F R E A K S H O W [Nexu]

[Modicum Mortem]

He hadn’t been able to speak (or, at least try to) with the strange creature he’d found in the woods alone. There was always someone else around. If it was not Crevan, it was Maugrim. If not him, it was Astarael. He was growing antsy, wanting to figure out what she actually intended to do in Sylva (other than feed, which was fine with him).


An early summer downpour had caused the forest to grow hot and humid. The autumnal forest was soaked, and him with it. New smells rose from the forest floor (strong oils from the beech trees, earthy petrichor) and he slopped through the muddiness to find her. Each step felt like quicksand, it took nearly every ounce of effort he had to find her.


“Nexu,” He says, breath hard and fast, when she comes into view. He is still so fascinated with her (and not even in a sexual way, like he is with most females). He stares in awe at the armor that panels her body, the alien-shape of her head, the tail of knives that curves around her. There is not much else for him to say until she acknowledges him, so he watches her movements and waits for her response.

Modicum Mortem

@[Nexu]