medeiun: ɪᴍᴀᴋᴇʀᴘɪᴄᴏɴs (pic#14876274)
𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓 • 𝕸istress of 𝕰vil ([personal profile] medeiun) wrote in [community profile] polylogs 2021-05-20 01:06 am (UTC)

I. HIGH TEMPLE + A BIT OF WILDCARD

[ It is a beautiful city that sparkles there in the distance, but as much as Maleficent can appreciate its gilded sharp angles, its smooth extravagance (she has quite a flair of her own for making a statement), she is also deeply unsettled by it. It's something that needles into her core, as though an attack on her very spirit. Something that sees such structures as belonging only to Mankind's imagination, for such perfection could never be achieved in Mother Nature's realm. Tools and precision, buildings covered in gold.

It is beautiful. It is alien. And she finds herself balking from it, moving towards something that feels familiar — though she's so deeply hesitant to trust that feeling. Even as she moves through the strange shadowed hallways of the High Temple and her spirit is appeased by the sensation that drapes over her so soft and warm (to her it smells and feels like earth, like grass beneath her fingertips, like lying in the cool Moorlands and listening to the spring bubbling nearby, and for a moment she feels the freedom she felt when she was a girl).... Maleficent is suspicious of it. Nothing that isn't home should feel like it. And Aurora is not here with her.

For everything else it may be, at its core this place is a prison.

The dark fey stalks barefoot down the halls, something that is both bird of prey and woman, great wings folded behind her. The feathertips that lightly brush the ground are soft and silent, but the clawtips housed at her wing joints are a razor-sharp contrast, a reminder that she is something deadly.

For a moment, she wants to conceal herself the way she's comfortable with, a sort of mask to cover her entire body: black fabrics down to the floor, hair wrapped up in a headpiece; she feels naked like this, in the simple robe, her long hair flowing freely. If she can find some more cloth in this place, she can use her magic to craft new clothing. She passes a large bath, breathing in the scent of soaps, then steps further down those ancient halls when she hears someone coming from behind her. She's been moving slowly; if someone were heading in the same direction, they certainly could be coming up behind her any moment. Canting her head, a sharp ear indeed picks up the footsteps rounding the corner just now—

The fey turns abruptly around, wings spreading outwards a bit, as though defensively. It's half instinct and half purposeful; she fights against the peaceful lull of this place, almost wants an excuse to rear up instead, to show her thorns. So she does, to the person who comes upon her, and her golden eyes flash. ]

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