The moon looks on, peeking nervously behind thin clouds at the show below. The world is silent, wary of the two and this interaction that was entirely inappropriate. His aura is contagious and intoxicating, drawing in those like it and sadly those who were curious of it. None lasted long, his overwhelming stench of rot and lust always too much for them. It was practically impossible for the wraith to maintain enough sanity to keep anyone close to him. It would take one just as crazed or worse to put up with him, to withstand the waves of sin that drapes his presence and promises demise should you feel bold enough to stick around.

She is so pale, her feathers almost translucent against the gentle touch of the moonlight. She shines as she moves, dodging his lazy swat with ease, rewarding her with an unsatisfied rumble. She giggles, the sound like bells twinkling and yet there is underlying terror that is laced in that sound, as if it is used to draw children from their parents promising sweets and delight and granting them with their all too soon demise. It is enticing to him really, not as annoying as a normal giggle. "you have yet to see anything," he growls out simply, casting a sideways glance at the pale bird. Ironic, this white creature should signify purity and yet as he watches her tear at his kill, it seems that there really isn't anything pure about her except her color and even that seemed tainted by the aura of doom. She was the opposite of him; he a wraith, king of a hell none had ever known. She an angel, greeting the sinners at the gates, promising a way into heaven with her appearance and then tricking them into falling into his domain.

They make quite the pair.

Her reply to him is in a riddle and he is far too busy to decipher such a thing. No regrets. At least that was something he could agree with her on. His legacy was built upon the backs of the broken, a castle made of bones surrounded by crimson rivers and blackened trees. He regrets nothing, not one thing he has done in his life has gifted him with the emotion of guilt or grief. He feels nothing except anger, lust, anticipation, excitement... he was a sick individual, yet the world lived for it.

She shifts; her action fluid like an intricate dance as pale feathers dissipate into even paler skin. Her transformation is practically silent, far different from his own when he changes. For when the beast shifts it is a gruesome display. She contorts like a ballerina, languid and then she is bare before him, unabashedly so. Like any normal male would do, his head lifts fully from his kill, turning to face her and allow those abysmal orbs to fixate upon her pure skin. That gaze slides along her flesh, blood dripping from his chin hairs as he takes her in. he wonders, if he peels that cream flesh back what would be lurking underneath? Blackness perhaps, her pale features a facade to the world hiding the burnt creature that hides within.

Beautiful,
In a sadistic, melancholy way.

Tongue slides along his maw, hunger for his kill dissolving and morphing into a hunger for her. But he withstands, his scarred maw a mask to his desires. But she moves, eliciting a slow, drawn out growl from the permanently bloodstained lion. The wraith watches her idly, flesh rolling as those thin, child-like fingers meet him. "careful..." it is a warning, not for her safety but for something else. She will start a snowball effect with her innocent touches that feel laced with poison. Cause and effect, she will cause him to do things that only nightmares can imagine. The worst part? As he looks into those glittering eyes he feels she just might enjoy every minute of it.

Her voice echoes and he lets out a deep sigh, ears flicking at her words as if to swipe them away. "it is not glory i seek in this reign." he honestly didn't ask for any of it, he was the one hired for jobs, content to satisfy the ache of the demons inside him and earn a little cash on the side. Rumors of the scarred viking had spread and others came to him, joining him in his death parade. It just so happened that he would be the one to lead them, to keep control, to hold down peace... well, what was left of it anyways. He didn't even know what peace was so how could he offer it to others? Honestly the horde did whatever it wanted and he found he was cleaning up their messes more than sacrosanct's residents.

He half turns, eyes sliding once more along her flesh. If she was going to touch him, then he was going to touch her. Tongue slides out to meet her thigh, dragging along her cool skin gently. The blood from his chin follows suit, trailing along her bare canvas and creating a beautifully tainted masterpiece. "you taste of decaying sunshine." he muses out loud, his deep voice a husky whisper.

Delicious.