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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

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Woven Serpents (Part 1): Namor x Mutant!Reader

I am writing this because 1. I love Namor in the new Black Panther and 2. I've been waiting for an idea to pop into my head. Now the time has come.

synopsis: as a disgraced woman with healing powers, you find yourself on the recieving end of a favor from a feathered-serpent god.

wc: 1k

tw: thoughts of death

next part

"You, girl."

Your hands are covered in mud from the ground; chalky, dried mud that you can feel caked under your nails. You turn to the sound of the voice as you try to wash your hands in the water, each dunk proving less successful than the first.

"Yes, you." With a dissatisfied look, the man standing in the doorway comes closer to you, his face screwed up in disgust. "Witch."

"I'm not a witch," you whisper low enough to escape his hearing. "What do you need from me?"

The man opens his hand, showing you what looks to be a set of feathers. "He is here." You straighten your spine and look at the white plumes closely. A whole wing, you note, recoiling a fraction. Not just a few feathers. Your eyes with the man's and he averts his gaze, looking at the bed you've set up for yourself, make for yourself, tend to yourself in the small shack the village has put you in. "He demands to be healed."

"I am not the only healer," you begin, but you're silenced with a quick slap across the face.

"Heal him." The wing is tossed at you, and you watch two blue men drag their leader into your hut. K'uk'ulkan.

Your eyes look upon the god who looks more man than serpent, and for a brief moment, you hear the beating of your own heart freeze. You want to admonish the blue men for striding into your cramped living space without acknowledging you - but that would be normal. You don't feel the urgent need to do anything as they settle their diety on your bed, adjusting him, so his left leg is lifted.

The half-god half-man's eyes slide to your position at the far side of the room, and he pants a little, his scratched cheek turning towards you.

"My wing," he speaks, a rasp from what you expect to be a thundering voice and angry words. But as you near him, there is only the rattle of a broken man, and a beaten one, at that. You glance at his companions nervously, and with a few words, he sends them away, flicking his fingers at them impatiently. Only then do you kneel next to him and see his chapped lips and the sheen of sweat on his skin.

"My wing."

You do not speak as you touch his foot, holding it lightly in your dirty fingers and pressing the wing to it carefully. You close your eyes, praying for a miracle to happen so you can be free from K'uk'ulkan's presence. The wing flutters in your hand and your eyes snap open quickly, taking in the sight of the healed appendage. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding, then step back, watching the diety slowly stand to his now-healed feet.

"You will be rewarded for this," he speaks simply, unhurriedly trekking to your basin of water. He dips into the water with a single hand but quickly removes it, noticing the dirt floating about. Shame is evident on your face as he turns to look at you, confused, then begins a slow retreat from your hut.

You don't open your mouth to thank him for his mercy, nor do you open your mouth to apologize. The Feather Serpent god disappears into the water with his men, leaving you as the most hated person on the island. Again.

Your reward takes its sweet time arriving to you.

Day after day, night after night, week after week, you wonder if the god will come to ask you what your wish is. What you want. What you want him to give you.

And every night you fall asleep wishing he would give you the only thing you've ever desired - a swift and painless death as an escape. But morning comes, and all you're greeted with is shame, disgust, and looks you cannot erase from your mind.

By the time the sun and moon have done their dance in the sky seventy times, you find yourself fed up with the insults, the attacks, the anger... You feel the mud caked underneath your fingernails and snap.

Healer. You kick sand at no one, angry at the world for making you this way. Healer but you killed your mother at birth. Healer but your father abandoned you on the other side of the world with nothing, not even a 'goodbye.' Healer but no one considered you helpful unless they were trying to hide from the single most powerful man they'd known all their life.

They wished you would die so they could clean their hands of you and demolish your hut. Well, today would be the last day of that.

"It's not fair," you choke out, holding the cold sand in your hands as you fall to your knees. "It's not right."

"It's not." The voice makes you stiffen. You don't raise your eyes to look upon the face of the god in the moonlight, nor do you miss the sound of the feathers at his ankles. "It's not right."

A hand touches your head, and you peek up, meeting the diety's eyes. They're black and endless, almost like the depths of a starless night. Even so, you can see a hint of kindness. "You are not appreciated, my child," he whispers. The sharp smell of the sea breeze eases your mind, but when he touches your skin with tender, thick fingers, you flinch, remembering the danger... the ever-present danger that hung in thick curtains around the man in front of you. "We would appreciate you."

"We?" you croak through your tears.

"Talokan would appreciate you. A healer like you would set my people at ease." You blink, digesting his words.

"Talokan?" The diety's eyes darken, and he rises. He holds his hand to you, and you reach out to take it, standing shakily.

"Come. I will show you." You nod, prepared to walk into the water with him. "But if I show you," he warns, raising a brow. "You will not be able to leave. Choose wisely."

#marvel cinematic universe #mcu namor #namor x reader #namor #namor the sub mariner

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viscericorde · 2 months

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serpent of silver plumes

only just now drawing real fanart for something i have read and loved for 15 years but better late than never

#bartimaeus #bartimeus trilogy #bartimaeus sequence #art #fanart #the yellow eyes may not be canon but they are dear to my heart so.#anyway! art on the art account! what a concept!

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miasmaghoul · 7 months

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anything little dick mountain.... PLEEEEASE

anything you say?

okay.

how about little dick mountain and nonbinary intersex mist getting stoned and fuckin around in the woods?

thats something.

"This is nice," Mountain murmurs, twirling a lock of fine silver hair between two fingers.

"Always is," Mist lilts in reply, plucking the half-burned joint from Mountain's other hand. They offer him a slow wink, and Mountain grins.

They've been here for a while now, naked and sprawled out beside Mist's favorite stream deep in the woods. It's a tranquil place, serene and nearly silent. The babble of the water soothes something deep in Mountain's core, as does the late spring sun filtering through the boughs above. The warm light dapples Mist's pale skin, washes them in an ethereal glow, and stoned as he is Mountain can't help but touch.

Mist hums on an inhale as a large hand caresses their shoulder, rough fingers tracing the intricate lines of the tattoo there - a sea serpent with fangs sharp enough that even the ink threatens to cut. Mountain could study it for hours, could spend an age gliding his fingertips along every curve. From the tip of the tongue that sits just above the barely-there swell of Mist's chest to the tail that ends at the small of their back.

Mist's slight hand rests on Mountain's chest, delicate fingers fiddling with his chest hair, and he takes a moment to admire them.

They look exquisite; silver-blue eyes reddened and heavy, hollow cheeks crested with pink, gills rippling as heady smoke flows from them in entracing waves. Mountain lowers his head to drink it down, his hand sliding around to rest between Mist's shoulders while he noses at their throat.

"Greedy," they tease, voice light. Mountain chuffs, dragging the tip of his tongue along their jaw. Mist sighs, tilting their head and taking another deep pull, burning the joint to its end. Mountain feels their lungs fill under his touch, and something about it makes him throb.

"Can you blame me when you taste so good?" Another lick, and Mist trills, amused.

"Not even a little."

Another plume escapes Mist's gills and Mountain sucks it down, holds it in. He pulls away with a curl to his lips and finds Mist peering up at him expectantly, the tip of their tongue poking out between needle-sharp fangs. Mountain threads long fingers into soft hair, grips gently, and when their lips join it's in a cloud of sweet smoke.

It's slow. Languid. A relaxed meeting of tongues, an exchange of breath and saliva alike. Mountain's hand glides down the length of their spine, a brief journey that ends with his palm on Mist's sharp hip, fingers dimpling the subtle curve of their ass. They shift a bit, hook a leg over his thigh, and Mountain chuckles at the almost imperceptible weight of it. He smiles against their lips.

"I always forget how small you are," he murmurs, and Mist rewards him with a sharp tug to his chest hair. He gives them a hiss, one that fades into a pleased hum when cool, bony fingers drift down over his stomach.

"No you don't," they say, clearly amused. Mountain pulls back just enough to catch the sparkle in their eyes, a glint of brilliant sapphire in those pale irises.

They're right, of course. It's impossible to forget how tiny Mist is in comparison to him, how seemingly frail. Elegant limbs, bony joints, slender from head to toe. He has a solid two feet on them, and who knows how much weight, but on the rare occasion Mist hunts him down for these trysts it's never them that seems to feel small.

That wandering hand vanishes between their bodies, and Mountain lets his own hand travel down the creamy thigh over his hip, squeezing along the way. Mist licks their lips, gives him a sharp smile.

"But I could say the same about you, big guy."

They punctuate that statement by wrapping deft fingers around his cock, and Mountain groans as he feels them engulf him completely. The one place where he is decidedly not big.

"Oh, someone's excited," Mist sing-songs, giving his little stiffy a nice squeeze. He shivers with it, hips rolling already.

Mountain can't deny it - truth be told he's been chubby since Mist caught him on his way back to the abbey, arms full of freshly snipped roses that Primo had requested for his chambers. He'd pawned that task off on a nearby sibling, content to follow his dick and the stunning ghoul before him instead. Mist thumbs over his sticky head and Mountain huffs out a tight sigh.

"Sensitive as ever," Mist taunts, loosening their grip and giving him a couple of soft little pumps that have Mountain's eyes rolling back. "Planning to blame the weed?"

He always does, but they both know better.

"I can if you want," he rumbles, hitching Mist's leg higher on his hip. "But it's easier to blame you."

Mist laughs, loud and bright in the surrounding silence. They shift closer, close enough that Mountain can feel the brush of their pebbled nipples against his chest, their piercings pressing chilly into his overwarm skin. Mountain drags blunt nails up their thigh, relishing the goosebumps that appear in his wake. He slips his own hand between their bodies, and Mist smiles. They wrap a spindly arm around his neck, arch their back, and with a loose rock of their hips Mountain feels the firm length of their dick press into his thigh

"Looking to return the favor, sycamore?"

Mountain doesn't try to hide his whine, there's no point. He always gets noisy when they do this, and all the high does is make him more willing to let it out. He wraps an eager hand around Mist's already slick length, and they reward him with a tighter grip on his own. Mountain groans deep in his chest, leaning down to knock their horns together.

"You're really hard," he murmurs, the hand in Mist's hair drifting down to settle at the back of their neck, angling their lovely, handsome face towards his own. "Gonna blame that on the weed?"

Mist doesn't deign to answer, getting a nice handful of his hair and licking a wide stripe over his stubbled cheek instead. Mountain feels himself throb in their hand, feels Mist leak over his knuckles, and as they catch him in a decidedly more hungry kiss Mountain lets himself be overwhelmed.

It's easy to do. The smooth swipe of their tongue along his own and behind his fangs drags him further and further down. The slowly tightening channel of Mist's hand pulls pearl after pearl of pre from his firm little cock, the slick sound of both of their hands filling his head with static. Mist's nails rake over his scalp, just sharp enough to provide the hint of a sting, and Mountain doesn't even try to hold back his moan.

It's nice like this. No rushing, no frantic urgency, no pleading for more. No need for it. They both know Mist controls the pace of these stolen moments, and Mountain has absolutely no problem with it. He lets himself enjoy the kiss, the taste of Mist filling his mouth. Fresh and clean with a specific sort of bitterness Mountain has come to crave, all of it accentuated by the herbal flavor of their shared smokable. It's intoxicating, and before Mountain knows it he's panting into their mouth, starved for more.

He pauses on a downstroke, wraps a finger and thumb around the base of Mist's twitching length and slips two fingers back between their legs. He moans out a curse at the slick heat he finds there, swiping his digits through their folds. He dips just one inside, and the tightness he finds there has his stomach swooping.

Mist purrs into the kiss when he swirls it inside, abandoning their grip on his short length in favor of grabbing his wrist. Mountain doesn't fight when they pull his slippery hand from their body, maneuvering it instead to hold the both of them together.

Mountain has to pull back then, chest heaving and eyes glassy as Mist guides him to stroke. The feel of it is exquisite - his large palm is rough, callused, but Mist leaks so much that it eases the glide in moments. The sensation wrings a pained gurgle from him, and Mountain can't keep himself from rocking his hips. From letting his tip kiss the underside of Mist's, every drag of their cocks against one another sending his head spinning and forcing heat to swirl through his belly.

"Fuck," he breathes, long and low. "Mist, fuck -"

"Feeling good, aren't you?" Mist sounds entirely too calm, as they always do, but the way they pulse in his hand betrays them. "Think the little guy's ready for me yet?"

They rock their hips just as Mountain does, ruts their cocks together, and Mountain makes the most embarrassing sound. He gives a quick nod, sucking his lower lip between his fangs, and before he can do anything more Mist is rolling him onto his back. Straddling his hips. Moving him like he isn't at least twice their size everywhere except where it counts.

"That's better," Mist says on a sigh. They settle on their knees, palms flat on his chest, and Mountain gazes up at them with what can only be called unabashed adoration. Mist smiles down at him, tossing the silver curtain of their hair over their shoulder. Mountain rests his hands on their waist, loving the way his thumbs overlap just below their navel. "Don't you think?"

Mountain offers up a dumb little sound of confirmation, too busy visually feasting on the little ghoul above him. Soaking in every angle and curve, every ridge of their gills, the sparkle of their nipple rings and the shimmering black scales decorating their collarbones and the vee of their hips. His gaze halts there, caught completely on the way their shiny pink cock sticks straight out between their skinny thighs.

Mist doesn't miss it, their lips curling into a positively cheshire smile while they scoot forward. While they settle themselves over his own aching length where it lays on his stomach, leaking pre into the smattering of hair there. Mountain chokes on a moan when they shift just enough to drag their dripping cunt over his little cock, and it's a miracle he doesn't cum right then and there.

Not that Mist would allow that, of course. He knows better.

"So warm," they murmur, moving their hips in gentle circles that have Mountain's thighs quivering. "How badly does he want it, hmm?"

"Bad," Mountain rasps, doing his absolute best not to hump up against Mist's inviting body. "He wants in so bad."

Mist trills, a deeply pleased sound. They raise up just enough for Mountain to see the thick trail of slick that connects their bodies, and his cock kicks so hard he grunts.

"Looks like it," Mist chuckles, gripping him again and giving a slow stroke. A blurt of pre leaks over their fingers, and Mountain's balls ache. "Little thing's drooling all over."

Mist is one to talk, their own dick dribbling a nearly constant stream of sticky fluid that pools in Mountain's belly button. He can't get his breath under control as they raise up, pointing his needy little cock up into the air while they line up.

Mountain isn't sure which of them moans louder when Mist sinks down onto him, impossibly tight and so, so slick. He grips them tight, fingertips digging firm into their back, their stomach. He watches the flat plane of it tense when they bottom out, taking his few inches with an ease that leaves his toes curling.

"There we go," Mist coos, narrow chest flushed pink as their leaking tip. They pluck at their nipples, rolling the stiff buds between their fingers and sighing. "You always fill me just right, don't you?" Mountain nods furtively, not trusting his voice when Mist clenches around him. "A perfect little cuntful."

Mountain lets his head thud back against the warm earth, swallows hard, and when Mist starts riding in an achingly slow rhythm he swears the world tilts.

"Be a good boy and make me cum," they say, low and sultry, peeling one of his hands from their waist and moving it to their swaying cock. "If you do well enough I'll even let you eat your load out of me."

Mountain whimpers, starts to stroke, and silently adores the way Mist laughs at him when he drools.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #mountain ghoul #mist ghoulette #mountain/mist #mountain x mist #what a weird pairing lmao #what do we call them? misty mountain? that feels derivative.#will think on it later

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bloodblotz · 2 months

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Task From Heaven

Hazbin Hotel x Angel!Reader

Post Hazbin Hotel Season 1

The reader is an angel from heaven tasked by the Heavenly Courtroom to aid the Hazbin Hotel and its goal on rehabilitating Sinners.

Part 1

The order given was simple in nature but couldn’t be any less difficult: aid Princess Charlie Morningstar in her quest to redeem Sinners so they may see the golden gates of Heaven.

Definitely simple of a goal but complicated in nature. There was a reason it had never been accomplished or attempted before, for the sheer controversy of trying to redeem a person who had already made their choices were hard to sway.

Sir Pentious had given Heaven much to think about and as such the buzz that a Sinner had somehow become a Winner was unheard of.

For God to have such forgiveness for a sinful man, who were angels not to follow in their Father? And as such, you were sent down to the Hazbin Hotel to aid the Princess in her endeavours to save Sinners from their fiery fates.

The air in Hell was heavy with smoke and brimstone, making your nose wrinkle in the slightest. Back in Heaven the air was sleek and clear, as fresh as a meadow far from any sort of city. It was just one of the many things that you would have to get used to.

The hotel came to view, a grand thing it was, with its name in tall and bright letters that flashed with pride.

Landing gracefully onto the pavement, you quietly tucked your wings away as to not be seen by the average Sinner. Although your halo remained stubbornly atop your head.

Entering the hotel, it was just as large as it was on the outside. The ceilings were tall enough as to not induce claustrophobia.

“Hello! Welcome to the—” a young woman’s cheerful voice welcomed you as you make your way to the foyer. It stopped abruptly as you make your way closer to the stairs. Dressed in a bright red suit with long blonde hair tied in a long braid was the Princess of Hell: Charlie Morningstar. She stood shocked at the sight of you— well, more so your halo than just the appearance of you.

You give a cordial smile as you spread out your wings in a way that you know was probably sinful pride in your appearance. Your wings stretched to showcase pure plumes of white, stark against the harsh reds of Hell.

“Greetings to the Princess of Hell,” you start, voice soft as to adhere to image of angelic. “I am Y/N, have no fear as I have come to aid Sinners with redemption on behalf of Heaven.”

The Princess guffaws for a long second, a thousand emotions that were too quick to read flickering across her face. Her companions were not so hard to read as wariness spread across their faces. One in particular, a young woman with long hair and an interesting ‘x’ atop one of her eyes. Similar to an exorcist, you idly note.

The long haired woman thrust a spear in your face, an angelic spear you notice. Her mouth is twisted into a snarl as she holds an unwavering spear to your throat.

“What business does Heaven want now? Extermination is over.”

You smile, bringing a finger to the point and pushing it down slightly. “Have no fear, I have no intention in hurting any Sinner of the sort.” The woman’s face is stone, making it clear that she has yet to believe you. “I was sent by Heaven to aid in redeeming Sinners.”

The woman scoffs but is quickly calmed by a gentle hand to her shoulder. The Princess looks at you. Her face is not unkind but isn’t entirely friendly. Her face swims with wariness.

“I thought Heaven didn’t believe in the redemption of Sinners.” Despite her wariness, her eyes shines with hope. “What changed?”

Your disbelief makes it way forward. Don’t they know? They had to know that one of their very own residents made it to Heaven, and yet their wary faces tells you otherwise.

“One of your own occupants have been redeemed.” You start, projecting an image of the serpent into her palm. His heavenly image is revealed to the Princess whose eyes shine with emotion. “This changes everything, don’t you think? Because of this, Heaven is willing to help in your crusade.”

Something in your heart twists at the unshed tears in the Princess’ eyes.

You let the Princess take the image of Sir Pentious, watching as she cradles it like was something precious. The rest of her companions stare down at the ball with a range of disbelief and relief.

You were ready to meet an incarnation of evil, a product of Hell and Lucifer. In the end, Hell’s daughter is nothing but a kind girl.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Parts:

1 2 3

#hazbin hotel #hazbin spoilers #hazbin hotel x reader #charlie morningstar #vaggie #angel!reader #post season 1

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talonabraxas · 1 month

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Quetzalcoatl 🐉 Talon Abraxas

Quetzalcoatl ("feathered serpent" or "plumed serpent") is the Nahuatl name for the Feathered-Serpent deity of ancient Mesoamerican culture. In Mesoamerican myth Quetzalcoatl is also a mythical culture hero from whom almost all mesoamerican peoples claim descent. These myths often describe him as the a divine ruler of the mythical Toltecs of Tollan who after his expulsion from Tollan, travelled south or east to set up new cities and kingdoms. Many different Mesoamerican cultures, e.g. Maya, K'iche, Pipil, Zapotec claim to have been the only true lineage of Quetzalcoatl and thus of the mythical Toltecs.

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kitsunetsuki · 4 months

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Sarah Moon - Dress by Serpent a Plumes (ELLE 1974)

#sarah moon #elle magazine #photography #fashion photography #vintage fashion #vintage style #vintage #retro #aesthetic #beauty #seventies #70s #70s fashion #70s style #70s model #1970s #1970s fashion #editorial

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cloaksandcapes · 2 months

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A very powerful item, but at the level you should be getting this, enemies will have more than enough ways to come back to thank you for the impromptu vacation!

Bow of Banishment

Weapon (bow), legendary (requires attunement)

“This legendary bow was created using various materials gathered from around the inner and outer planes. Infernal iron from the Hells, magical pearls from Elysium, a Kraken’s tooth, plumes of an Ember Roc, the breath of a cloud serpent, and flawless gems from the Plane of Earth. ”

You have a +3 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon.

Planar Banishment. When you deal damage to a creature with this magic weapon, you can choose to attempt to banish it to another plane. You can roll 1d6 to determine the plane at random or choose between Elysium, the Nine Hells, or the Plane of Fire, Water, Air, or Earth. If you choose a plane at random, the target takes an additional 2d6 damage each time they fail their saving throw. At the end of the target's next turn, it must make a DC 20 Wisdom saving throw. On a successful save, they resist the banishment. If the target fails the saving throw five times, they are banished. The banishment effect ends if you are reduced to 0 hit points, or you can choose to end it as a free action. Once you use this property you cannot use it again until you finish a long rest.

1d6 - Realm - Damage Type

1 - Elysium - Radiant

2 - Nine Hells - Necrotic

3 - Plane of Fire - Fire

4 - Plane of Water - Cold

5 - Plane of Air - Thunder

6 - Plane of Earth - Force Join us on Twitch every Mon\Wed\Fri to create new Homebrews and check out our Patreon for 482+ magic items, tokens, maps, and more.

#D&D #DnD #Dungeons and Dragons #DnD5e #Homebrew #Magic Item #TTRPG #DnD Homebrew #TTRPG Homebrew #Homebrew Magic Items #DnDaDay #Bow of Banishment

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chic-a-gigot · 1 year

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La Mode illustrée, no. 6, 5 février 1865, Paris. Toilettes de Concert de Mme Castel-Bréant, 58 bis. rue Ste Anne. Coiffures diadême par Mr Croizat, 76 rue de Richelieu. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney

Description de toilettes:

Robe de dessous en satin mauve de nuance très-claire, recouverte d'une robe en gaze de soie de même nuance, garnie avec deux bouillonnés sur son bord inférieur. Ces bouillonnés sont séparés par une guirlande de feuilles de lierre; au-dessus des bouillonnés, deuxième guirlande semblable, formant des festons. A la hauteur où l'on place ordinairement les poches, guirlande de lierre retombant en deux longues branches et surmontée d'une rose. Corsage décolleté à draperie. Manches très-courtes ornées d'une rose et de branches de lierre; ces mêmes fleurs sont placées au bas de la taille par derrière, et, se divisant en trois parties, forment des sortes de basques. Coiffure assortie.

Robe en poult-de-soie vert, recouverte d'une robe de crêpe vert, garnie avec un gros bouillonné, au-dessus duquel serpente un volant tuyauté en tulle blanc, ayant 8 centimètres de hauteur; ce volant est relevé de distance en distance, ou plutôt retourné de façon à former une coquille, dont le milieu est rempli par un bouquet de plumes blanches. Troisième robe en tulle blanc, plus courte que la précédente et bordée avec une frange de plumes blanches. Cette robe est relevée inégalement (plus haut sur le côté gauche que sur le côté droit) et retenue de chaque côté par un bouquet de plumes blanches et une agrafe d'émeraudes. Corsage décolleté à draperies; bouquets de petites plumes sur les manches; agrafe d'émeraudes sur le devant du corsage; plumes blanches dans la coiffure; épingles de diamants et d'émeraudes.

—

Under dress in mauve satin of a very light shade, covered with a dress in silk gauze of the same shade, trimmed with two bubbles on its lower edge. These bubbles are separated by a garland of ivy leaves; above the bubbles, second similar garland, forming festoons. At the height where the pockets are usually placed, a garland of ivy falling in two long branches and surmounted by a rose. Low-cut bodice with drapery. Very short sleeves adorned with a rose and ivy branches; these same flowers are placed at the bottom of the waist from behind, and, dividing into three parts, form a sort of basque. Matching hairstyle.

Dress in green poult-de-silk, covered with a dress in green crepe, trimmed with a large fringe, above which winds a piped flounce in white tulle, 8 centimeters high; this flounce is raised from distance to distance, or rather turned over so as to form a shell, the middle of which is filled with a bouquet of white feathers. Third dress in white tulle, shorter than the previous one and edged with a fringe of white feathers. This dress is raised unevenly (higher on the left side than on the right side) and held on each side by a bouquet of white feathers and an emerald clasp. Draped low-cut bodice; bouquets of small feathers on the sleeves; clasp of emeralds on the front of the bodice; white feathers in the hairstyle; diamond and emerald pins.

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