here’s a little comm I did the other day. <:

Slowly, a treacherous fog dragged itself across the city’s rooftops, drowning its inhabitants like a thousand seas. Although she was no match for the hazardous, biting weather, Heather looked upon the streets below, in desperate search of her target: despite the cold and mist, they were buzzing so much with energy and excitement that they alone could power the brilliant flickering lights that dotted the land. Vivid mauve stalls were decorated with an array of riches, from the finest, delicate silk to the gleaming jewels to outdo nature herself. An array of artists had designated themselves to the square, creating grand masterpieces and elegant dances and splendid songs and the most alluring of stories.

While the display of colour and spirit was a wonder to the eye, Heather quickly cast her sword, and for a second, stayed still to admire its beautiful berry colour, and how delicately it was laced with exquisite jewels as they reflected the cool light of the moon.

Her attention back to the bustling streets below, Heather freed her wings and allowed herself to be carried by the wandering wind: it was a serene, peaceful moment, calmly listening to the night birds drift alongside her, carrying their beautiful songs to foreign lands. Slowly, she descended back to the land, and slid into the dim alleyways.

Unlike the celebrations she had seen earlier, the alleyways had been abandoned, and remained dull and lifeless. Filthy, torn rats and people alike scavenged the streets, their eyes aglow with a crimson colour. As light slowly began to reach even these corners of the city, the creatures seemed to slink back into the shadows, their claws screeching as they dragged themselves through the bloodied concrete. Cautiously, Heather stepped into a merchant’s small shop, wincing slightly at the sudden burst of light.

Piles and piles of rags and trinkets and rotting furniture was scattered around the cramped room, with little glowing lamps that had been carelessly thrown in between the mess. In the corner a group of dragons were muttering amongst each other, playing an unfamiliar game with wooden pieces. Heather guided herself through the maze of trash and, avoiding the array of cobwebs and crawling spiders, entered through the back door. It sat loosely on its hinges, and felt as if it would collapse under her light touch.

Hastily, she looked upon the room, eyeing the countless tables and the ragged looking figured that loomed over them. Unlike the room before, this place had been shrouded in darkness, with only the fragile fires of cigarettes to give it a haunting glow. Her eye was caught on one man in particular, veiled in deep black garments and hunched over something in the corner. At her gaze, the man stood up, and immediately, she recognised his scarred, wretched face. Swiftly, he dashed into the open door as Heather ran after him. Quickly, she drew her sword, and lunged at his chest, only to be met with the darkness, and a sudden acute pain shooting through her leg. She leaped back, blindly guiding herself through a meagre corridor, and re-assessed her surroundings: her enemy was nowhere to be seen, yet there was no obvious escape; the doors to her sides remained intact, and a disturbing silence began to settle.

She caught her breath.

As Heather turned around, she was once again met eye to eye with her foe: the luminous canary colour furiously digging into her own; the bitter scent of alcohol tainting her delicate skin; rough skin against her own, and the dance continued once more. Although the seeping red became ever more prevalent, she ignored the stabbing pain that poured into her veins and, with a sudden burst of energy, freed her wings and struck from behind. For a second, the pulsing beat of her chest stopped, her gaze transfixed on what lay before her.

She breathed.