#pourprefanee

   A grunt of frustration rolled from his throat when his stubborn hood slipped off once more, baring him to the mercy of the midday sun. He grasped the fabric and pulled it over his head again, and did not let go as his tawny eyes darted between the trees. The wetlands of Haafingar lacked their typical haze that day - much to the vampire’s frustration. His luck had been particularly rotten, as of late; he considered curling up inside the nearest cave, and would perhaps seek out the nearest farmstead, come nightfall.

   Life outside Castle Volkihar was far more complicated than he originally envisioned. He had grown far too used to feeding whenever he saw fit. Now, he had to worry about his meal fighting back and potentially gutting him, as well as experiencing the horror that was direct sunlight. These mortals. How do they live like this?

   He shook his head to dispel the thought of his entire family laughing, saying we told you so as he dragged his starving body up the castle stairs. No; he would prove them wrong. Skyrim offered him so much more than his home ever had. He was certain of it. Even if its cuisine was rather... inconvenient.

   They could not recall the last time they had slept. In the place of rest came splitting headaches as the moon hung high, originating from an odd scar directly between their eyes that they did not remember receiving. The agony seared deep, and almost seemed to draw its strength from a place unharmed by physical wounds, deep within their chest. Try as the Unkindled might, they could not fully grasp what had become of them -- or if they had simply been that way all along.

   Black faces occupied much of their thoughts, always unrecognizable in every way but one. One set itself aside through an unintelligible series of grunts - which Anri swore they understood at one point - while another was simply the warm sensation of bare fingers tangled together.

   Only three figures remained in total clarity. The Champion of Ash, their betrothed whom would soon usurp the First Flame. Lady Yuria, of the Sable Church, a Darkwraith who had always proven her integrity. And... Bianca.

The settlement was not a far cry from Londor; or at the least, it was filled with the dying screams of the Undead and those beginning to lose hope. It would be perfect for his preachings, were it not for those strange evangelists. They muttered of tales said to come from the Deep, which fascinated him all the more.

If there was one thing that he liked about crossing over to the other side it was that there were still ordinary flowers in the world and he could go hunting for them, almost like a game. With the night half over he ended up somewhere in the woods, standing before some sort of monument at a crossroads, a bouquet of wilting flowers in his hands.

Send me a ❖ for my character’s personal thoughts about yoursSend me a ♧ for my character’s reaction if your character were to express romantic interest in my character

Miss Bianca is quite a charming and lovely lady, obviously of noble birth even if one is not aware of her origins. I am quite curious to learn more about her, something that is... nice to feel in this time of confusion. Perhaps we can even become friends.

when my boyfriend so incognito basics can’t find his cute ass

im so cute i blend into the scenery 8)

bloodarsenic replied to your video:

you should have giant seeded.

His eyes go a slight wide as the woman enters the room, clothing immaculately done and curls falling into her face. his own state of undress is quite a stark contrast, pale skin on show as he is clad in little more than cotton underwear and the blankets he’d previously been sleeping under.

u lazy twat