There is a sentinel lurking in the shadows, her scarred and pitted hide melting into the darkness; the only thing the children might see if they were to glimpse towards the copse of trees would be a glint of melted gold, the amber of her eye. Nares quiver in thought, drinking in the scent of snow and ice, frigid winter having happily devoured all aspects of Helovia— and she decides in a swift stroke. Children make good pets, and they will make excellent soldiers once she has it brow-beaten into their horned skulls. Legs move as she steps out from behind the trees, pulling free of the black she so loved; she is terror and ambition, horror and a sinner, moving towards them, moving towards the little children not so far away, as they begin to call for mother. Yellowed teeth glint wickedly as a leer caresses her inky lips; a rabbit pelts towards her.
It is soon trapped by the illusions of her mongrel's magic, an insidious delusion of death and decay, all of which will impose itself on the hare in due time.
"Children!" she calls, eyes glittering with vile intent. "Children, don't fret, mother's just back here..." The kitsune at her flank drops his haunches on the snow; his skepticism melts through her mind, and she chokes on it. They would come, what other choice did they have? She was- she was an adult, they were only little children. It wasn't as if they could simply run away from here... teeth grit in frustration. Fear, her mongrel implicates, weaving illusions of torture and unseemly things done to their victimized rabbit. A shoulder shrugs, uncertain, and her head turns to study the yako impetuously. There is conviction is his scarlet gaze. Nostrils flare in her exhale, and she sweeps down towards the hare frozen in nightmares (what sort of bad dreams could rabbits have anyways?); jaws pin around white fur, poison jaws. It drips through the thick fur, acidic slime, burning and corroding, and the rabbit begins to convulse in spasms of pain. It smokes as the infection deepens around it's spine, drips down it's flanks, and she crushes it in her blunt teeth. Yet for all her claims of being a wolf, it is difficult to hold it in this position; her teeth slip on the sleek coat, unused to needing to hold anything up.
The hellion glances up towards the children and moves towards them; she tosses it at them, and only then does the veils of decay impose itself on the rabbit. Chunks of cream fluff fall and drift from it's pelt first; and then decay blooms on it, rings of rot, muscle stripping from bone, and it even seems, with a little help from her mongrel's dark illusions, that flies buzz and swarm around it, fat black flies with glittering blue wings.
"Come with the wolf, little birds, or you will decay to oblivion too."
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
CONFUTATIS
