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 and Clawd. Angels of the Night, may the last grimors of the Dark say.
Despite the one-centimeter boundaries, the room split apart in the adjoining wing, she had to admit that it was all in her interest to have given invitation.
She saw in Clawd so much of what this world had in beauty and bravery - his fairies and what she would never admit too, which she could assume in her heart and in her shadow, animated the young Countess with obscured strength, but hugged the real Draculaura without a sentience.
But, yes, it was proof of a truth - she could never elucidate why she was made to appreciate Clawd like the colomb for the nightingale.
Like her, seemingly simple and without abstractions, but capable... of things no one would attribute to either of their figures. The couple of thornless rose and mortal earth, quick to illuminate every hour and marry for the sake of the one twilight.
Her love had never been a matter of seconds or years - but she knew it was as beautiful and clear as the most primitive and poetic parade of existence. No matter, she saw nothing - just what he lent with purity. He doubted at times, but never once thought of abandoning her (without you abandoning him). Life was long when it was poor, life never slumbered when it soared so soon. Rare were the lycanthropes who leapt for the providence of immortality, for those just accumulated lives, while the vampires strove to see nothing of the uniqueness of their world by being and remaining.
They'd devoted hours to reading ancient works at times: Clawd didn't understand half of them, but that didn't matter. Draculaura invited him in, posed, sometimes contemplated with frustration, but respected his worthy learning efforts. She smiled, innocently, to see him grimace in victory, his claw raised, winking his irises and toasting her with a very burlesque air of know-it-all and knowledge-hunter.
She also supported him when he discussed his missing brother, and their hearts were of hawkweed and bramble, when they heard of the loss and irrationality of such departures. Draculaura had wept, Clawd just inspired forgetting - if Clawyn wasn't found, he'd be the future "Alpha".
