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</div><br/>Petula was already awake and about, but deliberately waited until the incubus left his room so he wouldn't catch her doing what she was not really supposed to do, but it was a fun game she liked to play. It was twilight outside, made dimmer by the drizzle that seemed so harmless and yet would slowly and gently soak through the thickest of clothing. She opened the window and eased herself out, shifting her form as she did.<br/><br/>It shouldn't be possible for a twelve foot diameter spider with a human torso where it's head should be to<i>scuttle</i>, but scuttle she did, and much faster than any normal sized spider. Having long legs helped with that. Her biggest problem was that she was cold blooded. Figuratively, true - she'd killed to eat many a time in the past, before finding a home at The Orchid, but literally as well. Soon enough the little game she played in the evening would have to stop, to be replaced, hopefully, by it's indoor variant.<br/><br/>In the dull light of a setting sun concealed by grey clouds, her purplish-grey skin blended beautifully with the grey granite the old mansion was built out of. She reached the ground in seconds and moved swiftly across the lawn, that was also a dull grey in the fading light, the green of the grass a fading memory until the morrow. Her target came into sight as she rounded the corner of the house. There was the tree, bathed in some arcane light, always in full leaf, always in bloom, always in fruit and surrounded by bright flowers and lush grasses.<br/><br/>And her prey was there, basking in the magical sunlight. Petula sniggered softly. This was the game, one she and the little flower fairy played regularly. She slowed now, moving stealthily, creeping up behind the nymph. Once she was sure of the range, she turned her bulbous abdomen towards the tree, lifted it and let her spinnerets weave their own magic, creating a long, light and yet incredibly strong thread, with a sticky patch at the end. The warmth and light of the tree called to her, and the updraught of the warmed air caught the thread and drew it aloft into the uppermost branches.<br/><br/>Petula waited until she was sure it was stuck fast, then anchored the other end into the ground and with an agility surprising for someone of her size, ran - no, yet again, she<i>scuttled </i>up the thread into the tree, her swift movement necessary as the thread began to dissolve in the rain, as was her intent.<br/><br/>The moment she stepped off into the upper branches of the tree, its light waned, as if aware of a malign presence. She would no more harm the tree than she would it's guardian, but trees that held the old magic carried in their sap the genetic memory of what her ancestors had done to theirs out of pure malice.<br/><br/>From here she had a perfect view of her prey, below. She fastened a thread to the branch she was on and lowered herself down, legs spread wide in that most horrifying of arachnid poses, even on something less than an inch across. On her, it was petrifying!<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="6441" data-username="Orchid Witch" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/6441/">Orchid Witch</a>