Violence becoming more and more certain. Like a volcano about to bubble over and letting its magma burn and boil all it falls on. Like a tsunami about to hit and drown all within its wake. Like an earthquake opening the land below a city and swallowing it up. Like a tornado picking up towns and hurling them miles into the air. It is delightful!
To Spinel this is passionate! Euphoric! Orgasmic! The murderous intent in the air. The possible blood that could paint the room in lovely macabre art. The bones breaking, making the most beautiful of sounds that not even Beethoven can match. Spinel drools from both her mouth and between her legs thinking of the possible carnage. Faeries are mischievous, impish and ill-behaved by nature, but not many are war mongers. This particular faery has a personality that would be more fitting for a werewolf at full moon.
A black tongue flickers across her black lips wiping away the drool. Her form would be what humans would probably call that of dryad. Or dryad like. Pale skin with slight tint of green to it with grass green hair that looks more like a mixture of leaves and roots that curves and twists down to her lower back. Her eyes fully closed with small needle sized puncture wounds across the eyelids and the sides of her eyes. She stands up taking a bow, the jade dress she adorns hugging her form tightly.
“Dear leaders of wolf and djinn,
to look down on faeries is a sin.
Why do you do such a thing?
When it is clear the fairy race should be king.”
The roguish woman says aloud for the auditorium to hear. The four leaders turn towards the voice emanating in the back far up. The djinn proxy king turns his head in the direction with one slightly opening to view the noise. The alpha queen werewolf’s eyes look up with slight surprise at the new person speaking. Spinel’s form rises from the bow. “Do you like the song? But seriously with all that has been said none of you have said anything worthwhile. Djinn just say ‘they can’ but I see nothing. You’re like human politicians. Or like the wind. Or like gods. All talk and no substance. Werewolves bark but there is no bite. What’s the point of fangless dogs besides making them into pelts and rugs? Vampires called this meeting as if they have control but sit there like students being schooled. Like children who want to pretend they are grownups.” She continues with a haughty laugh.
“Do forgive my tone. I’m not used to being around things that are not my art. I have bad social skills, but I do mean everything in the most sincere and respectful way in this room of greatness. But in the end faery magic is the one thing that can influence the memories of man. Of course we need the help of the other races to clean up messes, but our magic to suppress memories is nearly absent in the rest of the demonic races. Vampires, werewolves and djinn, for all your advances you haven’t gone much further. Just better ways of violence. I mean if there is supposed to be peace between us all who better than the most peaceful of demon races? Whom also play an integral part in keeping the masquerade from the humans.” the shut eye faery says with a giggle her face staring down at the table of the four.
She may claim peace, but in actuality Spinel would love to see bloodshed before this is over. And if none happened by the end of this discussion she would go and cause her own. Whether it be djinn, vampire, werewolf.. or even faery. If there is one thing the demon wishes she could do is tear into flesh like a savage and devour it. It would be so artistically beautiful, but biologically wise her body could not process it. That’s why she developed a loop hole in which she could.
Blood, gore, torture, despair, madness and so many more things. They were all part of violence. And for Spinel…
Violence is one of the greatest arts.