01-15-2020, 03:47 PM
This is where it started, isn’t it?
Her first taste of freedom.
How sweetly it had slid down her throat, how it tasted like blood.
She has seldom returned here, preferring to languish in the heat at the center of the meadow, preferring to sink her teeth into the things that venture to the river’s edge in search of water. Because the forest has so little to offer her cold, cold heart. What fun are rabbits when it comes to prey anyway? She’d swallowed them whole as a child, unhinging her baby jaw, delighting in the flutter of their pulse as they settled in the pit of her gut. Rabbits and birds and all manner of rodent. Easy prey, they hardly ever put up a fight.
And now she lurks in the shadows because the canopy overhead has stifled the steady snowfall. Because they seek shelter here, the wildlife. They curl themselves into neat circles, siphoning their own heat, their faces tucked under their tails and she snatches them clean out of their burrows. Foxes, deer, the quick and nimble things, their reflexes numbed by the cold.
Blood drips from her chin now, stains all that white, white snow as she moves slow through the forest. She could return to Pangea, she thinks, but there is nothing to life if there is no suffering and oh, how she delights in the suffering! Even her own. How sweet it is, the pain that plagues her as the wind whips cold across the surface of her skin. The scales do so little to protect her from the elements. The teeth chatter as she wanders. The suffering is brilliant white and it makes her vision strobe.
She does not hunt now, having eaten her fill. No, she merely wanders. She shivers in the cold and finds some sick satisfaction in the way the wind chaps her face, her shoulders, the slight swell of her barrel and her hips. Perhaps she will freeze out here, she thinks. What a delightful thing to think! What a vicious and merciless way to go. And what better way?
She drags in a shuddering breath and instinctively glances in the direction of some sourceless sound. She licks her lips but it does little to remove the blood from her chin. Still warm. Through the trees, she makes out the shape of something or someone. It doesn’t matter which.
“Don’t be shy,” she calls, the mouth twisting coyly.
Her first taste of freedom.
How sweetly it had slid down her throat, how it tasted like blood.
She has seldom returned here, preferring to languish in the heat at the center of the meadow, preferring to sink her teeth into the things that venture to the river’s edge in search of water. Because the forest has so little to offer her cold, cold heart. What fun are rabbits when it comes to prey anyway? She’d swallowed them whole as a child, unhinging her baby jaw, delighting in the flutter of their pulse as they settled in the pit of her gut. Rabbits and birds and all manner of rodent. Easy prey, they hardly ever put up a fight.
And now she lurks in the shadows because the canopy overhead has stifled the steady snowfall. Because they seek shelter here, the wildlife. They curl themselves into neat circles, siphoning their own heat, their faces tucked under their tails and she snatches them clean out of their burrows. Foxes, deer, the quick and nimble things, their reflexes numbed by the cold.
Blood drips from her chin now, stains all that white, white snow as she moves slow through the forest. She could return to Pangea, she thinks, but there is nothing to life if there is no suffering and oh, how she delights in the suffering! Even her own. How sweet it is, the pain that plagues her as the wind whips cold across the surface of her skin. The scales do so little to protect her from the elements. The teeth chatter as she wanders. The suffering is brilliant white and it makes her vision strobe.
She does not hunt now, having eaten her fill. No, she merely wanders. She shivers in the cold and finds some sick satisfaction in the way the wind chaps her face, her shoulders, the slight swell of her barrel and her hips. Perhaps she will freeze out here, she thinks. What a delightful thing to think! What a vicious and merciless way to go. And what better way?
She drags in a shuddering breath and instinctively glances in the direction of some sourceless sound. She licks her lips but it does little to remove the blood from her chin. Still warm. Through the trees, she makes out the shape of something or someone. It doesn’t matter which.
“Don’t be shy,” she calls, the mouth twisting coyly.
g o s p e l,
@[Bruja] @[Aeris]