` are those words of condemnation?

[L Y N X !]

37b3c9 speech
Freedom from that wretched land, at last.
Shortly after joining up with Orpheus' herd, she realized, once she was there, she could never leave. Not so long as Spyder was alive. How fucking furious she was to know that she was the lesser of the two in Orpheus' eyes when he recruited them, and how quickly he had figured out the dynamics of their 'hate-love' relationship. No, scratch that. It was hate-hate. He figured out that where ever she went, Spyder followed like an infectious disease. When she left for that brief moment to recover from his brutal rape, Orpheus found her and dragged her 'home', if it was ever considered such a place. No where was home. Home was where ever Spyder was not. She loathed him so deeply that it made her sick to think about it. She was past her naive arrogance to think she could control or kill him, and have him as her play-thing. He was much more than she had expected out of him. He was indestructible, no matter how much he bled, no matter how much skin she pulled from his body. He was a machine, never relenting, not even for a second. And it was dangerous to stand in his path.

What could she ever do to get away from him? It seemed he always knew where he was, and strolled upon the scene like he expected her to be there all along. It was eerie and perplexing, as well as alarming. Almost every day she had new scars and wounds added to her pelting, and it was quite a strain on her body. She didn't now how she could even keep up at the rate he was deteriorating her body. And when she thought he couldn't ravage her enough, he ripped her apart from the inside with both himself and his spawn. Roulette proved to be such a heavy task to deliver, she had nearly died from the experience. Now that the filly was older, she was likable, but she had no motherly feelings towards her offspring. How she envied her though, how quickly she was able to leave and escape Spyder and the destructive web he spun. She was in no part of his deadly games; she was his daughter, after all, and something in him prevented him from attacking her because of that. Otherwise, she would be fair game along with the rest of the island.

The disappearance of Orpheus - or the death of him, whichever, she didn't care - finally allowed her to escape this deathtrap. Roulette left weeks before her 'leader' left, and as soon as she realized he was gone, she fled. Her swift travels across the island brought her here, a place where unsavory characters could dwell. As twisted as Spyder was, he wasn't the only one with something not quite right. The voice that was once present in her mind had about disappeared, only voicing every once in a great while with a snide comment or jeer. She was glad it was gone, though at one point in her life she thought it was her best friend and company. That wasn't the case anymore. A faint trace of her daughter's scent reached her as she strode quickly through the clustered trees told her that she had been here quite a time ago, but where she was now, she wasn't sure. She smirked at the thought of her daughter trying to make it out here with the "big boys". Though she wouldn't admit to anyone else that a child of hers was weak, Roulette was sickly, though not outwardly obvious. It was from the poor nourishment she suffered while Ashia suffered in return in carrying her. She never got better after she was born, but she was alive and functioning, so that was okay. She had made a decent friend of hers, though it shouldn't be only that way with mother and daughter. She had no maternal instincts other than the common sense to feed the filly until she was old enough to eat on her own. The young mare listened to her, and took what she said into advice, which pleased her deeply. A time long ago, she wanted children, but now they were far from her mind. Never again would she allow Spyder, or any horse, do that to her again.

The summer heat didn't even breach through the thick trees, proving about ten degrees cooler than it was out in the open air. Sounds were muffled on beds of dried pine needles, and her footfalls sounded almost silent at each step she took. She liked the feeling of that, of being more undetectable than normal. But she knew, no matter where she ran to, where she hid, that Spyder would find her. It was only a matter of time when he did, and once he did, there would be hell for her to pay. Not that he ever told her to stay in one place, or tried dominating her in that form of sense, but there was hell to pay simply for being her. As far as she knew, he never went after anyone like he did to her. She didn't think she would be able to take this much longer. But she was ready for him when he came for her. She was ready.

[/color][/center]

[Storeh]

[atrb=border,1,true][atrb=width,394,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true]

[bg=#000000] Snap. Snap. Crunch. Crunch. The bones broke in two. Crunch. Jaws stuck with marrow between. Blood poured through the ill closed corners of his maw. Eyes widened as the feathers continue to scrape across the chambers of his throat. A growl rumbled in low, sculpted head throwing back. Gaping hole of mouth parted and choked the raven down. Swallow. Cleanly. Little bird now gone. A torn ear flickered. Where was the little fly, now? Nostrils flared to catch the scent, the smell of blood contained. His blood. His blood flowed through her veins. The warmth of her body called out to him, the reach of her sinew and hide. Hide? Never. Never. Ever. A fly could not hide. A fly could fly away, but a Spyder could lay in wait. Catching that fly in web so spun. Oh so cleverly drafted. A step was taken, head lowered as though a hound searching. Prey. His prey, the hound of bedlam incarnate. His squeal tore to the heavens, split through the skies, and rang through the darkness all around. Back on his hind legs he rose, head thrashing to and fro. Back and forth. Forth and back. Find his fly, find his other half! Crush their marrow and join their bones, the call chilled through the shattered soul. Lunging forth without a care, the branches scraping away scraps of flesh. This heightened the chase for the blood, rewinding memory and sealing harm. Escape, thought she? Escape from the barren land? Escape from me? No, No! Weave the web, tie her close and bash her head! Splatter and batter. Mend the little tearing things. Master. Prey. Where was Orpheus today? Ever softly he would stay. Never would Spyder stray. Master. Master! I have prey now. Flies can fly but flies can't hide. Flies can fly but flies can't hide. Not from Spyder, chasing the fly! A giggle bubbled from his lips, painting the world crimson as it smeared itself in a bloody kiss. Tearing himself into shreds, his teeth were set so swiftly on edge. They snapped and snapped and his head was thrown back. Seeking, seeking, on the hunt. Another cry ripped through the skies, a testament to his tattered battered hide. A squeal that twisted and convulsed with that which he had held within. The need. The need. Spyder needed to feed. Flesh and bone, marrow - insides! Inside he needed the insides. hers. HERS. He needed hers inside. The taste of her flesh that which could not be denied. The blood continued to drip from his open muzzle, teeth so stained as though shards of red. Demon spawn without Devil. Pacts not taken. Sin? Sin. Ashia. Ashia. Where are you, fly? I need you now. I need you inside. Tick the clock and tock the rest. Blood will fly from the hooves that pound. Resound. Bones to crush and bones to break. Why do you think that you can escape? Hear me. Here. In the twisting boughs of trees, speak-! Fly, speak! Prey. The stallion continued his frantic thrash, breaking- splintering- the woods seemed to crack. Crows flew from his path, Terra Scure alive with the sound of his lacking. A rampage. A seeking, more than a search. Spyder had the scent fresh in his mind. Ever so, ever possessed. Obsesses as he was with that he gently could caress. With teeth, with hoof, with maw and with claw. Breaking, breaking, for there was nothing to bend. Her scent was smeared all over the land. Follow he will, follow he may. There was not to convey and nothing to say. Pay? Pay. Again and again. Compensation for the years without the taking of sin. Evermore. Forevermore. Again he would find and again they would play. Play the game. Deal the spades. Her the music. Dance in the flames. Devil breathing. Devil lacks. Spyder feels the drawing edges of the attack. Was it rage? Was it lust? Was it merely the savage instinct, the primal feeling? Cage his bird. Break its. Wings. Pluck and Set it FREE. Daughter gone. Master gone. Flew the coop. Cornered. Caressed. Carcass. Stop. Pause. Nostrils quivering with the scent so strong. Moving close, dripping form, the crimson painting the trail below. Above the trees whispered. Sounds. Spyder walked the steps into the shroud. There. There. Standing. That look. On her face. He would soon erase. Stepping from shadows as though one with the shade, his entire form felt the anticipation of reign. Eyes lidded and body in crouch, a purr resounded throughout. Knowing. A fight! He cornered her with orange eyes. Love. His love. Could not be denied. Ashia, so scarred, marred with the patches. His marks. His claiming. Maiming. Tearing. Thrashing. Bashing. Snatching. Biting. The blood dripped once from the mouth. Purring softly as he circled. Again. The scene played. The scene familiar inside. Break away the chains that tethered him to mind. Creeping closer, spiraling fast, there was no telling how long this could last. Slowly. Slowly. Make it last. 'Love. Love. Where have you been?' The question rang without consolation, bearing its force as the laughter began to stoke. Stroke. The feathers he felt as though still in throat. His head swayed, back and forth. Pendalum swinging. Waiting. her move. Her make. Time was coming. Time to break. Love, love, we have all day. We have all the world holding at bay. Spring and the summer, the world and the way. Are you ready again to witness the flame? His laughter started. His laughter rang. With joy. With splender. With the wanting that she would deliver. Fight. Fight. Break. Come. Bleed. Make me bleed. Want. An invitation, expectance assured. The loveliness of her outside mirrored only by what was on the. INSIDE. Feeling, feeling, he knew this feeling. Suddenly racing as his heart beat. Faster. Faster. Adrenaline pumping. His tail thrashed, his hooves danced, his muzzle parted, scars to show, the bloodstains of his teeth bearing to her. For her. Ready on her mark. One for the pain and Two for the START. I'm the little spyder. Climbing up a water spout. Crawling down your throat to eat your stomach out. Puke up the blood and hold me in your hands. We shall play this game again and again.

[/color]

Muse: ...
OOC: .....
Music: ....

[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[L Y N X !]

37b3c9 speech
The silence hung around her like a blanket, only disturbed by the distant cries of ravens. Noisy birds. She didn't understand why so many horses found them as companions, they were annoying gossips that couldn't shut their traps. The mare froze at the sharp squeal that shattered the quiet like glass, fear inching up her spine as his scent drifted into her quivering nostrils. No - he couldn't of found her this soon! It was as if her location was known to him, all the time. How large was this island? Where could she go to escape her own personal demon? But she knew, that in the end, she couldn't. He was the punishment of her past crimes, but the sins couldn't be redeemed even after a lifetime of punishment like this. It was like being tied down to a table as you watched a lion stalk towards you, the way she listened to the crashing through the forest, knowing her fate was close at hand. Though, he hadn't killed her yet, but yet was the key word in this situation. Some day, he would bite in the wrong place, and it would be the end of their game.

The overwhelming stench of blood and gore reached her first, slamming her senses with a snort and a wrinkle of her muzzle. Immediately she whipped around as Spyder burst through the trees, her eyes holding as much loathing as she could muster. She could never escape him, could she? Even if she somehow managed to flee the island, he would somehow find her. And she had no doubt, that even in death, he would somehow find her. No escape, no salvation. Just eternal suffering, here, or in hell. But she knew what she did to earn herself that place - and now, it seemed like a better place to be than stuck alive with Spyder constantly on her heels. Her nostrils flared as she stared at the bloodied stallion, his latest kill fresh on his mouth, gore slipping from his crooked grin and sloshing onto the ground. Her muzzle wrinkled at the sight, her ears pinning back onto the crest of her neck.

Her eyes followed him closely as he circled much like a vulture, turning and twisting her body so that she never had her back to him. She wasn't that stupid. Adrenaline surged through her, itching her to move, to do something, to break this heavy tension. He always made her make the first move, but even if she did, it didn't put her at any advantage. She bared her teeth at him, lowering and snaking her head as she paced, judging what to do. As he turned to circle her once more, she jumped towards him with a squeal, sinking sharp teeth into his haunches.

[/color][/center]

[Storeh]

[atrb=border,1,true][atrb=width,394,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true]

[bg=#000000] Beauty. Such beauty the likes of which hell could be heard singing. Praising the way the scars showed, a mark of affection here and there. Stretching as though without end across her velvet coat. Such soft, supple hide. Perfect for his ivories to sink. The swell of his blood in his veins as he circled. A bird of prey. What a thought! A bird seeking prey. Finding prey. Tongue scraped across the broken edges of teeth, longing climbing up from his innards. Sweet temptation to lunge, to grab hold of that which tantalized. On his focus narrowed. Meat, such glorious meat. The slits of blue that where her eyes called. Take. Pluck them from their sockets so they would be forever his. Inside. Ever his. The mark of the beast on her skin, the isles crowed with the smallest note. Even her quietest steps where broadcasted to his tattered ears. Battered bones that called Spyder to Ashia like home. In her rib cage he sought to curl, to nestle and sleep without concern. By her side, in her side. What difference did it make? A corpse could project nought the loathing. A purr resounded from his harrowed throat. Hate, a fruit of passion. Loathe me. Feed me. Ashia breathed for him. The web she had fallen into, the web he had spun. Catch. Release. Catch and the release. Adrenaline continued to surge as coiled his muscles sought to spring. First move. Make. Her entire body was tense with her hate. Smile, it then brought, a horror that she always kept. What where the worry of nightmares when ever day you walked in fear and dread? Hound of Bedlam, Isola Dei Dei sang. Where is your Master? I don't know, to respond. I am chasing my mate. Ashia was the only one. Evermore. Others only where met with teeth and scorn. Tearing them apart limb by limb, basking in the glory of bloody sin. Forever. and Ever. Nothing could tear them apart. Not even the hooves she sharpened with eagerness. All Spyder could see where the eyes. Staring. Glaring. The flick of his tail as though in a laugh, the idle time that would have taken to relax. But no. Circling. Ever. Closer. Ashia's muscles twitching, giving away the inner most thoughts. Always how the dance begun. Dance with me. Dance. Let us see where this time we shall end. Teeth bared for the world to see. Silence breaking with fractured squeal. Spyder watched without dismay. As Ashia sprang. Across the thick chored muscle of his haunch the sharpened edges of her teeth then cut. Deep. Sunk. Reaction was thoughtless. Automatically sought. Want. Instinctual thing for most was to buck, but the bloodied stag twisted. Back. Throwing forward his heavy head, teeth in slash. Snap. Contorting to slam into her smaller form. Larger was he. Heavier. Impact to cause sway. As was his way. Pain flooded, gashes gushing life’s own blood. Pupils dilated, orange eyes wide. A giggle gurgled in the attacking smile. Onward, step by step he pressed, threads of skin unthreaded on pelt. Hang. Torn and shredded. Remains. Mind unscathed. Fueled was he by the devay. Blood, scent so fresh cutting into mind. Split. Into earth hooves dug, shadows playing on patchworked hide. Ticking time bomb. The favor of her love must be returned. Teeth snapped, the entire form thrashed. Single motion? No. Crashing. Seeking for the bashing. Aiming for canvas, no for neck. Haunches. Back they moved, forward they swayed. Dance this war. His war. Battle replayed. Crimson arching as it sprayed. A spyder’s only use. Training all these days. Scars showing. Reared on. Purpose. Beauty in lied. Aiming low and moving high. Buckled mind and frothing mouth, blows tossed all throughout. Holding sway there was a laugh. It bubbled. Overflowed. Could not be stopped. Gaping maw sung to catch ears, legs trying to catch hocks. Never legs. Legs now. Beg. Lose ground. Fall, he tempted, eyes so bright. The blood was leaking, sharpening the scene. Bursting was he at the seams. Stitches. Sown. With the reign of her hooves. Pounding across and pulling under. The stallion smiling with the words unuttered. Each time and a thousand more. With each blow she was giving him more. And more. What he could not take. Kept so closely without escape. Spyder allowed her these little bites. Time had passed since last they had played. Stronger with thoughts of domination. Master of war. Art of the heathen. Ruffian with the many faces. Shadow. Shine. Blood. All a cloak. Mask of murder. All she wrote. Breaking wings. Breaking spines. Lacking heartbeat but biding time. Convulsions. Afflictions. A malady of sickness. Tenderized and pulverized as though nothing but a slice of meat. Tormenting twinges and agonizing aches. Spreading through for tortures sake. Not enough to segmenet. To watch it mend. Scar. A flaw across the facade. A pockmark of beauty. Dodging swiftly and sounding call. Vocals beckoning. Evil this way comes. 'Mirror. Mirror. Standing tall. Who you resemble startles all.' The way very way she squealed was eerily familiar. Familiarity. In the way she fought. Paranoia may have starved her mind, but her skills in battle where well refined. Countered. Strike. Blood bothered neither nought. See? Impressions made. Never freed. After breath living still. Evermore, the ravens cried. Evermore, even if I died. Yes. Yes. Me in you. You in me. One you see. One of us. Only one. Two halves of a whole. Years cemented. Hate me. hate yourself. Loathe me, loathe yourself. Together. One. One. One! Laughing. Escalating. Higher and higher it roared. Winning. Won. Always won. Battle. Fighting. Tearing Shredding. Ashia was his. His alone. There was a sense of compassion. Intimacy in every blow. Stilts posed to kill, to rip out the heart. He would have it in his jaws. Squeeze it all out. Love would pour, whether or not she willed it. It would fill him up until he overflowed. A game. A game. Without end, never to kill. Yet if Ashia wanted true to draw the ending marks. He would break every bone to make sure she looked the part. Each shred of her hide would decorate his own. Her skull would be carried about and stored. Her blood would be thick in his veins. It would not be enough to simply maim. Their marrows would mix. Their souls would align. Stuffed into a single body he would live both lives. Kill. Kill. Kill. Die. Die. Die. Jumping off cliffs. Drowning in seas. Choking away life as one kicked and screamed. Offering to the Reapers. Victim to the swarm. Why did it matter who killed who? In the end it would always be me. It would always be you. In a single form. Never escaped. Never go away. G. O . .A. W. A. Y.

[/color]

Muse: ...
OOC: .....
Music: ....

[/td][/tr][tr][td][/td][/tr][/table][/center]

[L Y N X !]

37b3c9 speech

It was like the strings to her marionette were so skillfully placed into Spyder's mad genius. Quite the spectacle to ever think that his madness was genius, but there was no other explanation to how everything seemed to fall perfectly into his hands, forever in his favor. Did he plan this inside his head, as if he knew she was going to flee this time, and try and make it away from him, if not for a short while? Her giddy feeling of freedom was crushed, replaced with despair and carnal rage. Each time they fought, he pushed her closer and closer to death with every blow, every snap of his teeth. He was a relentless force that never tired or grew wary of their fights that lasted for time on end. At most times she couldn't recall how they ended, he merely vanished in the trees once he appeared to be satisfied that she was a mangled walking corpse. She was more scar and tear than flesh, and was quite the gruesome sight to behold. Much like a rag-doll sewn together in clumsy stitches, she would greatly resemble dear Sally's skin. The only one who could greatly rival her patchwork scars would be Spyder, and that was by a long shot. Every time she tore into him, she expected to tear open the lines holding him together and for him to completely fall apart. She could only hope that something like that could happen; it would save her a lifetime of pain and suffering. But she couldn't say she didn't deserve it.

She came upon him with the intention to kill, but it seemed as if he could never forgive, and never let go of her. But there was further reasoning as to why her mind had crumbled to scattered bits for quite a time. Now she was mostly repaired, in her mind, at least, but a few cracks and splits remained. It seemed so long ago at what had occurred to her that made her the way she was. But, perhaps she wasn't all there in the first place. Sheer jealousy can push some to do anything to gain attention, but most of those desperate attempts failed, not unlike her own. Quite the stallion he was, charming, handsome, but what would he do with a mare like her? Pretty, perhaps, but too immature and innocent for his tastes. How he led her on, wooing her with honeyed words and false promises. How naive was she to believe he was truly interested in her! And it was quite the snap back to reality when he suddenly abandoned her affections for someone else's, someone who smothered her and rubbed her happiness into her face. Her taunts and teases seemed small, but they slowly chipped her away piece by piece. She had to be expecting a retaliation, maybe. There was a consequence to everything, wasn't there? She probably wasn't expecting to be lying dead in the creek when she went for a drink. The water turned a delicious red, and her past doubts were gone as she bathed in her victory. But then of course, there was her lost love. She had hoped so many things would come from their relationship, but it was nothing now. She realized she hadn't even loved him, but the notion of being traded off like some toy didn't settle right. He had been treading on unsafe ground without even knowing, and stepped right on the wrong snake. And it was time he received his bite. Or a few. Or a lot. Too much, maybe? He was good as dead anyway, everyone dies. It wasn't until then had she really realized how she loved tearing and fighting, and she relished on it. It was some thing that was entirely her own, and couldn't leave her.

But it seemed to be leaving her more and more every day. She was beginning to lose her urge to fight and defend herself from Spyder. How could she possibly think of holding out when he tore her delicate skin so easily? Ones of her breed were meant for endurance and speed, not for constant battles for their lives. Her responses seemed automatic, prerecorded, and helped support her theory that her life was not her own, but Spyder's. What would happen if she just laid down and allowed him to tear her apart, more so that he already had? But, if he truly wanted to kill her before, he would have done so already, ten times over. His skin was like paper, unable to heal after being torn so often from his constant battles, with her and with no doubt other horses, who probably met their demises. He tore so easily under her teeth and thick, hot blood poured into her mouth. She liked the metallic taste, but allowed the liquid to fall past her lips and spill onto the ground. She was watching him, her blue eyes focusing as he twisted instead of trying to spring his legs free, and couldn't pull away in time before his larger body slammed into her, causing her to side-step several times to remain on her feet. A grunt passed her lips in frustration as his legs banged against hers, tempting her body to fall, but she remained steady, dancing about backwards to avoid his tripping feet. It was almost familiar to her, their play and exchange of blows, and she flowed right into the rhythm as if it were a tune she knew by heart.

It would never end, would it? Every bite, snap, kick, buck, slap, scrape, lunge brought her closer and closer to face her death, but never any closer to escaping him. She thought many times of giving into the dark temptation of the pale horse, to escape her hell on earth and rot in an eternity somewhere beyond. But even if she did escape her body, she wouldn't be able to still escape Spyder. He would find her anyway, regardless of her form. Even if she were a wandering wraith, he would be the one haunting, taunting her soul evermore. His blows would forever be felt on her skin, even when they were long since delivered. Every reminder was permanent, and she had no choice but to suffer what was given to her. She was his, as much as she would hope not so. Not in the romantic sense at all - though he may find their fighting and her loathing a bit arousing. He fed on her pain and suffering, but she still remained on her feet, fending the stallion off from beating her to the floor. Teeth snapping, she pressured him in return, reaching for tender skin that hadn't the time to heal. Best part was that it was easier to rip him open, but pain didn't register to him. It more served as an aphrodisiac than as something the body has established to warn off from doing it further. Keeping her head tucked, vital throat safe from harm, she continued her responding dance, sharp hooves constantly lashing as she switched back and forth on her back legs to scrape him with her others.

ooc: long wait deserves a long post!

[/color][/center]