06-22-2021, 06:06 PM
With each new lifetime, the Curse has evolved. Born of bitter blackness, it has adapted with each host, and grown more powerful. The vitriol of the Monsters had aided him in driving Gale out far more quickly than he had his sire. The Dark God, who had Seen through time and imagination, had turned the brindle’s fear into reality, and had given true life to the Cursed mind that now calls itself Gale.
Always before it has been rage and want, capable of mimicking otherwise when necessary, but feeling not a thing but greed and fury once destroying the host and gaining enough powers to wreck havoc on the world around it.
Why then, does he possess the ultimate ability and still find himself wanting more?
When the Curse had told Mazikeen that he expected a child from her, he’d done so hoping she’d refuse, hoping for a reason to hurt her. He hadn’t needed a reason, not really, and she’d agreed anyway and so he’d never looked back at his hesitance.
He should have, he thinks now, perhaps it would have added some clarity to his present state of mind.
He does want to destroy her, to rip her open and gnaw the marrow from her bones, to feel the way the blood drips from his teeth. Yet as she presses her body against him, he finds himself wanting something else as well. Not wanting instead of, simply more than. Not blood, but the taste of her skin beneath his lips, and the sound of her breath catching as he touches the column of her throat.
The rending of her heart from her chest had been pleasurable. He decides now, as she smiles up at him, that he will have it metaphorically as well, that he will possess each and every last bit of the orange eyed woman.
That, perhaps, will be enough.
(The bile of Wrongness lingers, so like the Curse had once haunted Gale, but he finds he, too, can push it away while he looks at Mazikeen.)
Shifting to something with limbs more capable of caressing her, Gale says softly just below her ear as he does: “I don’t compromise. But I don’t mind if you make up the difference in other ways.”
@[Mazikeen]
Always before it has been rage and want, capable of mimicking otherwise when necessary, but feeling not a thing but greed and fury once destroying the host and gaining enough powers to wreck havoc on the world around it.
Why then, does he possess the ultimate ability and still find himself wanting more?
When the Curse had told Mazikeen that he expected a child from her, he’d done so hoping she’d refuse, hoping for a reason to hurt her. He hadn’t needed a reason, not really, and she’d agreed anyway and so he’d never looked back at his hesitance.
He should have, he thinks now, perhaps it would have added some clarity to his present state of mind.
He does want to destroy her, to rip her open and gnaw the marrow from her bones, to feel the way the blood drips from his teeth. Yet as she presses her body against him, he finds himself wanting something else as well. Not wanting instead of, simply more than. Not blood, but the taste of her skin beneath his lips, and the sound of her breath catching as he touches the column of her throat.
The rending of her heart from her chest had been pleasurable. He decides now, as she smiles up at him, that he will have it metaphorically as well, that he will possess each and every last bit of the orange eyed woman.
That, perhaps, will be enough.
(The bile of Wrongness lingers, so like the Curse had once haunted Gale, but he finds he, too, can push it away while he looks at Mazikeen.)
Shifting to something with limbs more capable of caressing her, Gale says softly just below her ear as he does: “I don’t compromise. But I don’t mind if you make up the difference in other ways.”
@[Mazikeen]