05-18-2020, 01:11 AM
choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
He had not meant to morph himself into this strange canine shape, and he is not even sure what triggered it.
Maybe it was because the hunger that had been sinking its claws into his gut had finally managed to tear him open. Maybe this was what happened when the monsters of the shadows did not get their fill, and this was his new body’s last resort for survival.
Because while he had not felt like himself – his old self – ever since he left the endless maze of that underground hell, this form was something entirely different. This form seemed to take hold of whatever rational thoughts he had and simply crush them, until all that was left was this insatiable need to hunt something, anything.
He travels through the dark of the forest, an overcast sky trapped somewhere above the tops of the trees. His steps are soundless, the shadows of himself shifting and moving in a way that replicates a wolf tracking over logs and through bramble, but if not for the glow of his eyes he would blend almost seamlessly with the night.
He comes across her by accident, and he falters.
She is alone, and he pauses to take her in. She is alone, and she would be easy prey, he thinks. He wonders if he could physically kill her – if that is what he needs to do, even though he knows it’s not her flesh that he craves. It is something else, and the sorrow radiates from her in such a way that he is afraid of losing control. She makes his stomach twist with want and way that he hadn't known possible, and his body shudders with a longing that he has to swallow down.
It takes every ounce of willpower he has to shape his shadows back into his equine form, and though the feral fog in his mind slowly dissipates, the hunger does not. He stands there, the smoke-like tendrils of his mane billowing despite the lack of breeze this far into the trees, and he watches her with those vibrantly red eyes, silent and still.
Maybe it was because the hunger that had been sinking its claws into his gut had finally managed to tear him open. Maybe this was what happened when the monsters of the shadows did not get their fill, and this was his new body’s last resort for survival.
Because while he had not felt like himself – his old self – ever since he left the endless maze of that underground hell, this form was something entirely different. This form seemed to take hold of whatever rational thoughts he had and simply crush them, until all that was left was this insatiable need to hunt something, anything.
He travels through the dark of the forest, an overcast sky trapped somewhere above the tops of the trees. His steps are soundless, the shadows of himself shifting and moving in a way that replicates a wolf tracking over logs and through bramble, but if not for the glow of his eyes he would blend almost seamlessly with the night.
He comes across her by accident, and he falters.
She is alone, and he pauses to take her in. She is alone, and she would be easy prey, he thinks. He wonders if he could physically kill her – if that is what he needs to do, even though he knows it’s not her flesh that he craves. It is something else, and the sorrow radiates from her in such a way that he is afraid of losing control. She makes his stomach twist with want and way that he hadn't known possible, and his body shudders with a longing that he has to swallow down.
It takes every ounce of willpower he has to shape his shadows back into his equine form, and though the feral fog in his mind slowly dissipates, the hunger does not. He stands there, the smoke-like tendrils of his mane billowing despite the lack of breeze this far into the trees, and he watches her with those vibrantly red eyes, silent and still.
torryn
