Black. It lingers alone in the sea of pine, slowly creeping among their tattering bark, breathing lost tragic in one huff of wind. Hot gusts rattle the leaves that are painted silver. Flowers die under the medical moonlight, their wounds too severe from the day's burns. One surviving flower still lurks in these wee hours, ducking beneath the stringy vines that are homes for her kin as they hang by their toes. She squawks with them as they tear rat flesh and drink such sweet life. Her pace is invisible, cloaked by the canopy that does not allow light to trespass. With light gone she travels with her back to shelter from the wind. It is not cold but she is shaking - with rage.

She remembers past those wicked orange eyes that there was vengeance in the night, they raped the woods, haunted the scholarly, and sacrificed civilization. The DemonKing was among them, reaping with crimson eyes and dark hooves, angry with his children. October would not anger her DemonKing. She is unchained from the whispering grips of black vapor. She understood his call, and is ready to pit good from the world. She must call the dead. "All hail Oblivion!"

[ Open to anyone ]

Her voice rockets down the path like a shuttle, screaming like a wet flame - she alone can not complete the task. She is unsure of how many lie in these woods, but she knows she can find them elsewhere. Behind her vivid orange eyes her demented brain is working and wailing, dissecting memories for Oblivion's true words, to feel the malice he held.

The strain on her thinking muscle is paused as the raspy forest's voice whispers into her ears. It is quick to the soul as leaves jump and jumble to no wind's regard. They swirl upwards, gathering and bustling, all coming together in the end. The moonlight shifts, as October's eye sees the silver-lined silhouette of a massive wolf. 'Oblivion.' Her mind stops working, and she sees nothing but him, the beauty, the power, and the livid emotion behind eyes that look etched as painful stems. She nods past enlarged pupils as the figure all too soon, is blown away by the wretched wind. All she can think about now, are the leaves. The enchanted leaves entangle themselves in her mane, in her tail. She cranes her sickly thin neck and breathes the pungent scent of them. 'They must touch me...' The wicked girl rolls in them, feeding her dry skin with their absent nourishment. She groans in between rolls, and thrashes her tail bleached silver by the night. As she returns to her feet the leaves of Oblivion are stuck to her hair. She is still to not shake them. She wants their power to soak in.

She hears his dead cry basking in the wind, as if commanding her to go.

October pushes against the warm wicked wind. Her white-tipped nostrils flare as to remember and feel his sent. Absentmindedly, the child turns and creeps after the fleeing gale, her heart eagerly throbbing for his return. After a few quick paces, all turns back to her brain as she stares off into the winding forest, uncertain as to where her father’s spirit has gone. She returns to her magic, and feels his dead corpse within the rotting leaves of the Woodlands. Within home, seemingly millions of miles away. She wonders if his spirit has returned undisturbed in his ash-turning body.

The girl’s eyes spin around one last time, landing softly on the floor of her new forest. She scratches her head against a pine as she thinks. One long since tear drops from under her eyelid and sputters against a leaf. That is not the only sound she hears. Her head whips to the left, and her body follows slowly and her wet eye thrashes in its socket. It stops. And narrows. There is blood, shiny when the moonlight touches it. There is fur that is ruffled by the tugging breeze. And there are eyes, filled to the rim with blue curiosity. The wicked smile runs quick over the surface of her maw, and she lifts a foreleg that pads closer. It is big – whatever it is, and the girl is not afraid. She has the dire feeling to lick the remains from the kitty’s lips, to toss it in between her teeth, to feel its squirming rage under her marked feet.

“Here, Kitty-kitty,” cooing softly from the wicked girl’s tongue. She comes closer by an unnatural instinct. She thinks that she can tame it with her seductive tongue and gentle touch. She knows it can attack, but somehow the thought doesn’t push any demand. October only thinks the predator will run – that won’t happen.

Her curious mind violates the kitty, envisioning his skin snap upwards in one subtle twist before the chasm in his neck oozes and dries. She giggles as she thinks, and steps closer to the fanged cat, wild eyes playing with his risen neck strands. Her head tips as she rounds closer slowly, but not cautiously. October has forgotten her father at this instant as she preys on her kitty, lolling her tongue as he does so. Suddenly, he becomes slightly defensive, and the girl of the night pricks her ears rather than turning them. She slides closer still, eyes now locked on the meat of his kill, and she looks rather beautiful without skin on her stomach.

“You two should trade places, hm?” Beauty rings out clear in her voice and she glances both at the cat, and the lifeless eyes of his deer.

But still the girl comes closer and closes those spooky orange eyes. Concentration winks as she pulls the spirit of the deer into hers, and with a feminine sigh she pulls just enough strings to make her puppet stand. She stares through the eyes of the doe and drops an eyelid in a wink. Her magic lets the nibbled carcass drift nimbly to her side and out of the cat’s reach.

She speaks excitedly, “I can do the same to you! But you must be dead first...”