06-05-2008, 10:49 PM
The camp was far behind her now. Up ahead, she saw the unmistakable shine of water, the moonlight slicing down through the narrow crevice in the trees to dance across its rippling surface. Along its muddy bank, cat tails grew in sporadic patches, their oblong, bulbous heads swaying lightly with the long grasses cradling them. The songs of the woodland’s night prowling residents filled the quietude of the area. It was almost serene. Almost.
Her lithe figure made her way through the tall underbrush of the forest, towards the beckoning shine of the stream. Surely its chilly currents would ease this tension from her body, which was exactly what she needed right now. Sighing discontentedly, Violet dropped her bag beside a mossy rock, kicked her muddy boots off and padded barefoot into the water.
The cool liquid caressed her bare skin as she padded into the crystalline depths; she didn’t care that her clothes would get soaked, the only thing she wanted at this point was to sink into the water and let it envelop her in its yielding embrace. When it finally reached to just below her breasts, she leaned back into its cradle and floated on the gentle current, her eyes affixed to the infinite web of stars canvassing the midnight sky.
She remembered the taste of him on her lips, like some sort of strange candy as it rolled along her tongue, the sweet juice flowing down her throat as she drank down every inch him. He’d been rough, just as she liked it, without any cue from her end. It sent an old, familiar jolt shimmying up her spine as she recalled how his fingers clutched her to his hard frame. Her body warmed at the memory, but knew that it was just that: a memory.
She’d never feel that again, not now, not after the game, not ever. The loss of it was almost painful, a void forming where her heart used to be. He’d taken it, smashed it, incinerated it. There was no turning back now.
For the first time since the game began, she was ready to die. If she had to live through this game knowing that he hated her, it would be a wretched existence, and she just couldn’t keep going knowing how he really felt about her, knowing that at any moment, he could turn on her and clench yet another death to notch on his deadly axe’s handle.
She didn’t want to be another notch.
The water wasn’t helping her at all, so flipping onto her stomach, she peddled out of the water and back onto dry(ish) land. Stuffing her boots into her backpack, she walked back to camp, dripping wet, and terrified. As she entered the small camp, the fire had burned down to low, glowing embers, casting a faint orange glow around its circumference. Bardock was nowhere in sight, which both frightened and relieved her.
Dropping the pack down a few feet from the fire, her boots laying beside them, Vi stretched out on the tousled grass. It was hard, cold and uncomfortable, small pebbles digging into her skin as she curled onto her side, the bag serving as a crude pillow to her tired head. The crackling embers lulled her as she closed her eyes. Finally, sleep claimed the fatigued warrior, dragging her into the depths of a sleep so deep, she didn’t stir when a branch snapped mere inches from her head.
Her lithe figure made her way through the tall underbrush of the forest, towards the beckoning shine of the stream. Surely its chilly currents would ease this tension from her body, which was exactly what she needed right now. Sighing discontentedly, Violet dropped her bag beside a mossy rock, kicked her muddy boots off and padded barefoot into the water.
The cool liquid caressed her bare skin as she padded into the crystalline depths; she didn’t care that her clothes would get soaked, the only thing she wanted at this point was to sink into the water and let it envelop her in its yielding embrace. When it finally reached to just below her breasts, she leaned back into its cradle and floated on the gentle current, her eyes affixed to the infinite web of stars canvassing the midnight sky.
She remembered the taste of him on her lips, like some sort of strange candy as it rolled along her tongue, the sweet juice flowing down her throat as she drank down every inch him. He’d been rough, just as she liked it, without any cue from her end. It sent an old, familiar jolt shimmying up her spine as she recalled how his fingers clutched her to his hard frame. Her body warmed at the memory, but knew that it was just that: a memory.
She’d never feel that again, not now, not after the game, not ever. The loss of it was almost painful, a void forming where her heart used to be. He’d taken it, smashed it, incinerated it. There was no turning back now.
For the first time since the game began, she was ready to die. If she had to live through this game knowing that he hated her, it would be a wretched existence, and she just couldn’t keep going knowing how he really felt about her, knowing that at any moment, he could turn on her and clench yet another death to notch on his deadly axe’s handle.
She didn’t want to be another notch.
The water wasn’t helping her at all, so flipping onto her stomach, she peddled out of the water and back onto dry(ish) land. Stuffing her boots into her backpack, she walked back to camp, dripping wet, and terrified. As she entered the small camp, the fire had burned down to low, glowing embers, casting a faint orange glow around its circumference. Bardock was nowhere in sight, which both frightened and relieved her.
Dropping the pack down a few feet from the fire, her boots laying beside them, Vi stretched out on the tousled grass. It was hard, cold and uncomfortable, small pebbles digging into her skin as she curled onto her side, the bag serving as a crude pillow to her tired head. The crackling embers lulled her as she closed her eyes. Finally, sleep claimed the fatigued warrior, dragging her into the depths of a sleep so deep, she didn’t stir when a branch snapped mere inches from her head.
![[Image: visigjune08_v2.jpg]](http://storm.novahost.org/mysigs/visigjune08_v2.jpg)
Fuck you, Photobucket.