the black prince.

       Mother  of  thousands,  seldom  is  she  permitted  moments  of  rest.   Entertained  by  one  another  or  even  beloved  consort,  yet  still  they  flock  to  behemoth  who  gave  life  /  from  whence  they  came.   bundles  of  scales  not  yet  grown  impenetrable,  claws  deadly  only  to  mortal  flesh.   O’  how  precious  you  are  to  her,  placed  ‘pon  pedestal  beyond  heaven’s  reach. ( even  he:  blood  of  another ) 

       Thus  when  noise  tells  of  stubborn  whelp’s  actions  more  than  subtle  touch  felt  through  ancient  plates,  attention  never  strays  from  intricate  journal  before  her.   Dark  ink  flowing  from  intricate  quill  /  history  preserved  for  eons  to  come.   When  the  time  comes,  will  the  world  find  them ?   Books  organized  by  the  ages,  tales  of  all  that  transpired  ;  her  testimony. 

          A  recurring  thought,  quickly  dispelled.   Cosmos — borne  force,  forged  from  eternity,  your  time  will  not  come  for  eons  /  it  cannot !    Breath  exhaled  past  ebony  lips,  finally  her  gaze  averts  and  tail  shifts.   Serpentine  limb  drags  into  view  across  cavern’s  heated  floor  with  headstrong  whelp  attached  and  promptly  lifts  him  up.  

@glorycraft‘s gonna GET IT.

        He was like a bloody peacock in how he preened; bold, dramatic and so very over the top. Tess indulged it for a moment, lips quirking upwards on a once-stony face as he stretched his arms out – no doubt preparing for some complaint or ‘deep’ remark.

         That was, at least, until her hand came down on his head and began to muss his hair until its careful placement was no doubt ruined by her gloved hand. Then she laughed.