THE GUILLOTINE;

[ashei]

"And in that moment I could taste the smoke of the barrel curling coldly from ashen gray lips, the carmine that spilled like heavenly ambrosial wine from your stammering lungs tasted of metal and panic. It held the same bewitching taste of nicotine as your beloved cancer stick, love, just as addicting, always leaving me wanting more, unsatisfied with just one touch, one taste. One night was simply not enough to subdue this newly stirred creature that alluring waited, hunting just out of my grasping reach for something I could never have. You had driven me to a point of starvation and madness, a plague set free upon my life and your affections, attentions were the only silver to this lycanthropic curse you had so cast upon me. I did not recognize myself in a mirror anymore, so I broke them all, or covered them in veils, becoming more like the Beast than any Belle within his horrid nightmare castle of gargoyles which paid me company in the hours of fallen twilight. As soon as dawn's feeble lights began to scrape against their stone flesh the drew back into lifeless husks and leaving me alone once again to face the long lit hours. You had promised me, and you had abandoned me.

No more than a naive, foolish Juliet drawn to your charming Romeo."

hey there, this is ashei (: i used to play quite a few characters here on wrv, and i still hang around as matisse who is my leading man. if you like what i do, feel free to hit me up for a thread at about anytime (: i enjoy writing and a few other hobbies, such as playing League of Legends, because i'm a game nerd lulz. anyways, feel free to drop me an im or a pm on site anytime, if you want my AIM (i think i posted it somewhere or something lol) for plottage or some such thing, just yell at me on site, i'm a regular creeper (:

[ashei]

[bg=white] Name: Dante Matisse Demoir Age: 4 years Gender: Male Breed: Mutt {Arabian, Quarter, Mustang, Percheron} Height: 16.2hh Coat Color: Rose grey Mane/tail Color: Silver and black Eye Color: Gold Markings: n/a Alignment: Light Personality: "Love is a fickle thing, hideous to behold and a mental disease to one's mind glorious in reaper's delight as one will lay down his or her life to satisfy that meaningless urge to protect, to soothe and to comfort. It is in the human nature to be kind, to nourish with ever fleeting gasping breath. Everything simply boils, festering with uncouth adulterated rage until the seams burst with the bloodied monstrosity of pumping vessels ripping free from lithe flesh. Do not speak to me of beauty, your words are cheap, solicited in your most morbid fantasies. You see an alternate universe through brimstone eyes, choking and asphyxiating under the weight of your reality and falling into the fair, pale realm of a palace cracked. You're a synthetic creature with plagiarized eyes, a teasing malignant fiend drifting restless through the gnarled, warped copses standing in vexing light of the wicked huntress moon over brilliant fixated reverie. You're cold, so unfeeling, a dead pool of brackish tempting tease, and the ambrosial wine never has tasted so good to your forsaken tongue as you never seemed satisfied with anything given unto you. You're a waste of flesh and sense, words fail to describe your abrasiveness demeanor. Ruthless. Cold. Harsh. Loathsome. All of these things you are. All of these things you have been. All of these things you will die for." - Little does she know she's already dead to me, but intention never makes a sound. Sin like skeletons are hard to hide. My mask is growing heavy but I've forgotten who's beneath. She'll burn the hollow, she'll spread the secrecy. She'll tell the story of the villain that they see. Sadistic tongue slips calloused words like poison, languorously treading the fine lines nearing offense. A darker sensuality clouds the golden eyes than most, a loving, bleeding masochist , barely any emotion finding ways through the cracks in a well placed and fabricated mask. Teasing carnivorous smirk flashes across dangerously curved cherub lips, colored the same as dry ashes, a luminous gray. Vivacious and cruel with the harrowing taste of self-destruction and disfigurement feverishly tracing the curve of his lithe frame, reflected in the numerous scars that litter against his pale flesh. To coax that sinister little burn of impish temper into blazing incognito is a sin, one he cannot pass nor avoid falling into the masquerade of pure vindictive ire. He finds no solace in the company of others, preferring instead to remain in the brittle silence of his own little world. Isolation and self-mutilation are often the best medicine. More the silent shadow alluring in a room of the finest gems, keeping his tongue bitten between sharpened teeth and always poised dagger sharp for when it is needed. Calm fantasia breaking not the brittle silence and pouring like miasma, silent, unnoticed in brittle rapture. Noise hardly bites through his candid lips, yet when it does it is often brusque, perhaps even to a point of rudeness with brash infernal tones softly snaking across satin tongue. Cold to a glacial fault, enigmatic stone features hardly ever broken by the brittle taste of emotion. Whimsical and uncaring with layer after calloused cover of gossamer apathetic tendencies. Cruel, cunning and malicious he stands the harbored shadow of scarred perfection, the thorn among the rose. "If you could only see the beast you've made of me." Possessive. Teasing. Cruel. Calloused. Whimsical. Selfish. Selfless. Destructive. Demure. History: -Born 'Outside' -Lived a normal Life in a Light band -At the age of three, he departed his family and left, never questioning his alignment. The darker sides in his personality being few and far between, yet giving him an edge; one in which can allow him to survive should he need it.

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[ashei]

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[atrb=background,http://i43.tinypic.com/1z1hiew.png] OOC/ SPEECH And in that moment I could taste the smoke of the barrel curling coldly from ashen gray lips, the carmine that spilled like heavenly ambrosial wine from your stammering lungs tasted of metal and panic. It held the same bewitching taste of nicotine as your beloved cancer stick, love, just as addicting, always leaving me wanting more, unsatisfied with just one touch, one taste. One night was simply not enough to subdue this newly stirred creature that alluring waited, hunting just out of my grasping reach for something I could never have. You had driven me to a point of starvation and madness, a plague set free upon my life and your affections, attentions were the only silver to this lycanthropic curse you had so cast upon me. I did not recognize myself in a mirror anymore, so I broke them all, or covered them in veils, becoming more like the Beast than any Belle within his horrid nightmare castle of gargoyles which paid me company in the hours of fallen twilight. As soon as dawn's feeble lights began to scrape against their stone flesh the drew back into lifeless husks and leaving me alone once again to face the long lit hours. You had promised me, and you had abandoned me. No more than a naive, foolish Juliet drawn to your charming Romeo.

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[bg=010101] ❧ Lalala lala

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[bg=010101] ۵I JUST WANT SOMETHING I CAN NEVER HAVE; Filler Alexandra; You could say I missed him. There was an aching in my heart, one which ceased to subside, to obey my commands and disperse. There was a regret that I did not chase him, follow in the wake of my sorrow to lay beside the faithful Annabelle Lee in her fruitless, barren coffin. Even she had love beyond death though - perhaps it was her beauty, one that rivaled the charisma and passion of Helen, the face that launched a thousand ships. A picturesque perfection I could not even compare to within the scape of my wildest dreams. After his departure I became like the rose in the faerie tail of Beauty and her Beast. I sealed my own fate, wicked in my own wilting demise, a solitary petal at a time. It was a slow death, one which would only be further slowed by the torturous temptation of fully ending breath, life itself. To be turned away, to be driven away to the point of an insanity which poured in relentless turrets of unending rain. No amount of words could express the way that you made me feel - a candle which was left by the window in the face of a looming rain storm, watching in dread and horror as those booming thunderheads drifted slowly closer, threatening an already weakened flame. I blame you for the way I am now, I changed for you - became kinder, softer. I trusted you and you only betrayed me in the end, wounding me deeper than any weapon could, depriving me of tears to waste on anything else other than the mention of your name. Even though I know we will never cross paths again, know that there is a part of me that still misses you and loves you above this very life. However, it is only a matter of time before I find how to cut it away from me. alexandra l'rouge ۵The letter lay sealed, pressed with a wax seal of brilliant ruby against the yellowing parchment of the envelope. Idly, she ran a finger along the edge of the paper, remembering every word she had scribed in her pristine cursive, the cross and dot over every t and i. Of course there was no address on the nearly blank surface, only his name, staring at her in the same cerulean ink as the message had been written. How long had it been since she had last looked at it? A few days? Maybe weeks, possibly months. She still held a kindled flame of hope, her hand shielding it from the aggressive assault of her temper that she would see him just one more time and that maybe she could forgive him. That maybe he was as remorseful for departing without a word as she was infuriated. Was it too much to hope for one night in which she could spend with him in those gardens again without waking only to realize that it was a dream, a horrid reminder of what she could never have. Maybe he was dead. If she could only hold that certainty that the reason he had forgotten about her was because his own existence was terminated, perhaps it would allow her some peace of mind - to know that it wasn't lies that gave him the will to keep her hanging on a silver spool of thread. He had woven it so thoughtfully, haunting in his charms which left her defenses so crippled and continued to bleed her dry even now. If he were gone, long passed then she could live a better life perhaps. But if he came back... "He won't come back. He never cared to begin with." ۵Eyes glanced to the fire, then to the letter, the last physical attachment that she had held to him, to that cowboy Casanova with the dark hair and devilish eyes. Why would he? And if he did, she had already cast him to damnation now while she tried to heal the devastation he had caused within her. With an overcast taste of bitter apathy, she picked up the brittle chains that bound her to the past, keeping him constantly in mind whenever she glanced to the shadowed figure of her underused roll-top writing desk. She could recall the late hours she had spent here, writing to her heart's delight in what used to be her journal, the ashes now smoldering wildly in brilliant flames in the vicious assault of her aggression. It had held too many memories of him to be in her sight anymore. She could feel the progression of tears beginning to fill her eyes once more as she inhaled a stuttering breath past the blockage in her throat. Her gaze stung, blurring as she closed her sights from his accursed name. Her chest ached, an empty, hollow feeling that she could not shake within the walls of her castle any longer. "Miss? Miss Alexandra?" A voice calling from what seemed a world away. Then, meekly: "Yes?" ۵In the lingering quiet following the fortified strength of her broken voice, the servant's hesitation was more than obvious. There was a brief quiet that seemed to drag on for eternity, turning seconds into years before the veil was broken. "Someone said they smelled smoke coming from your room, a-are you cold ma'am? If so, we can bring in covers for you? Perhaps the exquisite gift from-" "No, I need no gifts. And I'm not cold." Hollow, empty, void, desolate, but not c o l d. "I'm simply getting rid of some things. Leave me." The quiet outside drew on again, but she knew the woman was not gone, she could almost hear her breathing, her pulse racing as she disobeyed the Shadow Sprite queen. Alexandra paid no mind, her hand slowly drifting towards the tantalizing warmth that drew from the flames of the hearth mere feet away from her desk. She had been trapped within her room for days now, she had lost count of the time, after counting several million seconds within her mind she grew distracted from the pain of the serrated arrow slowly being driven through her chest once more. It was impossible not to think of him when their meeting place lay in mocking just outside her window. It was impossible to forget about him when she was here, in this place. The palace was no longer her home and comfort, it was her prison and she needed to escape. With one last sigh of conviction and heartache, she allowed the paper to slip from her numb fingers, watching with tear filled eyes as the encroaching flames hungrily ate away his name, forever branding it on her mind like some hellish joke. In the ashes of his unspoken burial, she also witnessed the demise of Queen Alexandra. She would fade away, become no more than a memory as well.

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[bg=010101] ooc/speech Hmhmhmhmhmhmhm Table for Alexandra <333

[ashei]

{R E Q U E S T M E P L Z }

Name: Alexandra Vivette L’Rouge
Pronunciation: Viv-et| La-roo-ge
Morality: Dark - Neutral
Age: iv years
Breed: Mutt
Height: 16.1
Coat Color: Auburn
Mane/tail: Mahogany
Markings: White blaze and two white socks, hind left and front right
Eyes: Blue
Appearance: Quiet moonlight slipped in ardent whispers across the black swan, a nightingale caged within silver tinsel as she swept the pool’s surface with a solitary stroke of a cryptic nail. Ripples drew beneath the entrancing motion as eyes of smoldering cerulean and electric fire froze my veins with chilling animosity. Lamia fangs caressed a gentle smile against the lush curve of her ruby lips as kohl lined gaze lingered like azure venom against my skin, caressing with an apathetic interest as she examined, so critically, each line of my face with an obsessive air. Insatiable eyes halted as they met mine – such a brief moment yet the slow consuming fury buried deep within sweet sinful irises swept through my very soul with a cruel snap of her impassioned anger. A woman scorned, it seemed she remained yet even after the long years we had spent separated. A chill of haunting fear traced the curve of my spine as she rose, decadent to her feet, the ebony gown one of mourning draped her sinuous frame in luscious harmony, fleeting in delicate ruffles around her ankles to show pale white skin bleached alabaster in the evanescent light of the stellar beams and star shine. “You left…” her vocals were soft, eloquent velvet hinged on the lines of lyrics from the lips of sirens. Yet in the beautiful song lay a dangerous whisper of malevolent rage, hindering the peaceful lilt she once carried. Soft, her footsteps echoed restlessly among the cobble stones of the courtyard and I stood motionless as she pierced me with her smiling dagger glare. “I nearly forgot what you looked like,” the whisper was tarnished, the hate left to the view of the world in this imminent breath. Her nails wove against the soft skin of my cheek, carving into the flesh but not enough to draw the carmine traces of blood to the surface, once dulcet hands turning into vicious claws which she snapped away as I tried to touch but an inch of that precious silk of her mahogany mane, tresses wild in the wind as it swept through the courtyard. Her back turned, head tilting to cast me a calloused look over the girlish curve of her shoulder. “But you’ve come home now – forever…” Once more I was drawn to her at her whim, crossing the meager distance within a ragged pulse of my heart as it pounded within my ears like thunder. Caught within the iridescent flame of her candle wick, like a moth under her possession I wandered through the encasing arms of paramour nocturne. The murderous smile she wore wove further against her cherished mouth , a sinister expression of yearning revenge. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Arachnid witch, she moves with sublime grace, a dance of macabre horror as candied lips kiss the feverish alabaster of skulls collected within her amorous grasp. Eyes are pure, a beguiling lie spun within the gaze of liquored innocence which one would first imagine as they look within the cerulean pools. That is all it is however, a blinding fantasia which draws one in to the huntress’s web of wicked intentions and rapacious desires, a spider queen tending well the spells of voodoo she practices with undying patience. Her frame is delicate, dulcet and draped in velvet auburn, the blaze that mars her face the moon which lights the short veneer stockings on her slender ankles. Her legs are that of a dancer’s which carry her with willowy elegance, her mane remaining that of wild russet locks which match the silken threads of her tail. Her frame is one of morbid eloquence, witchling Morganna transformed into equine beauty. Though plain, she carries herself with regal ease, and her voice holds a lyrical note, like a siren’s playful tone singing to the rolling waves of the ocean scape.

Persona: A rose, draped in velvet no matter how soft still houses the blooming toxins buried within her delicate thorns, much like the poisons cloaking Snow White’s famed poison apple. Thee venomous desires are hidden, corroding her black wicked heart within the scopes of kaleidoscope dreams which haunt her mind; dreams of sacred ambitions and lusting prowess. It is not the thrills of power she pines for, the lucrative sweet possession of golden crowns for in time the cherished metal fades and tarnishes, cracked beneath the hallow light of an ascended moon. A crown will do nothing to protect the fragility of a skewered heart once betrayed by what she had once deemed love; no, not even the most honed of guards will be able to save you from the blind nocturne fantasias of bitter sweet impassioned anguish from sallow veins. It is only a will strong enough to defy those who wish to suppress and the lethargic melody of her voice to keep them astray. She thirsts not for solitude, but for respect and recognition – to simply be remembered as a goddess, loved and adored by all those she would have see her as such. To be passed into time an immortal statue and a glorious monolith of a time forgotten when years have left her body crumbled in her grave. She wishes to be seen as a kind and wonderful woman, but her cruel and malicious soul refuse to let her become this picturesque purity she so seeks to harness as her own. Instead she will fake and imitate the tenderness she bleeds for, hiding her true self behind a mirror of make believe and a well fortified mask. She is no more than a shadow, a fleeting miasma of wraithish proportions dwelling in a world of light, yet yearning to once again be one with the darkness at the same moment forcing her to a tread the knife’s edge of neutrality. In the land of mirages she is a maiden of immense quietude, genteel and like the sweetest honey, the flame of innocence burning within her immaculate gaze, but if one looks deep enough into those pools, they will find themselves drowning within her immense desire and insatiable thirst for her original Miss Murder debonair.

She houses an obsessive mannerism, her love more a prison than any blessing, caged within the throes of her possession. Though delicate in appearances, she will not hesitate to strike at one who tries to steal from her, either in a queen’s manner and ruin a broken mind with spit-fire words, or in the eyes of a more barbaric king even physically seek to undo the wrong she feels that was wrought upon her. Malignant, she is a venomous temptress as well, once she has her eyes set on something she refuses to relinquish her grip until either the life is crushed from the feeble body or until it is made hers in its entirety. She may at times even stoop into manipulation; though she never lies she may tell half truths and twist the meaning of words to where she is on the border of what she had sworn off. Conflicted within herself, she often enjoys witnessing the disputes of others and if you are an enemy, she will not hesitate in a moment to strike a devastating blow, like a coiled viper waiting its moment to sink in its basilisk fangs the bewitching huntress will not miss any opportunity to see those who oppose her destroyed. With a brittle smile she will observe others, a dainty expression to fool the true mechanics which wheel like delicate clockwork in her mind. Weak spots, what she desires, strength, these are the traits she searches for before beginning to truly look at the full person before her. An analytical fiend at times, robotic in the way she automatically places the sinuous grace of kindness over her like a gossamer veil she is an enigmatic trickster and sovereign power when she wishes. Other times she is as treacherous and dark as Poseidon’s inky mires, thunderous rage billowing like maelstrom winds through her frame, anger giving her a false strength. Malice in Wonderland, beyond the fallen wall of make believe and the tragic curtains of reality. A walking contradiction you seem my love, but you are an imperfect, beautiful mess – you belong to me, my Shadow Queen.

History: She was born to the court of shadows, looming in the palace of cracked insolence as a mere upper servant to the queen of a paramour dead. The king was a jealous man, one who would seek revenge and it was under his whims that she was taught to do wrong unto those who had done it to you. It was one night in which he tried to drag her into his bed, an ugly wench with matted hair and soulful eyes to take the light from those bewitching orbs set in the lovely shape of her skull. No one believe if she whispered a single ounce of truth about what happened, no one would truly think that he would sink to such levels as this lowly wretch. She escaped, fleeing into the day where he dared not tread, only in the wicked cover of night was the fervent creature a bothersome thought and then it was that she sought out Bloody Mary, a hellish woman of fire, her hair coiled into a crown of wrathful thorns about her brows, her gown one of pure white, laced in gold around her ankles. She was a woman who believed herself loved by her people yet in her arrogance she was a tyrant, one who usurped the throne from her delicate older sister and stole it for herself, the king only wishing to have a strong queen, beauty nor personality mattered not. It was her mother who had been killed that day, driven away by this devilish witch into the fields of flooded plains and murdered among the carrion fowl where her body was left for them to feast upon. It was then that her own title had been ripped away so cruelly and she was forced to endure the humiliation of becoming a servant to her aunt. Speaking of the events that has taken place of course enraged the Queen of Hearts, setting flame under her unleashed temper. She rose off her precious throne, scepter held in her fingers and pointed the carmine ruby at the eloquent servant with briars tangled in the mass of her once silken brunette locks, calling her a liar and sending her for punishment. In her cell, her cage that malevolent man came once again, taunting her through the bars of her prison. “It is I who will teach you everything you know, Alexandra, I will break you into my image, mold you with careful hands to mimic my movements like a languid puppet which I wanted your mother to do. I see the same beauty in your eyes that I saw in hers, and if I cannot take it from you – I will make it mine.” The words were whispered harshly from between his gnashing teeth. “Will you not take an eye for an eye? You did nothing wrong, child. It was not you who lied, was it? She is an evil woman, destroying the serene twilight of my kingdom of darkness… The throne was rightfully yours the instant your mother died in those dull fields. Will you not rise up and take it back? For your dear mother…” At that time, the anguish drunken child had had no idea she was being manipulated, naïve in the ways of the world, she only could discern one thing, the uncontainable desire for revenge that smoldered like embers in her heart. Against her, and then him. Was it not also his fault that she was here? That the scars of the whip were etched into her flesh? After all it was because of him she had first went to the cruel woman. Yes, she would take care of her first, then she would turn on the hand that fed her. She would be queen, alone within her towers, never would she allow a king to be placed on a pedestal above her.

As the days after her release began to pass by and her quiet servitude to that malicious fiend drew no worrisome signs of the woman’s paranoia, she began to look through her things, looking for any signs that she could use to her advantage. Clearly the king was on her side as long as she ridded him of his dreadful bride. It was then she found the clue she had been awaiting, a gift given to her by a man. She recognized it as a bribe given from one of her suitor’s that she had possessed after slaying Alexandra’s dear mother. Bringing it to the king as evidence of his queen’s supposed betrayal to him, the woman of fire was swiftly executed the next morning and Alexandra was named the child bride of the king which she endured the stares of the people in what would soon be her courtyard and hers alone. She was queen now, and she would be a kind queen, loved by the people, cherished and adored by all within her kingdom. A breathless sigh exalted her lungs, an uplifting thought to help her pass through the following days in which she avoided that shadowed creature who constantly sought her within the evening hours in the castle corridors. Not long after she was crowned matriarch, she had sent one of her servant’s into the Black Hills of their domain after a poisonous herb which would finally drive the last nail in the coffin of her suffering. With but a sip of the toxic plants brew, she would at last have her much awaited revenge against both of those who had wronged her. Yes, she would be in his image, she would do unto him as he had done to her mother and tried to do to her. A foolish man he seemed indeed, unsuspecting even as she crushed the root in placed it in his chalice, brining him the last sips of red wine he would taste with mortality. As he lay on the floor, dying, she stood over him, staring maliciously into his eyes of gold, hunter’s gaze fixed on the lying innocence of her own. “I will watch the beauty fade from your eyes, my King… As you wished to see bleed from mine,” her voice whispered to the quiet night, ruby lips clenched into a tight line of bitter anger finally drawing its final breath as he exuded his and sightless eyes continued to stare at her in gruesome blame.

After she had come of age to take a king, she refused, repeatedly though many came to her with proposals and promises. Young princes and old kings wishing to ally their kingdoms or seek more power with a bond of mutual trust sealed with marriage vows. All of them she politely reclined, meeting her chosen love in secret, spending hours alone in the gardens with him in the solitude of night, yet neither of them sought to be married – so it would seem. She was unsure when he had asked her to wed him, breaking a vow to herself or denying him and turning him away as well as the only love she had ever known. At long last she decided she would become a bride once again, only to be shot through the heart with a barbed arrow when he had run into the night the very eve that they were to become married. Locking herself away, months later she followed in his footsteps, fleeing the kingdom and abandoning its crown to search for something more than what she had, greed consuming her. Her people had loved her, she was a benevolent ruler and she was well known as a very kind woman, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. To know that even one person would choose to run from her than bask in the kindness that she wished to exude. She could not rest peacefully within her tower with the knowledge that she could not have him after he made her promise herself to him. It was unforgivable. And so, she began to wander, casting aside her title as queen and instead choosing to become the servant once more if she had to.

[ashei]

dante matisse demoir; the wicked messanger; empire of dirt; arabian nights; deception, perfection; the darkness between the fireflies; a home is built with love and dreams;

light beta; the brooding robin hood - " he seems to be no more than some common riff raff, hardly honorable the title of any highly esteemed position, but to actually side with the lights after his long debated and shadowed history remains no more than a mystery. though he appears to have some manner of ideals of justice, he simply has no skills in which would imply a 'good' or 'noble' stature to his name. he goes by matisse, a name that was only recently discovered to be a fake identity, his real one yet to be discovered by any of the fellows within this valley. he is one uncertain in our case, a spy for the darks and a word of havoc to throw a stick into the grinding gears of our war's artisan - or no more than some naive colt playing at hero with a toy sword and blunt arrows? - it is far too early as of yet to say for certain wither any of our assumptions can be asserted for sure on him. he remains; a wild card or perhaps a simple joker in our deck."

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alexandra vivette l'rouge;boy with a coin; and i caught fire; ' hold your fire;

loner;a dream with inamorata - " lalalallallalalala~~"[/div][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]