06-27-2020, 06:53 PM
choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
He is restless, but mostly, he is irritable.
His time with Despoina had left him mostly sated, but then it left room for something else.
After he fed off her sorrow, after he used her sadness and her pain to ease the ache of hunger in his gut, it left room for something else. It gave the darkness room to spread, to creep and crawl through his veins and seep into his marrow. The darkness had no outlet. It was left to fester, to infect and grow, and now without the hunger to distract him, he found himself unable to fight it off.
His shadows have morphed themselves back into its canine form, his eyes red and glowing as he slips silently through the brush. He had been stalking her for some time now, watching the young fox traverse over logs and off well-worn trails in favor of the wilder parts of the forest. There is no fear coming from her – not even sadness, or at least not the tangible kind. He wasn’t particularly hungry, anyway. He was agitated.
The canine form had always been too feral. Something difficult for him to control, something that made his mind turn nearly entirely to shadow. And that was why he had chosen it. He could lose control, he thinks, and not have to feel guilty for it. It was not his fault; he was not himself in the canine form, and was becoming even less of himself as an equine the longer the shadows took root.
Immersed in darkness he slips closer, and once close enough he erects an aura of fear. He pushes, stretching it until it touches her, wanting to see what happens when that unexplainable feeling takes hold of her; that anxiety that clenches in your chest, that panic of being watched. Would she run, or would she turn and face the shadow that had been following her?
His time with Despoina had left him mostly sated, but then it left room for something else.
After he fed off her sorrow, after he used her sadness and her pain to ease the ache of hunger in his gut, it left room for something else. It gave the darkness room to spread, to creep and crawl through his veins and seep into his marrow. The darkness had no outlet. It was left to fester, to infect and grow, and now without the hunger to distract him, he found himself unable to fight it off.
His shadows have morphed themselves back into its canine form, his eyes red and glowing as he slips silently through the brush. He had been stalking her for some time now, watching the young fox traverse over logs and off well-worn trails in favor of the wilder parts of the forest. There is no fear coming from her – not even sadness, or at least not the tangible kind. He wasn’t particularly hungry, anyway. He was agitated.
The canine form had always been too feral. Something difficult for him to control, something that made his mind turn nearly entirely to shadow. And that was why he had chosen it. He could lose control, he thinks, and not have to feel guilty for it. It was not his fault; he was not himself in the canine form, and was becoming even less of himself as an equine the longer the shadows took root.
Immersed in darkness he slips closer, and once close enough he erects an aura of fear. He pushes, stretching it until it touches her, wanting to see what happens when that unexplainable feeling takes hold of her; that anxiety that clenches in your chest, that panic of being watched. Would she run, or would she turn and face the shadow that had been following her?
torryn
@[Mazikeen]