None of her days have ever had purpose; Shaytan is no one and she does nothing except drink rodent blood and stare glassy-eyed at the burning tree. Straia gave her the least demanding job, with no more responsibility than one might give a child. Guard the tree. Keep to yourself. Stay out of the way.
It could very well be one of Straia’s better decisions, to keep her little bunny-killing monster out of the world and thoroughly occupied by her own one-track mind. But even monsters get the urge to break their leash and wander. This monster cannot control her thirst - but then again, she’s never had a reason to try. The meadow bunnies have forgotten her, so she runs rampant amongst them, striking the slow with her invisibility (it is the massacre they always feared, from the monster they cannot see). Their high-pitched squeals shatter the still air until her thirst is finally slaked. Her mouth is buried in the steaming body of her last victim when she feels the urge to close her eyes and let them roll back into her head.
Oh, but not here. Not surrounded by her handy work.
That would be too incriminating.
Shaytan’s been very messy this time (that’s what happens when you fall off the wagon - it’s a terribly messy affair), and well up to half of her face is smeared with blood. Some dripped down and splattered the graying parts of her coat, adding tiny dots in between the big ones. She stumbles along, following the path that leads to ‘home’ when the clackety-clack of bones interrupts her rhythmic plodding. A bold glance confirms it to be a gruesome, gory thing, and that Straia might like one of her own. She alters her path to walk parallel with the black mare (the mistress, she assumes - here, horses rule even over fanged beasts) and keeps her silence until suddenly, she asks, “How do you do that?”
As if it is something that could be learned
shaytan
when people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world
help, i need sad and violent words right now