#playfulcrow

@playfulcrow closed starter

Night had begun to set in the quickly quieting town. The evening curfew was upon the citizens with the setting of the sun. The time when all manner of beasties emerged from the shadows of the forest surrounding the normally sleepy little town. 

And here is when a certain young baker would most likely be closing up shop. Except...for the shop was not empty. A single customer, far too relaxed to be from here, sat and sipped his tea with a plate of a half eaten slice of chocolate cake upon the porcelain.  Hazel eyes darted to the windows, glancing at the sky that had turned a majestic shade of lavender and stars began to slowly emerge and dot the darkening sky. Her pulse jumped in her throat as her adrenaline spiked. She shouldn’t be rude. But he needed to go. It was pushing the threshold of safety on the streets. 

Turning to the well dressed man, Scarlett spoke. Her voice, polite, was firm in its request. “Sir, I do apologize, but it is time to lock the bakery up. The sun is setting and we must both get to safety before moon is at it’s peak.” 

@sacramxntal​ And as per ordered, I have. I believe it is beyond my 'capability' to keep certain individuals silent.

t was unusual for people to stumble upon her excavation site, it was even more unusual for someone to willingly walk into that site and come face to face with the ONLY person out in the woods for the next 75 miles. Regardless, Tilla smiled for the newcomer when they came out into her small patch of open field.

@playfulcrow

❝ I want to take a walk. ❞

                               ❛ ━━━━━━･ ☾ ✦ ☽ ･ ━━━━━━ ❜

What a careless, silly old trick. Yet, she fell for it. She was so, so ireful. This was meant to be an easy fight, but she could only guess they got tired of their old tricks failing and decided to add a little surprise, albeit a common one. The vampires were equipped with minor explosives, embedded and stitched into their own stomachs. Something was off from the very beginning, she should have trusted her gut over it. But now she was missing half of it, a nasty, deep wound at her side, she didn’t dare look at it, all she knew was that she was bleeding with no signs of stopping, there was no life force nearby, and if this kept up she would end up slumbering in the middle of nowhere, only to get preyed on. After all, that’s what they sought, sweet, pure blood that would grant a ticket to an extended life.   What a bunch of suicidal fools. 

Dying wasn’t an option, moving wasn’t an option, & she just couldn’t heal this thing! Her chest heaved, steadily, but her bloodshot eyes didn’t seem under control at all. This was her first time tasting death, it was bitter, needless to say, she wouldn’t do it again if she survived. 

 At the brink of exhaustion, she saw the tall figure of a man heading her way, a scent unlike any other, it wasn’t human, it wasn’t like her either. Normally, she would run from it, but all she could manage was drag her legs closer to her own body, but what could she hope to protect? Artemis laid by her side, a weapon useless with no wielder. 

@playfulcrow​

Word prompts - Always accepting (feel free to turn into threads if you like)!

[ nightmare ] for your muse to wake mine from a nightmare

                                                     ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

          Deep, ebony skies expand for miles all around him - stretching and tangling and sinking Flickering, golden stars peeking through the endless mass for a brief moment before they wither and then fade into nothingness - little more than a memory that he can neither confirm nor deny was truly there at all. And when slender, calloused fingers reach out towards their tiny, fleeting forms they sink deep into the heart of the murky abyss above and below him or snap against his touch - exploding against ivory skin and leaving behind fizzling, purpling scars. Pale lips twist downwards into a frown that mars his pretty features as his hand retracts - scorched fingers flexing uselessly against the palm of his hand as he presses their tips against soft flesh. A gentle, but sharp sting buzzing through his hand and making his knuckles feel stiff and wrists loose. Azure irises linger upon them for a moment - deep, violet bruises and thin, scarlet cuts decorating his vision until he looked away, searching the obsidian landscape for anything, but aside from those shimmering stars - just of reach, there was nothing. 

       Long, pearly wings drummed uselessly against the breezeless void - feather slowly, yet surely crumbling from their once magnificent frame. Barbless quills - thin and devoid of soft downy, fall one by one into the nothingness. His fingers lift to reach for them, but sink through their hollow forms. And the pace of their decoy quickens - their tips twisting from white to cream to a deep gray as they disintegrate. Rot settling in upon them as they cling to fragile bone; a deep crimson seeping into gleaming white. And by the time his hand comes to clutch at one of the six wings upon his back they are nothing more than skeletons - darkened bones protruding from his flesh that weep and bend downwards until they, too, begin to fall. Joints yanking away and tumbling from him as they splinter and crack and shatter into nothing more than tiny, ashen shards that he cannot possible hope to collect nor is he even given the mercy to entertain that thought for more than a brief second.

        A sharp, searing pain flares up from his side - twisted deep within his throbbing muscles and aching bones. And when his gaze follows it, there is nothing but thick, tepid liquid spewing from the gaping wound buried deep within his flesh. Blood oozing out over his stomach and trickling down his hip and thigh until the black of his armor is stained scarlet and the white of the feathers wrapped softly about his white has become a deep crimson. Instinct makes him clutch at the wound - fingers splayed out around its warmth, but the pressure alone isn’t enough to stop the bleeding. And, even with it, the blood never seems to flatter - finding ways to seep perfectly between his fingers until his palm feels damp and sticky - bright, red droplets dripping and dripping; they echo as they strike the bottom of the sky he cannot see. There’s a moment then, as he watches them fall, that he feels an awful ache in his neck and he tears his hand away to grope at his tattered skin. 

         And then, in that vast nothingness, there is a voice - fleeting and so terribly feeble that calls out to him. It linger for only a moment before it is replaced by the sound of another - one much closer; much louder. His fingers tap wordlessly against his neck - warmth spreading out from beneath his touch. No, the warmth isn’t his own. Silver lashes flutter violently as heavy eyelids peel back to the somewhat hazy decor of a room - the ceiling overhead dark in the meager light that poured in from the glimmering moon just outside the window, but it was surely not nothing. The polished walls seem to glow slightly and he could feel that soft fabric of the sheets wrapped about his legs and back - an ache where wings had once been. There’s a hand upon him, and, slowly, his eyes begin to adjust. And, ah, he realizes as sluggish blinks clear away the darkness and replace it with the figure or another man - his face finally fully coming into view, it had been nothing more than a dream. Or rather, a memory that had morphed into one.