The birds. They were so colorful... azure and violet, sapphire and scarlet. She was so pale, so pallid and gaunt and hideously white. What if she just ate them? Would the blue bleed out over her marble satire, would the incandescent oranges and crimsons stain her chest? Would she turns as black as their beaks and gray as their little feet? Her hooves drift over the earth, drawing her closer, her mouth watering. They smell so very delicious, all hot blood pumping through tiny, fragile veins. And she's so hungry too, practically starving...
Perhaps you're just not playing it correctly, dear sister. Hecate's head snaps around abruptly, the bones of her neck cracking unpleasantly, but a smile creeps over the porcelain pallor of her lips, her wicked ice eyes gleaming. "Oh Helleborr," she croons to him, a thin rope of spit slipping out of her slackjawed mouth. Her eyes are hungry. So damnably hungry... the harlot drifts away from the tantalizing jewels perched in the vein-like branches of the trees, drawn towards him, his mighty white darkness, the familiar smell of him, all death and decay and the smell of white mushrooms that creep up from corpses. Beside him, she is tiny, an angel where he is the reaper, he's her giant, tall and grand and full of malice, with his calloused little heart.
She quivers at his caress, moaning softly at the brush of his muzzle over her fragile ribs, gasps at his audacious nibble at her ears. The forest is so bright and golden, they hurt her eyes used to darkness and shadow. But he blocks out the sun, he is her protection, her warrior, her guardian.
"We're here to eat, Helleborr. Don't you remember? All the living flesh is gone from our shade family..." A conniving smile curls the corners of her lips.
Someone approaches, dark and white and dark again. Hecate screeches, nostrils flaring declarative red, shrinking to Helleborr's side before the tension leeches out of her muscles. It's alone.
"Helleborr, I'm so hungry." She whispers, eyes fixated on the stallion, unhearing of his words.
Away from her flank she drifts, towards the stranger's soft face.
He smells of the living.
"I want food."
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
