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Blake Knight, Inked?
Category: Blogging
Yes, it wasn't her, was it? Not Blake Knight. No tats for her. It isn't her. Can't mar this perfection up. Doesn't suit her. Doesn't go with her look. Not becoming of her lineage of goodness, holiness, honor, nobility, and knighthood on her paternal ancestor's side going as far back as Camelot. This perfection, purposefully bred generation after generation, is the perfect vessel for the Pale Night to come into your world.
Into her Bestie's world. Fully. Unknown though, Blake Knight was a success after many tries. You see, in the Pale Night's self-isolation after she relinquished everything in the Abyss for still an unknown reason that either evolved into a one singular goal for her or gradually was revealed to herself in time, something happened to the Pale Night that she didn't expect to happen.
She got colder. She was alone. Cold, distant, obstinate, aloof. Oh, she remained still the Mother of Demons, and she will always be the Mother of Demons. She was part of the civil war that happened in the Abyss. She was at the head of it. The Mother of Demons disappeared and her children as well as her sisters and brothers slaughtered each other and their enemies without her.
Her plans, her awakening, her goal. Whatever she saw that made her do and be what she is towards her own kind is still unknown. It got so bad that her desire and drive to breed, breed, and breed waned.
Pale Night is an enigma. For she also has this sole ambition for power and she commits unspeakable acts towards all manner of entities throughout the universe and reality itself, lesser than her and greater than her, and towards these divine's children. She is still a Mother and she actually stole some children, from the Fae.
All this and more, including the consequences put upon her, happened all at once it seems.
Self-isolation becomes banishment, then becomes imprisonment, and soon a curse. Her crimes, whatever they were, were really that bad and horrific. She is forgotten. They forget her. She never even existed. Her goal is finally realized, and there is one singular thing she has ambitions to do, and she is not known nor heard of or even remembered. They forget her after they meet her, they cannot find her, or they are utterly seduced by her.
What greater weapon does she have than that?
But there is her drive. There is her urge to breed. For demonkind. The Mother of Demons got too cold, she got too alone.
It didn't start with Blake Knight's lineage. It started before that and in many realms and worlds. Bodies, succulent female flesh, mostly mortal in scope, many of them human in appearance, for the Mother of Demon's cult is of unique monstrous and demon children.
Blake Knight was dressing. This time she has on black bra and panties. Her fingers move upwards, buttoning up her white blouse. Her schoolgirl look is what she's putting on. Or it's her billionare socialite party girl look. Standing again in front of the mirror, Blake watches her Bestie sleep.
Blake Knight sneaks out. She likes to sneak out a lot. To hunt, and to feed, and to feel, and to not feel so cold. There isn't a known reason why Blake Knight, the High Priestess of the Pale Night, is such a perfect match for her. What does that make the other bodies that the Pale Night has used? Lesser, less powerful witches and sorceresses and priestesses? And there are many. Countless many.
Does that mean that Blake Knight feels them all, feels it all, feels all that power and desire and want, being driven into her and marking her?
Her eyes fall shut for a moment and Blake bites her lip, and she leans her head to the side like someone's lips were all over her neck. Finishing up, Blake grabs her coat and leaves behind click-clack of her boots taking her out into the night. To hunt, to breed, and to eat.
She is forgotten? Doesn't seem like it. Her Bestie has power over her. Her Forevers are her Forevers, yet her Forevers seem to have power over her. The powers of the holy churches seem to remember her. They have endless crusades against her, no matter the realm, no matter the world. Pretty, inked, and succulent mothers and mates that mysteriously are taken away and vanish for no reason. Why, that must be a heartbreaking trip.
Down the street, Blake Knight walks, like a hooker. Oh, look, the moon is full, it's pale, and it looks bloody. Hearing sounds behind her, Blake looks back. It's actually one of her kinks now, defending herself against these churchy virgin knights. There's always one that's got a weakness.
Blake turns into an alley. They follow.
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