there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand; castile

[sochi]

there are wolves in my head and their howling
there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand

Her stomach twists with hunger.

She can feel it, the biting and gnawing sensation that doesn’t quiet, the roar that never dulls in her head. It brightens her silver eyes until they are sharp, until her teeth often escape and become wicked and curved, pressing the predatory edge to her equine lips. She thirsts for more than the grass that fills her stomach and yet never satisfies. She longs for the heat and the salt of life-force as it explodes into her mouth. She hungers for that feel of your meal writhing beneath your paws. The feel of power and force and life.

Still, she does not sate it—not yet. She bides her time, wrenching control from her instincts and forcing herself to bring her instincts to heel. She mothers her daughter, their daughter, teaching her the ways of the predator. She teaches her to never apologize. She teaches her to live her life with her chin raised high. She imbues her with confidence bordering on arrogance, the lesson that a predator never kneels. 

She never tells her to hide what she is or to question it. 

She teaches her to embrace it.

May she grow up strong and unapologetic and fearless.

Sochi also teaches her independence. She has no patience for a clinging daughter and while she doesn’t force her into the wild yet—keeping her tucked close at night—she gives her the free rein that she needs to adventure far and wild. If that means coming into contact with unsavory characters or if she brushes the edges of the plague then so be it. Sochi will not shield her from the underbelly of their world.

So, today, she is alone. 

She wanders until she reaches the island, her tiger’s coat thick and heavy, the weight of the ocean reminding her of that long swim to Pangea’s heart. Still, it doesn’t make her queasy, even when she is sure that she can feel that double heartbeat, and she doesn’t quiver. Instead, she shifts into her equine form and if the red of the scars or the luminescent blue of her face stand out all the brighter, then so be it.

now I'm broken and bleeding, I’ll never find my way

S

OCHI

stranger in this land

@[Castile]