PAROXYSMAL DAMNATION ---
Essence, Biped Syndrome experiences
Lala
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#7

LALA DEL TZIPORIA ALBERTA
HER LIPSTICK STAINS LIKE ACID RAIN ---
S
kin peels over, rebirthing anew.
Magma tainted pelt milks away toxicity.
The familiar deity falls over her body, dispelling trouble and turmoil.
Awake... The goddess was...
Alive... She certainly felt...
No longer did she rebel in the magnitude of inferno, the pain that ate away at every fiber and molecule inside of her person.
She wanted too live, but even better -- she wanted to witness what true power felt like.
Now, the fiery ghoul was embracing the endless torment that rallied within, in the catacombs of her vessel.
To commence such a glorious, yet chaotic ritual was like setting fire to Hell - it was unfathomably pointless - in a sense.

Lala allows Essence to voice his opinion on the matter, in which strikes her utmost interest and thus erupts her anatomy into a frenzied excitement. Her own vocal cords raging against the shift of her being, the clashing of endless muscle and bone. Yes... I, am.

Her limbs snap inward, canidae body ceasing to exist as her flesh rips at the seams, itching further apart and falling to the earth in hideous clumps. Her decaying epithelium succumbing to ash, dissolving into nothing and floating away into the gentle breeze.

The red hot babe was flushed away, replaced behind a mask of gorgeous intent. Skin, as smooth as silk, sewn with alabaster pigment that glows a soundless harmony. Beauty held no bounds with this one, fur was thus strewn with vibrant magenta and crimson tresses that cascade down the prism of her neck, shoulders and back. Such a slender, hourglass physique, one that rose in steady - quick breaths. It was she, Lala, who lays displayed across the cool ground in a heap of naked luxuries.

Lala remains weak, yet her body stitches itself back together, piece-by-piece she is replenished - recreated and reformed. Eyes still seared shut, unwilling to pry them open, albeit they fluttered in response to movement upon her. It was Essence, still splayed about her person, it was he who unlocks her true form. 

The woman, who know traces her delicate digits across the surface of the rock, feels for something - anything, to grasp hold of. She was low in energy, so unable to move herself into an upright position was quite difficult. But with the strength she had in her, Lala managed to part her plump roseate koi's to preach toward the supernatural deity. 

Is this... What I truly am? Essence, is this my destiny?

She toyed with the workings of her new body, fragments shaking as she attempts to sit up, her eyes opening to slits and once she was adjusted to the brilliant light in front of her she would flash sapphire and emerald irises in Essence's direction. Rising up, just a tad so she was able to settle back against the wall of the cavern, Lala examined her bare flesh. She realized she was naked, her physique was different and it frightened the young maiden.

Her hands levitated toward her face and at the sight of fingers instead of paws the air in her lungs hitches, glancing back up at Essence - a questioning and confused look on her face, but it held a touch of joy and dangerous excitement.
TEMPLATE MADE BY KYLEY | PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE THIS CREDIT


@Essence

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Age: ImmortalSpecies: Deity
Gender: Spiritual Rank: The One
Posts: 30 Stones: 7,290.58❂ Played by: Xalypsis Staff
all that was, is, and will ever be.
#8

It feels heavy, doesn't it, this stream of power flowing like divine manna to your vessels, to your consciousness. Do you not feel what exquisite architecture now arises therein your sturdy, nearly ambrosial soul? Your air gasps from punctured lungs, ironically such a pretty thing now on display; the craft of suffering thinks itself held tightly within your grasp, but it is we, who are the very birth of suffering. 

We observe in sheer silence, though eyes are widened to epic proportions as our expression remains stoic yet aflame with the nectarous throes of marvel. Our curiosity cannot be satiated; that much we have learned throughout our endless existence. And as we look upon her, our daughter writhing in the viscous placentals of brutal, and supernal transmutation, our interest remains piqued in a vibrant shroud of sickly sweet admiration. 

But she can go further. 

When her morphing body ceases at last, she projects her queries unto us, her voice mimicking confusing perfectly. We, in succulence, relish what realization there was, rather than confusion. At her core she must have known what had been seeded within her. She could no longer deny this aspect of her natural manifestation. 

Thy feral she-creature...now your journey can truly begin. 

“Is this...what I truly am? Essence...is this my destiny?”

Our chuckles hearken a strange, grotesque string of laughter from us. What a sensation it is to laugh; it is a rare, and precious gift. 

“Do not feign such ignorance, daughter...it is merely a piece of your destiny, midst surely a thousand more awaiting you, out there, to be discovered.”

We approach her further, breathing deep her vastly floral scent, eyes boring into her own as we deliver words not of threat or prophecy, merely promise.

“You have stomached our metamorphosis...but your journey is only about to commence.”


@Lala

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