All Welcome hear her still - Printable Version

The spring season was in full-bloom. The heat was soft and gentle, as was the sun’s rays itself. Ampoule basked in it, attempting to absorb all of the sun energy that she could, feeling herself be revitalized after a long winter. If the dead and the cold of winter meant that the siren could more thoroughly enjoy the spring when it came, then she would take a thousand winters – just as long as

it meant a thousand sun filled, gay afternoons spent in repose, recharging her soul beneath the solar gods. Certainly, it should have been a boon for everyone. Why ever would it not be?

The elegant woman reflected the lilac field in its fullest bloom. Most immediately, one might be struck by her regal countenance, which infused itself into all parts of her, from her innermost being to her external aura. Ampoule carries herself confidently, but her dove-white pelage prevents her from appearing too imposing. Downy and thick, Ampoule goes to great length to keep herself preened and pristine. In fact, she was grooming herself at that moment, holding her tail between her front paws and licking every hair in place, as if it were her own pup.

She watched the cavorting rabbits amongst the lilac fronds. She thought that it would be fun to play like them, so charismatic yet quiet. To not worry about the predator that lay just beyond, scarcely concealed by the middling, swaying grasses. Their family was large, and she was singular, and they were refilling their coffers with the resplendent sun just as she was. There was no fear, nor tension.

Her eyes are large, round and questioning – like two expensive and bright pink crystals shining at you, reflecting back the longing that is so abundantly offered amongst the warren.

A fragile peace, shattered in an instant as the viper struck. She burst forth from the shadows that had cradled her like a mother, plunging with merciless precision upon those unsuspecting lives, wrenching their mother from them in a single, brutal motion. Held fast between the viper’s cold, threatening white daggers—tight enough to deny flight, yet not enough to pierce flesh or break her neck. A cruel, sadistic trap from which the poor lagomorph mother writhed to escape, struggling with all the desperation of one who refuses to surrender to her fate.

Garance—the viper—was forced to maintain her hold, paws pressed to the frail body of her captive, claws digging in, her grip unwavering. Not far off, the aid she called for.

I need an assistant! Would you be so kind as to lend a hand? Her voice was sweet, almost melodic, her angelic smile at odds with the grim tableau unfolding before her. It was as if a macabre play were being staged beneath the lilting song of a young maiden. A delicious dissonance Garance delighted in.