violence
“What?” the words curl in her mouth, staring at her sister through his eyes, “aren’t you happy to see me?”
She edges closer. He’s more resistant, now, and she claws back, gripping into his mind like a cliff’s edge. She doesn’t have forever here; cannot linger the way she would like.
(Dead things are ever so much easier to manipulate, she laments for the hundredth or thousandth time.)
She hears the warning click, sees the knifelike tail switch at her sister’s alien hocks. This doesn’t bother her. Her own body is further back, and she has no qualms about spilling this vessel’s blood. Would rather like it, in fact. Pain feels different when you’re inhabiting someone else’s body, a layer removed. Easier to quell the instincts down and just focus.
“You’re weak,” she says, “a fool.”
Her words, his mouth. She doesn’t know how much her sister understands, what her grasp of the language is. But the tone is clear enough.
She can’t access all his memories, doesn’t bother wasting time rifling through them. Digging deep into his memories – his emotions - would weaken her already faltering grip. So she mimics, instead – relaxes and lets muscle memory take over, for just a moment, tries to imitate him at his sweetest, a low purr, saccharine and stupid.
She doesn’t wait to see if it changes things or not, she flattens his ears to his skull and moves, charging, his weak body against her alien one. It’s a pointless attack, suicidal, charging her dead-on with teeth snapping at her face, her neck, a kamikaze rush.
Inside his mind, she’s laughing.
I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips
@[Maugrim] @[Nexu]