Rising in the South.

[ororo-munroe.livejournal.com]

Pale feline eyes silently commune with the bruising winds buffeting her wildly above the mountain. 

The newest pet had provided her great amusement, but his delicate constitution put an end to her fun.  Her face screws into a woeful pout at that thought.  He'd reminded her a bit of the other doctor who had come to visit her before.  Now that one had given her great entertainment.  The things he could do with a scalpel was pure art.  In fact, she'd been inspired to dedicate a personal gallery to his work, using the saws, muzzles, and branding instruments artfully arranged around the piece de resistance- a modern take on the brazen bull in which she could roast her food alive inside the sculpture.  The only remnant of him she adored greater was the doctor's head mounted and snarling lovingly over the Barons in the Great Hall.  It was very pleasing to note that the blue fur had never lost its luster.

A sliver of moon peeks out to play its fireworks upon intensely dark skin and she watches this in momentary fascination, reminded of the last time she sought the sun and her Goddess.  Both had rejected her and that rejection left it's mark with her natural color becoming scorched, then transformed into a near obsidian shade in starker contrast with her pale eyes and hair.  Her eyes narrow in loss and hatred as the  clouds begin to cover up the moon in renewed vigor.  She doesn't dwell on it, as a well familiar howl cuts the sky to reach her ears.

It seems one subject in particular is due for some attention.  She cannot afford to deny him.  Lips spread in a feral grin.  In truth, she has no desire to.