The horizon had begun devouring the sun with insatiable gluttony, spilling glaring blood across a cobalt canvas. Brushstrokes of red blurred against the darkening sky, brilliant tongues of scarlet oozing into a sea of indigo as the ball of fire descended. Vermilion splashed its grisly colors over the heavens, eclipsing the crests of distant sleeping pines as they licked against the earth, the terrain appearing as if rubies had been carelessly strewn across a gloomy blanket. A single silhouette stood in the distance; rounded ears had been hills against a bloody horizon, the crest of tombs against a gory sky.
Puddles of scarlet emerged against the hazy slate outline; red topaz gems were eyes, shades of wine trapped within glassy irises. They flickered like a contained flame, lustrous and hungry - their surfaces reflected the art of falling dusk, holding the image of the sun's gory demise as the earth ripped into its divine flesh. Black tresses were stained with crimson, sleek wisps of ink wreathed in a glow of fading daylight, emerging the melanistic leopard into an aura of mystifying pigments.
A halo of fire eclipsed the curves and hills of her slender shape, an ethereal crown of orange tongues; she had worn it like a scorching headpiece, the embers of dawn over the rise in her soft brow. She appeared as the spirit of a goddess long passed, a heartbeat stilled by the ache of isolation, a glowing etch against the landscape - it was clear why she had been named Athena.
The Sanguine Ruins had been... whack, to say the least. Athena had left the group long ago, and craved something more, something fresh. She had heard whispers of the Shadow Veil - stories of the terror and fear they had instilled into their rivals, a group that were as bloodthirsty as they were fearsome. It had stirred enough interest for the leopardess to begin her travels, and after days and nights of desolate wandering, she, at last, had pinpointed their whereabouts.
The hands of a warm breeze groped her frame with lustful hands, their insatiable craving to explore branding a trail of warmth against her skin. The setting sun dripped between the angle of high cheeks as warm winds had caught the curl of a peach tongue, filling senses with the aroma of the graves and death. Of carrion and mists; a distinct smell that touched her, a breath of something sentimental, something nostalgic. It filled the lungs until they ached, and she let it escape her chest in a long exhale - a tender hum that rattled the ribs. It reminded her of her childhood. It reminded her of home. Rounded haunches had found a seat in the foreign terrain just outside their borders as she approached on tall limbs, and she waited in silent patience.