[private] the downward spiral || feast

[Thana]

THANA.

(as black as your soul)

   The quiet is soothing to her.

   The incessant noise of the gathering closest to the souther border had begun to wear on her, and she yearned for the solitude that she had come to claim as her own. Suffocating, stifling - the air is thick, but frigid and she has long since become accustomed to it in the depths of the dark, concentrated darkness. She is a part of it, her breath shallow while the broad hearth of her chest is barely rising with her baited breath. 

   She has never felt more at ease than she had amid the thicket, with dry and brittle bark clutching hungrily at the swell of her feminine hip - the jagged bone resting against the curve of aged oak as her breath is caught within the confinement of her throat. 

   The thickness of the blood that had splattered across the shadow of her indigo flesh had long since washed away, whittled beneath the rough and raucous current of the unyielding river, but she could still feel it across her skin - the metallic scent of it lingered still, leaving her breathless, roused from her usual stillness. It had brought life to her she once thought impossible.

   Her skin is tingling and lit with the festering flame of the adrenaline that coursed vigorously through her lithe, petite body. It had not taken her brute strength to steal the life of another, but nonetheless, the blood spilt had become a part of her, fueling a blistering ember of ravenous longing that burned brightly within her chest. Her bloodlust never left her – always tucked away somewhere within the darkest recesses of her mind; roused spontaneously and with intensity.

   Quietly, her attention is drawn elsewhere, while the gleaming mischief of her wayward, silvery eye is settled upon an enticing glimmer of gold - beckoning her from the shadow that had become her own. She is quiet and deliberate, observing the curve of hardened bone settled at the base of his skull - a shiver of intrigue traverses moves its way through her, plucking at each of her frayed, sensitive nerve-endings. 
 
   ”You don’t belong here,” she muses, mostly to herself – her voice a soft echo, breaking through the oppressive silence, while her ivory forelock lay across her mismatched eyes – boring into his own. ”or maybe you do. ”

@[feast]

[feast]

feast.

death inspires me,

like a dog inspires a rabbit.

The quiet is jarring to him.

He prefers a chorus of screams echoing off rock. However, he hears no screams for all that he thinks they have been promised to them - the others, like him, that came for the pleasure that pain can only bring. The lure of torture and sex brought him forth from wherever it is that he has been lurking since the end of the dark god’s quest. It might have been a forest much like this one, but to him, all the trees are the same now - blood does not paint their bark red, gore does not drip from their branches like a pretty new set of leaves, and thus, Feast is not amused nor does he care.

News of the annual bacchanalia had spread.

Drew him out, but the noise is enough to make him hesitate. There is too much giggling and fun. Not enough screams and blood for his tastes. That can change - should change, as he looks down at the blight that spreads from his hooves. Here, beneath his stationary shape, the grass has turned brown and brittle in death and the flowers bend their dead heads to the ground, shrivelling up. For a moment, he dreams on what it would be like to turn that power onto the flesh and the blood within. Veins would dry up and shrink, bones would break into dust inside their emaciated skins… a gruesome smile comes to his lips.

He lowers his goat-horned head to rub his face against his knee. This must be when she notices him. Feast hears her; it is not like she tries to cushion her step though he suspects she could if she wanted too, there is something wolfish about her - lean and calculating, like she is sizing up her next meal. His flat black gaze meets her mismatched one, beneath the paleness of her forelock. The shock of white is startling against her face, reminds him of the gleam of bone on dirt. She mentions that he doesn’t belong here, then suggests that perhaps he does. Where is here, though? To him, it makes no difference if he is here or elsewhere but the her quiet deliberate manner sparks something in him that begs him to explore it just a little bit longer.

One cloven hoof reaches out to squash an already blighted flower beneath it, as he cocks his head to one side. “How shall we ever know?” It holds a hint of challenge in it, as much as his emotionless tone can but there is a bit of that same challenge in his stiff grimace of a smile. “Or should I ask who makes those decisions here?” Now this was more of a direct challenge to her; he could see that she was more than formidable but Feast couldn’t help himself, he was a careless beast after all.

@[Thana] next post will be better! my son kept distracting me because he's up way passed his bedtime. -_-