TAGS. it's quiet. midnight moon waning, the stars above her look like a sky splintered and cracked, rolling over fantasy land meadows, burnt blacks and scorched blues. cricketsong cradles ears, night time lullaby to sweep and swoop over the tufted skulls of animals sleeping. it is at this time, she is on the prowl. she's not the kind for sleep, not really, not truly, phantom of the day to hang upon mortal lands in body meant to be puppeteered and strings waiting to be pulled. the dead don't need to sleep now, do they?
not that she could if she wanted.
for thoughts of the day before writhe and scathe forefront of mind, an anger placed and burning rioting within her. you're not the leader anymore, chica. hot are the words to carve through her brain, leaving salted and embittered taste in her mouth, upon her tongue. how dare he? how fucking dare he sit there and spit such absolute bullshit her way, a lowly blow that she wasn't going to take sitting down, no, no. he should have known her better than that. chicagocrimes huffs loudly, smoke unfurling from pelt as she moves on, down one aisle of dens and over to the next, hallowed tree filled with bug tunes and wandering will o wisps, flashing their twinkling mystic lights of many colors down upon she.
- bad start but H20 Delirious ;^)