( █ 1350 - kal tryout -- )

[hellb0und]

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丂卂ㄥᐯ卂ㄒ丨ㄖ几 ．
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ＭＹ ＢＬＯＯＤ ＲＵＮＳ ＲＥＤ ＢＵＴ
ＭＹ ＢＯＤＹ ＦＥＥＬＳ ＳＯ ＣＯＬＤ
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do not post here. tryout for kalon #1350.
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[hellb0und]

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YOU PROVOKE HER UNTIL SHE ROARS xx /
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"You, my dear, are as pure as can be. Though do be warned, for your sins shall have great consequences. Watch your actions closely, and thou shall never kill." Mistique nodded, the thirteen-year-old Kalon comprehended her words as she received them. Having been told she was nothing but the purest in the land. Despite the war and chaos which surrounded her, she was always destined for greatness. To lead a life of love; not hate. "For you are nothing like the others, you are an entirely new kind. Crafted from the very light granted to us by the gods," Calista mused, numbly running a loving finger down Mistique's cheek. For she had thought nothing of it, having believed Calista was as sincere and genuine as Mistique had been. Never allowing the violent thoughts Mistique had been so carefully guided away from to course throughout her mind, leading her to the darkest depths where obscurity lurked. Looming and awaiting, dwelling within the "pure ones" soul. For it cackled at the very words which thrummed from Calista's mouth, knowing they were deceitful. Utterly untrue. "Now, I must go." With that, the aged woman stood. Drawing the ebony fabric further over her shoulders, shrouding her pale fur in darkness. Hiding the many ugly scars which etched themselves into the aged lines of someone who'd faced many battles, and allowed the dreaded insanity to overtake her mind. Despite her protests, she was as infected as the rest were.

Several years later...
The war raged on. A mass of bloodshed and barbarous beings. Families poverty-stricken, food barely available. The once lively area nothing but a charred wasteland of hopelessness. The flames put at bay only by the tears which maneuvered throughout the ashes of loved ones. For Mistique, now twenty, was unallowed to show her face to those which roamed the streets. Begging for some sign of peace or reassurance. She'd still believed the lies she was fed. That she was the holy one, someone who would never do the devil's work. So godlike that she had to avoid the touch of the poor. Her silk mask covered her faithful smile and mature, cryptic gaze. Expressing no emotions at all, nothing but a poorly painted thin line. Two slits at the top were all which permitted her to see what truly went on. Her lengthy, silver hair fell down her shoulders elegantly. Though she too was granted a cape. Hand-crafted with the finest materials. Instead of black, it was a bold white. Standing out against the dismal crowd. Their erupting sobs filled her ears, though abruptly stopped. She tried to see what had been going on past her mask but found it was simply impossible. "It's her!" A violent, deep male voice burst out. Mistique faced the direction of the gruff voice but managed to make out the calloused finger pointing towards her. His mouth agape as he stared at her. "For she's the proclaimed holy one who can do no wrong!" He hollered, his voice rising above the muffled and rare cries. Echoing around her. "Let's see how long that lasts..." A malicious grin played on the male's lips. That's when she could see her, Calista, sprawled out on the terrain. Her cape strewn aside and scars visible, with fresh ones slashed across her face and back. "Calista!" Mistique wailed, running towards her. Just as she was nearly reaching her, the male stepped in. Merely shoving her away with a light strike against her chest. "Not so fast," he snapped. Before she knew it, he'd had pulled a dagger from his side. The blade serrated. With one swipe, the mask fell to her feet. "No!" Mistique screamed, launching herself at the male. Knocking the dagger from his firm grasp. It hit the ground with a resounding clatter, and that's when Mistique's paw wrapped around the handle. Before she plunged it into his chest. Her tail split, cracking and breaking. Her cloak momentarily stained crimson red before darkness weaved its way through the material, turning it as dark as the night sky. "You've infected yourself..." Calista muttered, staring at her tail. "For you have granted yourself great hardship, no longer shall you be treated as though you are a goddess. You have sinned."

The Story...
Mistique's story has been passed down for ages. Many believe the myth to be true, that if one does kill their tail will split. As a result, everyone within society is perceived as "pure". Those which had done wrong are obliged to hide under a cloak of ebony. Though this is only told to avoid another war. To keep a consistent flow of peace.

[773/800]

AND THEN GET UPSET AT HER FOR BECOMING THE MONSTER YOU CREATED