► ❛ ━━━ I have zero redeeming qualities ⊱ —rp account for #TheInvitation’s 𝒲alter 𝔇e℣ille ⊱ —canon-divergent + heavy headcanon influence ⊱ —adult & possibly triggering themes present ⊱ —strictly in character · 𝕷𝖊 𝕭𝖆𝖑 𝕯𝖊 𝕷’𝕰𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖗 ↺+♡ ┃WT: #Fαçαԃҽ ⊱

naked roundness that anticipates the contrasts between the softness and firmness of the recesses of her skin. The immemorial dance that leads to a climax began. When she wakes up, it is already too late. + †

within her own nightmare that is now reality. Drinking from her soul will be a pleasure. 𝕴 shed my human appearance, observing once again —with completely dark irises— the colour of the young woman's hair. Then 𝕴 kiss her forms, evoking every curve up to the initial †

now rests. ⊱ Lλɢυz ——Initially, 𝕴 rejoice in the slow movements of the captive, immersed in a benevolent unconsciousness appropriate for the fragile human body, framed by movements that could even be described as tinged with a certain hint of lust and voluptuousness, †

with dragging feet, forming a rudimentary circle and turning their backs to the flames capable of melting the stubborn will of any creature. Their silhouettes are outlined in black against the bright glow of the night star, and they look towards the divan where the lady †

where they circle around the axis of a burning fire (the star Sirius) at the centre of the large room. They then leap into the air, spinning and wielding seven ornate swords, specially polished for the occasion. They greet the leader before crouching down and then walking †

who were already waiting for him, greeting them; they returned the courtesy before dividing into rows and opening a passageway for him. Flanking his path, these beings quickly set themselves in motion, impatient. From their position, they walk to the great hall, †

Σlιdσг. Ɓεlετн. Flλυгεs. Μσгλϰ. Ѕσlλs. Θгιλs. Δlϐισπ. 𝔇e℣ille walked down the main corridor, carrying the lady in his arms, while a ray of silvery light streamed through the windows and illuminated the entrance. The Son of the Dragon then approached his subordinates, †

caressed her white neck, bloody wounds in the moonlight, immodest strands spilling over her shoulders and back. My boot rested on a dry branch as I bent down to lift the woman and return with her to a more appropriate place for our encounter. The night was just beginning.—— †

𝓦𝖊, 𝖛𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖘, disdain the coarse food of humans and can only sustain ourselves with life itself, the magical substance found in every soul and in the breath of their fragile existence. Like the petals of autumn roses, 𝕯elicate&𝕾ad, the traveller's fiery red hair †

had that fiery colour framing her face, while Eve, who was originally blonde or brown-haired, had red hair when she tasted the apple of sin. 3·°° am ⊱ Ƙεπλz ⊱—— Of course, metaphors aside, it is a fact that men and women simply die as part of a necessary sacrifice. †

redheaded slaves cost more money than the rest; in Egypt, /they/ were burned as sacrifices in honour of the god Osiris. Many redheads were burned at the stake for being judged as witches simply because of their hair colour, and even Lilith, Adam's first wife, †

with that shade that made it impossible for its owner to go unnoticed: the perpetual satiny light, like an echo of various myths... In Ancient Greece, it was believed that when a redhead died, they would become a vampire; during the Roman Empire, †

What a strange coincidence! On that freezing night! /𝕳𝖊/ then watched as /𝖘𝖍𝖊/ rubbed her hands, lost in her sleep and trying in vain to warm them; he also admired her hair, the most distinctive sign of his victim, †

and the swirling mist curiously reflected the moonbeams, making the night even brighter, albeit for brief moments. /And/ as a prelude to her nightmare, the woman suddenly remembered the red latticework she had found among the gleaming white shreds. †

Sleep soon came to keep /her/ company. In her light sleep, she heard a noise, like that made by dead wood when it creaks due to an external force. Even with her eyes closed, Carol sensed that the moonlight was dazzling at that moment, dispelling shadows, †

while /the traveller/ bent down to observe velvety scarlet patches, aided by the moonlight that at that moment illuminated the celosia petals with a silvery tone. It was then that fatigue overcame her, and she decided to rest for at least a moment. †

which many called the “black cherries moon” to mark when cherries are becoming ripe. The flowers brought a little life to the place, like rubies wrapped in pale icy shadows... The landscape could be described as beautiful and diffuse, surrounded by trees, †

to lose her way, with the fog enveloping every visible solid object. /She/ walked alone, trying not to give up, until a bright spot caught her eye in the fog. Miraculous red first flame celosias seemed to spring from nowhere, in the fog of that August full moon night, †

the house at dusk, or without her company. Disobeying, after some time and several detours, Carol realised that she should not have ignored the wise woman's advice; now she was unable to find her way back, and her mobile phone signal had been lost. It had not been difficult †

a couple of days with her grandmother, a venerable old woman born in the 1940s in the small village, who allowed herself to take a nap in the afternoon. It is true that Mrs. Swift, whom /Carol/ had not visited for just under twenty years, had warned her not to leave †