Desreal: and what of the loneliness inside?

Quiet as a shadow along the forest floor she was moving, a dark angel, a wraith of the night. Her illusive figure rippling in and out of the dense foliage with barely a sound, a figment of your imagination as the last traces of the setting sun’s light glimmered hopelessly on her deep obsidian coat. The weather was cold, but there was no snow blanketing the canopy of trees yet, just an icy wind that cut through her flesh and tore at her bones, but she was warm even then. The freezing temperatures of night were coming, but her fire was building inside of her the colder it got. Great billows of steam rolled out from her nostrils as she exhaled, evaporating into the crisp air just before another burst of hot air escaped her. Her warm breath probably was the only thing about her that was welcoming though, her icy gaze nearly as un-welcoming as the icy waters of the creek or the desolate blackness of the cold forest around her. Loneliness

She’d been in Desreal for some time now, wandering the forest to escape the sun of the desert and seek the total darkness that came at nightfall. The desert was far too bright at night, the brilliant stars and the shimmering milky light of the moon left too much for the imagination, too much to think of when her mind wanted rest and peace. When she wanted to delve into the complete blackness, she found no refuge in the bright desert nights. She wanted solitude from life, from existence, she wanted peace in nothingness, she wanted to be left to breathe the breath of absolute darkness, the welcoming solitude of nullity. So here she was, in the vast land of the rogues, of the nobodies. And tonight, she was nothing. She was a shadow of the night, a figment of the mind, a wraith of the darkness. A dark angel.

Ziyadah was the last thing that Rogue wanted to come on right now. The fiery beastly creature came upon her shadow without warning or so much as an introduction, but she was not startled. She merely turned her steely chocolate eyes to him in total disinterest and indifference.

The icy winds toyed with her tousled matted locks, giving life to her spanish silhouette as she moved. Incomprehensible, obscure, her facade was a careful mask of apathy. Her gaze was desolate and bleak, wrought with a stabbing pain that wound itself deep into her being. And yet they were harsh and almost cruel, mirrors that reflected nothing of her soul or emotions, only watched the world around them and penetrated your soul. She wasn’t much taller or shorter than him, but her heavy powerful baroque build gave her a more compact poetic strength. Rather than his hot blooded elegance. And when she spoke, her voice matched her eyes very well. It was orotund, laced with a raspy inflection that both befitted her appearance and was almost appealing in its sound. She was a strange, almost frightening creature, but at the same time she had an elliptic charm that was appealing.

”I’m sure they are all waiting to surprise you, maybe check behind that tree over there.”

Her words were cruel almost, laughing at him silently, as she responded. A shallow eery smile touching her velvet lips for a moment, before smoothing back into the blank slate of her emotionless expression. She watched him without any sense of curiosity, her stare penetrating and heartless, noticing everything from a twitch of ear to a blink of the eye. Learning the way he responded to things, what made him mad and what hardly affected him. Because that was who she was, clever and quick minded. Always observing, always watching, never revealing.

Rogue enjoyed mind games, she enjoyed watching others writhe in discomfort and be irked to frustration. It pleased her, it pleased the demons of her mind, the lurking monster that whispered to her. The creature she was becoming, the monstrosity that she was fighting. And Ziyadah was her new victim, something new to stick in her jar and poke at.

rogue // espionage // fire II // ni’srilan