Post by + s a l i a + on May 15, 2006 20:26:45 GMT -5
| c u r s i n g |
s a l i a be the curse
| t u r n i n g |
u n o be the number of my age
| l i n e a g e |
e g y p t i a n be thy tainting
| a l i g n m e n t |
I be conjured of f e m a l e organs
| p a c t |
it is S a t a n I follow
| t h e c h a r a c t e r w i t h i n|
Though insensitive at times, the sphinx can be sympathetic. The string of which that holds her calm together is quite short. When one breaks that chain, there will be bloodshed. But, for the one who may grasp her heart and hold it steady, others will not have to panic... as much. If one does get her love, most likely her personality will change, not much though. If anything, more aggressive to lesser ones, and yes, even brutes.
| t h e p a s t s h e h o l d s w i t h i n |
Some years ago, a lone mare traveled the lands, heavy in the barrel. Yet, her countenance was carved ever so delicately, defining the purest and oldest breed. The Egyptian Arabian. This black mare gave birth to a flicka of the purest white. An odd happening, for, by legend, it is told the mare was bred to the black one, Al-Hattal. Well, this mare and flicka went by the days. The mare teaching her young the ways of the shadows, teaching her to murder and taunt the halo-bearers. The flicka took to it with an eagerness found only in a handful of equus, well, if equus could have an eagerness. By and by, the mare grew tired of the young one she had birthed and so left her. By now, the flicka was fully grown and could fend, all too easily, for herself. On the sands of Syria to Damascus, the mare, named Salai, made out alone, without a one to comfort or guide her. Yet one day, the mare stumbled upon a small oasis outside the desert. A place of shadows, perhaps she was home. Yet only time will tell....
| p r o l o g u e |
Blanched hide mingled seamlessly within abiding coppice. Awning tolerated a diminutive quantity of illumination to clarify specks of darkness. Décolletage paralleled with vertebrae as thy lass of the darkness flit unbeknownst ‘neath lofty limbs. Digits grazed over leather hide laden with apparent blemishes. Condescension was publicized amid leering countenance. Scoffing chuckle rattled corrupted carafe. Casket stirred cyclones of foliage in whirling updrafts. Stout buttresses lunged effortlessly thru knotted vineyards and gnarled kindling. Tarnished cadaver immobilized adjacent an antediluvian stream bed pock-marked by shattered boulders now antiquated deep ‘thin the crust. Fore scalpel to starboard furrowed the adhesive clay then activity cessated and silence shrouded the atoms. Cloned whorls afflicted the inhabitants, somewhat hopefully scouring the world for a bland distraction of any kind.
s a l i a be the curse
| t u r n i n g |
u n o be the number of my age
| l i n e a g e |
e g y p t i a n be thy tainting
| a l i g n m e n t |
I be conjured of f e m a l e organs
| p a c t |
it is S a t a n I follow
| t h e c h a r a c t e r w i t h i n|
Though insensitive at times, the sphinx can be sympathetic. The string of which that holds her calm together is quite short. When one breaks that chain, there will be bloodshed. But, for the one who may grasp her heart and hold it steady, others will not have to panic... as much. If one does get her love, most likely her personality will change, not much though. If anything, more aggressive to lesser ones, and yes, even brutes.
| t h e p a s t s h e h o l d s w i t h i n |
Some years ago, a lone mare traveled the lands, heavy in the barrel. Yet, her countenance was carved ever so delicately, defining the purest and oldest breed. The Egyptian Arabian. This black mare gave birth to a flicka of the purest white. An odd happening, for, by legend, it is told the mare was bred to the black one, Al-Hattal. Well, this mare and flicka went by the days. The mare teaching her young the ways of the shadows, teaching her to murder and taunt the halo-bearers. The flicka took to it with an eagerness found only in a handful of equus, well, if equus could have an eagerness. By and by, the mare grew tired of the young one she had birthed and so left her. By now, the flicka was fully grown and could fend, all too easily, for herself. On the sands of Syria to Damascus, the mare, named Salai, made out alone, without a one to comfort or guide her. Yet one day, the mare stumbled upon a small oasis outside the desert. A place of shadows, perhaps she was home. Yet only time will tell....
| p r o l o g u e |
Blanched hide mingled seamlessly within abiding coppice. Awning tolerated a diminutive quantity of illumination to clarify specks of darkness. Décolletage paralleled with vertebrae as thy lass of the darkness flit unbeknownst ‘neath lofty limbs. Digits grazed over leather hide laden with apparent blemishes. Condescension was publicized amid leering countenance. Scoffing chuckle rattled corrupted carafe. Casket stirred cyclones of foliage in whirling updrafts. Stout buttresses lunged effortlessly thru knotted vineyards and gnarled kindling. Tarnished cadaver immobilized adjacent an antediluvian stream bed pock-marked by shattered boulders now antiquated deep ‘thin the crust. Fore scalpel to starboard furrowed the adhesive clay then activity cessated and silence shrouded the atoms. Cloned whorls afflicted the inhabitants, somewhat hopefully scouring the world for a bland distraction of any kind.
Nice Job