Little Missy Muffet comes from a peticular family: human from a mother, spider from a father, she knows her nursery rhyme by heart, and arrives at Monster High slowly, carried by the spidery strangeness of her childhood. But the relationship between...
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˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
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Draculaura hadn't understood at first. The Parole's Hall was opening its arms and cupboards to a cannon of brilliant flare, a new sub, and although she'd contacted her clan in a hurry and tried to call for reinforcements, it was almost a horror movie she'd never wanted to be around.
Installed, like eyes, above her.
A room whose bricks, almost incapable of rational form as long as they were under focus, stalked the destiny-less night, with a gaze yet swore for the purple or the blue. The portraits had calmed down; the vampires, including her protectors, aunt and uncle, waited and surrounded her, almost imprisoning the petite ghoule in their didactic, imposing posture, reducing Headmistress Bloodgood to a little girl - one who only looked like one, however, if Draculaura were to borrow the lingo of her people, not the only immortals to benefit from near-dynastic renewal, but certainly those who stole the most vanity from it.
Her hands tightened. She smiled. Full of teeth. The table saw her like a dead salmon.
The little... What was her name again? Oh, never mind. She was adorable, and seemed indebted to her for bringing a fuchsia glow to her young blond face. The dignified but older woman at her side began to move aggressively on her seat, taking these eyepiece's weapons against her.
And for Draculaura, after all she'd lived through, under an eternal toil, among several societies, including the dawn of Monster High who really gifted her high-school identity, she wasn't dealing with a flat landscape from the retirement homes. This woman had lived through every wrinkle of the crookedness and cynicism concealed in her resourceful years... Maybe .....it even went back to roots more impregnated under severe winds, after all she seemed more than a veteran of sword and aegis. It was almost as if the war had bled, and made her suffer the white breath, at the body of the worst sufferings, under the longbeard of a winter armored with epidemics.
It was obvious that she wasn't about to stoop below this girl's protection, even in the face of Dracula's blood. In one sense, and even in the most radiant, it was satisfying.
