sample ?! [tw:gore/slight mature themes]

here is a small exert of writing from me to see if we're a good match!!

⸻



Fire.



Oceans of it lapped at castle stone and flooded in the once brazen interior with eviscerating clouds of smoke; it nipped at the eyes and strangled the bones. The flames circled in closer and closer until it was nothing but waves of sun that hungrily gulped at the skin, leaving blisters and flecks of white detritus that crumbled from the ashen bodies below. Silhouettes all around were draped in rich, airy fabrics and invaluable jewels but bore no faces-just their screams. A tiger's maul did not discriminate in the meat it partook in, the blood was red all the same.



Am I in hell? A consciousness spoke, but who's? It whelped like a newborn's wails at first light.



"Br-" A voice crowed in an alarmed cry, part of the words hushed in the ensemble of chaos raking in below. It echoed as it faded off the burning walls, lost to the jaws of the fire.



“Brook!" It called again, beseeching. This time, a vision of melting flesh shrouded in lilac silk in clear view and sound. Kind, feline eyes illuminated with flickering orange.



Who?



“Wake up!”



Hazel hues lit up an air-tight box as a corpse of a woman awoke with reddened veins pulsing in alerted eyes. Reflective pupils retracted in their sudden arousal, with an ache from lids shut too long. How long? Movement crept through her limbs like flickering lights, bulbs slowly humming to life until the electricity finally cut on. The decaying lid of a tomb whipped open with a burst of blackened cobwebs and age-old dust. She wheezed as she spilled over from the coffin torso first, brittle nails splitting open in a rot alike to the floorboards as they desperately reached for its grounding. Ashen hair followed suit, spilling over like wet moss over a haunted bog that was this sunken husk of a person.



Were it not for the iridescent irises and pearlescent fangs protruding from dusted lips, she would seem like a pale human, albeit gaunt and teetering on death's scythe; it was somehow stayed for now. Glass scraped the floors as she ripped a steel tipped syringe from her arm, the decanter vial destitute long of whatever stained the glassware a rusted red. The needle came undone with a dry pop and pinch. It seemed as if even her veins were of ashes, she the urn. Yet the brief prick of pain was enough to plead guilty to the fact this was alive and real.



Her apparent dream smoldered and faded like the fire would as she arose from an induced slumber. A long forgotten fantasy given lift to but another haze. Reality was not attainable for the hungry dead just yet. Limbs contorted and twisted their way in stillbirth from death's womb, starving and ready to devour in grotesque bearing. There is no name here yet, just red. The throbbing of pulses from ill fated creatures nearby alike pounded her pointed ears in siren song, and she, a lusting sailor on the prowl. A fatal snap is heard followed by stillness, and the pulsating lessens but does not cease. It's hard to say what animal lie in the wolf's claws as its essence is drained in its entirety. Some strength is given to drudge the former mortis of arms and legs forward, just barely to escape the former prison. Clarity of mind is still a faint whisper, drowned out by one thing; to feed.



Blessed be thou with plump veins and slick hearts, lambs of fattened livelihoods and gross ignorance as they stir the sinful cursed. May mercy be upon their flesh for it yet to be sacrificed to the slaughter to follow from the risen.