05-02-2018, 04:42 PM
god make me pay
like the devil i am
like the devil i am
He smells her on the cold air long before he sees her.
The beast hides beneath the shadow of the cave that overlooks the calm and dark lake, standing silently on damp moss-covered stone. Behind him he can hear the tiny drip drop of stalactites splashing against rock - a sound that he has grown used to and rather fond of. But soon the scent of a woman draws his attention, and his pale nostrils quiver at the delectable smell. There is blood in the air - dried and old, but enough to pique Maugrim’s interest even further. The darkness of the cave croons to him, curling around his muscled legs and chest, covering him with their shadowy kisses. The darkness is kind to him, but it is nothing like the way the water makes him feel; the way killing with it made him feel.
The woman appears, golden within the dying light of Sylva’s winter. Snow had not yet fallen, but the air quivers with anticipation. She stares into the water stupidly while the beast watches from his haven across the lake, vapor rising from his nostrils as the warmth of his bated breath meets the frigid air. Her voice is sing-songy and light in the dimness of the shadowed forest, and nearly echoes in the silence that surrounds them. Maugrim does not move towards her yet, but allows the water before her that holds her reflection to warp curiously, swirling and spinning before her as if alive - a warning sign, perhaps; or an invitation.
But the puppeteer is there, hidden beneath darkness and shadow, a fire burning in the depths of his abysmal gaze. She would take the bait, he knows, and once it is too late she will come to know his face.
The beast hides beneath the shadow of the cave that overlooks the calm and dark lake, standing silently on damp moss-covered stone. Behind him he can hear the tiny drip drop of stalactites splashing against rock - a sound that he has grown used to and rather fond of. But soon the scent of a woman draws his attention, and his pale nostrils quiver at the delectable smell. There is blood in the air - dried and old, but enough to pique Maugrim’s interest even further. The darkness of the cave croons to him, curling around his muscled legs and chest, covering him with their shadowy kisses. The darkness is kind to him, but it is nothing like the way the water makes him feel; the way killing with it made him feel.
The woman appears, golden within the dying light of Sylva’s winter. Snow had not yet fallen, but the air quivers with anticipation. She stares into the water stupidly while the beast watches from his haven across the lake, vapor rising from his nostrils as the warmth of his bated breath meets the frigid air. Her voice is sing-songy and light in the dimness of the shadowed forest, and nearly echoes in the silence that surrounds them. Maugrim does not move towards her yet, but allows the water before her that holds her reflection to warp curiously, swirling and spinning before her as if alive - a warning sign, perhaps; or an invitation.
But the puppeteer is there, hidden beneath darkness and shadow, a fire burning in the depths of his abysmal gaze. She would take the bait, he knows, and once it is too late she will come to know his face.
m a u g r i m.
@[Jackel]