Thread: The Beast Within (Lano and Retro)

Morgause hated public festivals and events. The crowds made her feel pinched in and altogether trapped. What was worse was that people often stared at her, spoke in hushed whispered about her supposed abilities, but never did they say one word to her. They treated her in the way she had been accustomed to treated as a witch and an outsider like an animal on display to slake their morbid curiosity. Sometimes she would sneer at them, showing her canine teeth that were slightly sharper than a normal humans just to frighten them off. They all believed her cursed or an evil sort of spellcaster or something else that made no sense to her. No one cared to ask her opinion on the matter. Everyone simply assumed because she was faster than all of the boys and stronger than them by good measure as well. It did not help that she was not a gentle slip of a girl either, like the others her age, but full figured and womanly. She would not be considered morbidly obese in any sense of the word but she was not a stick. Her figure was rounded at the hips and her chest was ample to say the least. No one in her village looked as she did. Even about the face she was much different than the soft, doe eyed creatures that worked so hard to avoid her. Her golden eyes, while large and expressive, slanted ever so subtly upward and set a little further apart than most. Her nose was narrow, strait and accented high cheek bones that pointed down into a dainty chin. Her lips were full and shapely and entirely, in her opinion, the best feature on her face. It was that lush bud that had caught the attention of a few of the men throughout her twenty and one years of life. Then, of course, she had to be topped off with copious amounts of copper colored curls and waves that wildly cascaded down to the small of her back. Random streaks of gold or cherry would stand out brazenly in the mess and it gave her a truly feral appearance and it was her hair, oddly enough, that marked her as a witch. Her town believed that redheaded girls had bad magic coursing through their veins. Maybe they were right but she believed if she was a witch or anything of the sort she would have realized it by that time. The music pounded in her ears and in her head, making her agitated and annoyed with every little movement. She did not see them as individual people but as blurs that sometimes had faces. Everyone was either moving too slow or too fast in that closeness. She glowered and moved briskly along, breasts bouncing heavily. Unlike the other girls who pinched themselves as tiny as they could with hooks and laces, Morgause let herself hang loose. Her dresses fit her form but did not distort her shape, nor did it restrict her breathing, and she was not bogged down by fake jewels or glass beads. All of that fluff was for women who could get married at any rate and none wanted her in that way. She never even had a chance with the rumors and now her age marked her as an old spinster. At least she was a skilled spinner. That could make her very rich one day, she knew. Her thread always turned out slender and as fine as silk. Perhaps she could even get out of that town and away from her noble title. A fat lot of help it did for her anyway. Even in her own mind she sounded bitter, sauntering through the streets avoiding people just as much as she avoided them. She walked as if she owned them, which was partly true, as her father was the baron that ruled over that particular patch of property. There were some that wished she cowered from the scrutiny but their irrational hate only further drove her gall and vibrato. It was not the good cheer that brought her that far into the festival, however. Whatever rubbish they were celebrating mattered little to her. She did not know her saints and cared little to know. Religion tended to close off the minds of the less intelligent part of the populace which was more than half of their town. What made her travel from her quiet house on top of the hill to the bombastic horror of the world below was that there was supposed to be a pig slaughtered in honor of the day. Instantly she flushed from the thought of the smell of its fresh blood. The smell of fresh blood always sent her mind into a delightful tizzy. Made her other senses sharper and dulled the constant thoughts that ran in her brain like paper on a broken printing press. It shamed her to and she did not mention it, simply enjoyed the cheap thrill of it. Quietly she walked to where she knew it was going to happen. A basket was slung over her arm. Inside were a few things to pass her time before that one pleasure was afforded her. There was a book in some obscure language that she was trying to cipher, feathers and inkwells for making notes on said book, a strange sliding panel game that she had figured out time and time again, and a glass bottle of water. The sound of the items rustling in the basket was unheard, however, by the constant noise. Every so often in her walk she would scowl and terrorize a particularly pretty girl. Just for the fun of it, of course.