winged beast picks up her seemingly trusty arrow, before beginning another night of guarding the graveyard. Another night counting down the days she is fully consumed by the eternal curse granted to her by those of the rosebushes, before becoming what the beast was fated to become... as though the winged beast was fully destined to live with acursed shadows of the rosebushes.
She remembers no life outside the darkness that lurks in the graveyard. She knows not to question such thoughts. It will anger the shadows of the graveyard. And that is a horrible thought.
Guarding the rosebush-lined graveyard is all the winged beast knows. As though she was always destined to live such a life.
(It's... meh, I know. I'm sorry. I didn't have much to work with.)
She remembers no life outside the darkness that lurks in the graveyard. She knows not to question such thoughts. It will anger the shadows of the graveyard. And that is a horrible thought.
Guarding the rosebush-lined graveyard is all the winged beast knows. As though she was always destined to live such a life.
(It's... meh, I know. I'm sorry. I didn't have much to work with.)
