Evilangel
Lottie Magne, Joss Lescaf Pic(s)
The sun, a molten coin sinking into the dusty horizon, painted his powerful form in shades of burnished copper and deep umber. Each corded muscle beneath the sleek, dark hide shifted with a contained energy that whispered of untamed pla and rushing winds. A warm, earthy scent, rich with leather and honest sweat, rose from him, filling the air with a primal perfume. His mane, a tangled cascade of midnight silk, fell across a neck arched with noble pride, catching the last of the evening light. I approached slowly, my own breath hitching as I saw the intelligent fire burning in his deep, dark eyes, watching me with a mixture of caution and keen interest. The heat radiating from his body was a palpable force, beckoning my hesitant hand closer until my fingertips finally met the astonishing warmth of his shoulder. The skin there was impossibly smooth, yet vibrated with the raw, living power thrumming just beneath the surface, a testament to his magnificent strength. A low, soft rumble escaped his chest, not a threat but a profound communication that resonated through my very bones, speaking of a wild spirit momentarily stilled. In that suspended moment, surrounded by the whispering grasses, the boundary between human and beast blurred into a singular, breathless connection.
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