Nymeria & Lilómiel

baby, I'm a sociopath / sweet serial killer / on the warpath / 'cause I love you / just a little too much.

Ivory fangs, tusks of which would one day tear into delicious flesh and exhale ruin upon her foes, snip down on pale flesh, leaving twin marks of claim upon the face of Volterra. Dissatisfaction, tumultuous, surges through their decidedly new bond, the tendrils hesitating in their weaving at the wave of powerful adolescent emotion. Ears twist, a shift of uncertainty mirrored in the slight paling of her gaze. Tail flicks, snapping over cinereal flanks.

Her head turns to her brother, amusement marring the indecisive preparation for justice adorning her countenance. The boy looks furious, with ears sewn back to his scalp and nostrils quivering—prone to savagery; she wonders if he would take his revenge, just... stamp down his hoof on the prone obsidian figure. It would be easy, dreadfully easy, to snap Lilómiel's spine beneath an angry toe, trample him beneath a tirade of ferocious furor, beat him out of life. Heart trills at the thought, a sudden and vicious terror splitting her features, writhing across a pretty young face; forward she steps, angling her body towards Volterra and just close enough to Lilómiel to provide cover for him. It is a composed but cutting reprimand—he is ours, not just mine!

"Stop that," she commands of him sharply, barging brutally in after the end of his surprised exclaim. Now, perhaps, that her face is turned towards him in full he might see the twin scars upon her muzzle. Brows sharpen, thicken judiciously over luminous irises, a sternness swarthy over elegant features. "Stop being so... angry. He's just a baby! He doesn't know any better." Satisfaction pulses through their bond, dull vagrant joy at putting them to odds; no, she wills to her companion.
They will not be torn apart by jealousy.

The spider's brother turns away. A low snort of disgust thrusts it's way from her nares as she reaches down to the small dragon, examining him for a single wry moment. Then up he comes, equine jaws closed down awkwardly over his nape, neck curving and depositing him neatly on her shoulders. Dark claws clutch, sheer, into charcoal flesh.

A moment's hesitation from the daughter of Confutatis at her twin's askance, as she retreats into the arachnid cords knitting between her and her companion. Examine. Poke and prod, touch around with the gentle fingers of her swift and clever mind, observe the delicate cables being made, a thrilling and terrifying thing. With each passing moment the fibers thicken, turning to wire and twisted metal, conduits of electrical impulses and wild, fiercely tangible emotion. She feels his hunger, feels his wanting to break fast; and she feels seeds of herself planted in him, bizarre little nodules of Nymeria lost in Lilómiel, just as Lilómiel is in her. Wonder, fleeting, plays across her pale face. "Good-scary," she announces, skull moving back to face her brother with a delicious smile turning up her lips. "It's just... I wish you could know how I feel too. I promise I'll find a dragon for you, bro. I swear."

Promises made on a whim—
true in heart, but they never seemed to work out.