Communist Daughter

[``Messiah]

The night was young and Dresden was here to play, but who would dare be her playmate? Footfalls echoed through the kingdom as the matriarch appeared upon the lands, nary a trace of boredom in her skull. Her steps were dainty, yet as dangerous as a black mamba ready to strike. Her raven features slunk softly, undetected through the undergrowth, pedates choosing their path wisely. Her fervid movements looked something like a dance. Each advancement forward was choreographed, examined carefully by the ants and birds and beasts of the forest; although Dresden was depicted as something of an Ignis, she rarely gave a thought to the feeble alliances. Each one’s lines were blurring hazily into the next. What was a real Ignis? Who was there to say? Humming a tune unheard by others, the banshee continued forth. Her twin towers fell and rose daintily upon her petite brainpan, puss elevated slightly.

With the snow creating dazzling patterns upon her spinal column, Dresden bounded forward with each step. Above her, a whirling cascade of precipitation vexed her inattentive pools. She snarled suddenly, whipcord disbanding the nearby flakes as her shoulder blades hunched forward. She crouched closer to the frozen quagmire now, plush almost touching the icicle blades of grass, hidden by the ice that smothered them. Her nightshade canvas flexed suddenly as she changed directions, thoughts frenzied by the passing winter months. Another snarl ripped forth from her gullet, darting towards a decaying elm in the far corner of the lands. The thick smell of hussy defiled her nasal passages, causing the matron to exert a sputter. The snarl turned to a low growl, cerebrum angrily tossing to sweep her moldy dreadlocks into her visage. Under the rotting foliage, Dresden waited. Seldom could she be certain of anything, but today she knew there would be a passing visitor. When was there not a man whore to try and sweep virgins off their feet and into the marriage bed? Oh yes, you heard right. Dresden was a virgin, probably the only one of her kind. She saw no need to rush out and give herself away to some czar who would only abandon her the instant after he got his kicks.

Salmon tongue probed the far crevices of her coffin, grazing lazily across her fate hangers. The faint but satisfying taste of claret was detectable upon her taste buds, automatically willing herself for more. Even Dresden could not exercise that much restraint. Visionaries surveyed the night time sky for any sign of avian creatures, but not one was present. The crackle of fallen leaves molested her audits and in a split second the hussy had whipped around. She was still now, crouching like a lioness at the sign of a meal. And that was exactly what she was. The temptress leapt forward, acting on instinct as she watched a stag bolt forward. The catch was quick and easy. Her gammes seemed to move with a mind of their own as she too took off like lightning, the black veil which cloaked her muscles camouflaging her perfectly. Hypodermic needles leapt out of their coffins, probing through the air for flesh. Finally she succeeded. Her cusps sunk deep into the nape of the game, and with a snap of her cerebrum the beast’s entire crown ripped free of its body. A final twitch was given, at which point Dresden had already drained half of the thing’s blood. Quenched, the siren felt a stinging far south of her crest.

As if it had willed itself before it took its last breath, a point of the stag’s antler had lodged itself within her foregamme. She snarled, her bloody puss pan a ghastly image. Damned stag. She muttered, ripping the protrusion free from her flesh. Serpent tongue darted out once more as it cleaned her wound, prickles of pain creeping up her bodice. She shook herself of all matter and heaved upwards, stepping back under the protection of the elm. Her leg was sore now, a small price to pay for the life she had taken. Her only regret was that it didn’t last longer.