[div style="cursor: url("http://cur.cursors-4u.net/cursors/cur-9/cur836.cur"), auto; margin: 0 auto; border-width:0; width: 70%; text-align: justify; line-height: 1.5; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Mother’s call would not be ignored. Her ears would never deafen to the sound her mother produced, the low rumble of a sonorous sound. It echoes and shatters the gentleness of nature, striking along her well-groomed feathers and reaching her ear drums. The earthly tones of her rich eyes illuminate with life. They glisten when she raises her head, noting that their abyssal mother mother wished to see them. There is a sense of comfort which arises within her when she thinks of mother. Her scales are dosed in ink, darker than a starless night. It was the image she thought of when her eyes were closed and she was stressed. She can remember almost every detail, even his contrasting streak of sanguine, glowing like that of a tender and sweet heart, tinged with comfort. And yet within the machinations of her ticking mind, she is aware that mother did not share the same blood as them. She is a guardian, a protector, a flame that carries their ancient tongue and traditions. For that reason, there is a great river of respect she holds towards their dark mother who brims with the glitter of eternity.
Time. She’s only lived several months, unexposed to the true monsters which roamed the world. As far as Virgo was concerned, they were the monsters. They were the ones who walked as nightmares, they were the horrors people warned their children of at night. Despite their relatively short lifespan, she’s like a time capsule – outdated and relic living in the present. She recognises a generational difference between her species and the rest. She is ancient, traditional in her nature. Hierarchy and the pack are important to her. Her position of alpha was the same as being god itself. The all-quiet universe, after all, had deemed her for the quest of greatness. It is her job to lead her brother and sister there. Otherwise they will be left in darkness, a bottomless pit and unable to grasp the light, the radiant but blinding light ahead. Virgo winces slightly, claws scratching and clicking against the stone as she moves towards mother. Her pack is ahead of her, still waiting for Virgo to so royally appear with her head high, feathers fluttering with the breeze of the wind as if she was meant to fly.
Her spine uncoils when she gets there, gaze burning past her siblings in a searing judgement. She has always abided to these customs bred within her, the traditions that seemed to be passed on through their timeless DNA. Every gene and fibre within her body is a repetition of their destiny, reverberating between each thread instructions that she knew from the moment she was born. There is an elegance that surges within her, a nobility that radiates from her behaviour. The golden patterns across her body are her crown. The accents are permanently glued along her ivory feathers. She was the ruthless queen, merciless in every way, and yet her levels of aggression differ to Ament and Exodus. It is an echo of her egotistical nature. Perhaps it can paint her a fool when she chooses to ignore the soft-flesh that walk the earth. They are no threat to her and should therefore be paid no attention. Not a drop of her effort should be wasted upon their pitiful forms that so much as dare to squirm beneath her feet.
Virgo cannot begin to turn away from the temple of strength that was her mother. To her, mother was incapable of death. Luciferus was a being beyond time and space, glorified in every aspect. His ancient tongue was proof of that. He knew them as though they were of his scarlet blood. And yet she is aware of the stained-glass life was founded upon. Transparent, fragile, short. Like clockwork, prey can become rusty. Their bones stop walking as they used to, their flesh becomes tough and spoilt. She has caught enough rodents to recognise just how easy it was to kill. Their lives are founded upon a universal understanding of trust. Her pack would never kill her, her pack would never outcast her. This was why tradition was so important. For any irregularities to occur within the system would cause their hierarchy to shatter and fall. And yet Virgo is under the impression that they are all shackled to tradition, all bound like brothers to an unspoken pact of trust and faith.
Unlike her wild sister, the barbaric child senses wonder when it comes to the sky. She views it as the playground of gods, handwoven by the galaxies that so intricately form the vast blueness that stretches above her eyes, seamless and proud. To be able to fly, she thinks, would be a gift. She would become beyond what the earth has called for her to be, become more than what was intended to her. Not only has she been born for greatness, to lead her pack, but she would have defied the laws of their ancient blood. It was yet another thing to feed her ego, always burning like an incinerator, feeding on the fragments of life itself. The eyes of the world are all looking at her, all waiting for her to amaze them. Her obsessions were intoxicating, filling her system like a culture of bacteria.
‘You called for us, mother.’
There is a superior attachment painted across her youthful features. The alpha’s nostrils flare, inhaling the smoky air until her lungs were full and shaking. She breathes calmly out, stepping closer with a chittering tongue as she observes mother’s stance, considering his body language before tilting her head at the arrival of another that dared to intrude their intimacy. Wrinkles line her scrunched nose. Her eyes trace the sight of the Captain, upper lip beginning to curl when she recognises the faint glow of Pincher’s tattoos before raising her sights towards his glacier eyes. She notices the off-whiteness of the bandages that span along his body, wing-feathers twisting in agitation. ‘What does the soft-flesh want from us?’ she asks in their foreign and remarkably old language, looking up at her mother in mild distaste. No one could understand the shrills the raptors spoke in. Only mother could. 'It threatens me.'
Time. She’s only lived several months, unexposed to the true monsters which roamed the world. As far as Virgo was concerned, they were the monsters. They were the ones who walked as nightmares, they were the horrors people warned their children of at night. Despite their relatively short lifespan, she’s like a time capsule – outdated and relic living in the present. She recognises a generational difference between her species and the rest. She is ancient, traditional in her nature. Hierarchy and the pack are important to her. Her position of alpha was the same as being god itself. The all-quiet universe, after all, had deemed her for the quest of greatness. It is her job to lead her brother and sister there. Otherwise they will be left in darkness, a bottomless pit and unable to grasp the light, the radiant but blinding light ahead. Virgo winces slightly, claws scratching and clicking against the stone as she moves towards mother. Her pack is ahead of her, still waiting for Virgo to so royally appear with her head high, feathers fluttering with the breeze of the wind as if she was meant to fly.
Her spine uncoils when she gets there, gaze burning past her siblings in a searing judgement. She has always abided to these customs bred within her, the traditions that seemed to be passed on through their timeless DNA. Every gene and fibre within her body is a repetition of their destiny, reverberating between each thread instructions that she knew from the moment she was born. There is an elegance that surges within her, a nobility that radiates from her behaviour. The golden patterns across her body are her crown. The accents are permanently glued along her ivory feathers. She was the ruthless queen, merciless in every way, and yet her levels of aggression differ to Ament and Exodus. It is an echo of her egotistical nature. Perhaps it can paint her a fool when she chooses to ignore the soft-flesh that walk the earth. They are no threat to her and should therefore be paid no attention. Not a drop of her effort should be wasted upon their pitiful forms that so much as dare to squirm beneath her feet.
Virgo cannot begin to turn away from the temple of strength that was her mother. To her, mother was incapable of death. Luciferus was a being beyond time and space, glorified in every aspect. His ancient tongue was proof of that. He knew them as though they were of his scarlet blood. And yet she is aware of the stained-glass life was founded upon. Transparent, fragile, short. Like clockwork, prey can become rusty. Their bones stop walking as they used to, their flesh becomes tough and spoilt. She has caught enough rodents to recognise just how easy it was to kill. Their lives are founded upon a universal understanding of trust. Her pack would never kill her, her pack would never outcast her. This was why tradition was so important. For any irregularities to occur within the system would cause their hierarchy to shatter and fall. And yet Virgo is under the impression that they are all shackled to tradition, all bound like brothers to an unspoken pact of trust and faith.
Unlike her wild sister, the barbaric child senses wonder when it comes to the sky. She views it as the playground of gods, handwoven by the galaxies that so intricately form the vast blueness that stretches above her eyes, seamless and proud. To be able to fly, she thinks, would be a gift. She would become beyond what the earth has called for her to be, become more than what was intended to her. Not only has she been born for greatness, to lead her pack, but she would have defied the laws of their ancient blood. It was yet another thing to feed her ego, always burning like an incinerator, feeding on the fragments of life itself. The eyes of the world are all looking at her, all waiting for her to amaze them. Her obsessions were intoxicating, filling her system like a culture of bacteria.
‘You called for us, mother.’
There is a superior attachment painted across her youthful features. The alpha’s nostrils flare, inhaling the smoky air until her lungs were full and shaking. She breathes calmly out, stepping closer with a chittering tongue as she observes mother’s stance, considering his body language before tilting her head at the arrival of another that dared to intrude their intimacy. Wrinkles line her scrunched nose. Her eyes trace the sight of the Captain, upper lip beginning to curl when she recognises the faint glow of Pincher’s tattoos before raising her sights towards his glacier eyes. She notices the off-whiteness of the bandages that span along his body, wing-feathers twisting in agitation. ‘What does the soft-flesh want from us?’ she asks in their foreign and remarkably old language, looking up at her mother in mild distaste. No one could understand the shrills the raptors spoke in. Only mother could. 'It threatens me.'