She was beautiful.
Her long black tresses hung to her waist when down, but know she had them pinned up in a delicate arc. Her eyes were pale green, like the pine needles in spring. A warm, inviting scent always accompanied her willowy figure. She dressed in a floor length blood red chiton and a gauzy black shoulder wrap. Yes, she was beautiful.
She was vain.
She would almost always be found in one of two places. One of which was her hall of mirrors. Hundreds upon thousands of mirrors reflected her great beauty, and she would spend hours staring in rapture at herself.
She was twisted.
The second place she could always be found were her dungeons. Dark and cold and damp, she would keep her toys down here for her to play with. After a few hours of amusement, she would return to her hall of mirrors, and wash the blood off her hands in rose scented water.
She was a ghost.
Well, not technically. She was nearly never seen above her palace of bones. Her palace, you see, twisted down, not up, just like malevolence and cruelty, she lurked just below the surface. Yes, she was, in many ways, a ghost.
She was forgotten.
Lost in the sands of time, she could do whatever she wished. Her siblings knew of her, of course, but they feared her, for the forgotten have power. She was forgotten, but only because she wished to be.
She was powerful.
She was protected by her cruelty. She could do whatever she wished, for she possessed dark and terrible secrets best left untouched. She used them daily, on her toys and in her games. Her siblings could do nothing, only watch from a distance as she worked her power.
She was mad.
She would occasionally be found in the halls of the sky reaching palace, a knife in hand. She would immediately be dragged back down to her crypt, and the doors would be locked. Screams and giggling laughter would be heard for hours afterwards. She was indeed utterly mad.
She was a liar.
She would catch her prey, her new toys, just like a spider, in a web of sweetened lies. They would see nothing out of the ordinary, until it was too late.
She was ancient.
Older than her siblings by at least three thousand years, hard to tell, seeing as she was born from time himself. Time spared her, though, and let her roam free, knowing she had no capacity for tearing down his golden age. She was too engrossed in her own games. Yes, she is ancient.
And so though she bled gold, no one could tell if she were the true monster, the beautiful spider, trapping her toys in her web of lies . . . now she has a new toy in mind, a new game forming in that black, dark place of a mind. She is giggling now, knowing that this will be fun, and that no one, least of all the father, will be able to do anything about it.
I haven't told you her name yet? Well, I suppose you ought know what you are up against, because as soon as you have read this, she will know, and she intends to not let anyone with this information live. I'm taking a great risk in telling you, and nearly killed myself trying to obtain this, so I hope you appreciate my generosity.
Her name is Insatia, named for her insatiable thirst for new blood.
It would be nice to get reviews. . . this is my first fanfiction, and I'd like to pick up some pointers.
