pull into a deep seeded frown. " 'ell, my love." The lyrical opus continued to filter through her lips despite the ivory countenance giving way to solemnity. Xintylin tucked the child's head beneath her chin and adjusted her head just enough so that her thumb was able to brush away the crystalline rivulets forming on the cheeks of the cherub in her arms. "If you'll never abandon me, why did you leave in the first place?" Tightness gripped her chest with pangs of ache becoming the dominant force driving her confessions. "I 'ad no choice, baby. I might be immortal," She paused and drew a deep, calming breath through her nostrils, allowing it to die on the ridges of lips now pressing into the top of the child's head. "…but dis body is not." The Dark Mother's attention deviates and follows Lucia's to the sea of silver and purple stretching and creeping along the walls, slithering vines inching toward the ceiling in order to drink in the light of the indignant moon. "What is this—what have you done to mommy's gardens?" Platinum brows furrow with the question, head canting leftward. "…Ye' mean… vhat did y'do…" She took a moment to brush her fingertip along Lucia's cheek and collect remnants of her tears, of which she rubbed betwixt index and thumb. "…dis garden blossomed vith yer sorrow…" Lowering herself further, Xintylin dared cup the child's face in both of her hands, thumbs lovingly caressing reddened cheeks. "One flower… fer every tear… fer every lost memory."
  10. Accursed depths eagerly drank in the little queen's countenance and how it readily shifted between varied emotion. Long, dark lashes flutter as her attention spills upon the young one's physique, watching from the way she held herself so defiantly, to the way she cowered once the exquisite taste ran rampant across her palate. Even as she backed away and held her head in downcast, Xintylin's affection never ceased-- so spoken by the back of her knuckle caressing the moistened swell of her reddened cheeks. Sleek, defined arcs transform her visage from dispassionate to radiating shock and awe that such a tiny thing could explode so much unchecked rage. "Hnnnn..." The sound bubbled from the pit of her stomach and into her throat, rolling softly across her tongue as a soothing, comforting sound. Vampiric-like teeth were set on display with a half-smile, flooding her own cheeks with veritable joviality. Abandoning the smooth flesh of the girl in front of her, Xintylin buried the protrusion of her knee guard into the vegetation below and held out her arms, fingertips beckoning the child forward to indulge in the hug she longed to take. "Come 'ere, baby... Mother's 'ere." Her head tilted toward the right, awaiting the little queen's decision-- to accept her love and adoration, or not. ".... andt I vill nevar abandon ye'."
  11. *loves and l loves and loves and loves on Nette* Hello my bb.
  12. Chasms of nothingness, crowned with wreathes of crimson, level upon the small child as her gauntleted hand swept away darkened curls beyond the arc of her mantle. Plush, sable tiers peel into a sneer, though soon morphed into a toothy smile—one that showcased the gleam of the pearly, pointed canines lying within. "So…defiant…" Honeyed words dripped venomous intent, though strangely her intonation would still be comforting and soothing to the small child caught in her shadow. Xintylin's attention momentarily deviates from the image of a child, to the wondrous creation that blossomed by her sorrow. Again her hand caressed the fleshy petals of a nearby flower, trailing her index through the pollen that glistened like stars. Rolling the pollen across the rest of her digits, Xintylin returned her accursed gaze to Raspberry. Taking a step forward, yards of charred leather and black steel began to groan and shriek for reprieve when the woman crouched down to the little queens' height. Like a predator gazing upon the countenance of its prey, The Dark Mother's stare swept across the rebellious repose this child exuded. "..ov course I do," She purred in retaliation to Luciana's defiance, the fingertips that caressed the pollen lifting to trace the curved arc of the girl's lower lip. Should she not shy away, she'd find the taste unlike anything she's ever let lap upon the surface of her tongue; the saccharine and all-consuming flavor of decadent ambrosia. "…de Varlord ov Ere'tul nevar forgets a name." In the span of her three-hundred years, did Raspberry truly forget the woman she helped find a semblance of humanity? This small child, this pale reflection of the people she was molded from, was the reason Xintylin attempted change then, and was reborn once again now. "Ye' vill alvays be my leetle Raspberry… de leetle girl vho dresst me een matching dresses t' 'er…vith matching crowns… as ve ruledt ovar Eden t'gethar." Xintylin's affections hadn't faded with the girl's defiance, in fact, they seemed to only grow. Her index brazenly tried to caress down the bridge of her nose. "My dear… sveet baby… fer vhat sorrow grips yer 'eart dat ye' tore me from de depths ov 'ell?"
  13. Time. So intangible its discourse that not even the immortal hear its song; years roll by in the blink of an eye for these monolithic titans, yet the only thing that remains a constant is their nature. Worlds change and kingdoms crumble, but a monster will forever be a monster. Forever frozen in delicacy by Gabriela's dutiful care, the silver lily glistened with beauty unmatched; it was as though its petals tore the milky haze of the moon from the midnight sky and drank in its glory. Its petals undulated with saccharine promises, pollen heavy and fragrant with such allure it was no wonder the child found herself enthralled. Crystalline droplets pitter-patter from the child's visage and onto its fleshy petals, each tear bringing nourishing sorrow to a blossom born of excruciating agony. Leaves grew thick and hardy, whilst its stem sprouted girthy vines that slithered amidst the confines of Gabriela's greenhouse, as though they held a mind of their own. Before Lucia's tear-blurred eyes, a singular bloom became thousands, their beauty and fragrance choking out any other plant the Black Queen may have collected. Midnight green foliage ascended the glass walls, reaching in defiance toward the silvery haze of moonlight as it washed over the land. Stems grew heavy with exotic, succulent fruit and yielded against its growing weight. Once, Lucia found herself amidst a collection of ruin and memory, yet now found herself within a garden of unimaginable beauty awash with the distinct stench of innocence. Porcelain fingertips feather along the fleshy carapace of a struggling bud, whose greenery blossomed with the audible sigh of deliverance, and yielded the fragrant aroma that lied therein. Thorns crown the Dark Mother's signature platinum locks, who pitter-pattered along the delicate arc of her jawline once her attention found the child nestled in the thicket of her own creation. Eyes beheld a marvel—crimson irises which bled into the surrounding black sclera—focus on the tiny form that pricked her memory with painful recollections. "My… leetle' Raspberry…" That sultry intonation oozed with venomous intent and so brazen was that clawed gauntlet to reach for the child's silky tresses. "Deedt' yor' mothar' not tell ye'… vhen ye' pray t' de darkness… de darkness… ansars'." [Enter: Xintylin]
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