The rays of the moon danced upon the glinting surface of the glacial lake. Parts of it had remained frozen, while the portion closest to the ghoul had melted away - as if it had never existed. Once upon a time, that had been her own life. A memory, faded, thought to be gone forever - but like the ice would every year, she returned. Not even death itself could keep the ruby red matriarch away from all that was hers - that belonged to her. A vibrant eye cast up toward the cascading waterfall of light coming from the sky, letting it wash over her in a calming embrace. A sigh escapes, causing a puff of visible air to dance in front of her lips, causing her eye to immediately catch sight of it, absently watching it drift away on the wind.

Tonight was frightfully boring.

I see the clouds they're rolling in
They hide the sun but not my sin
the judas kiss still on my lips
can't walk away from where i've been

Breathless, divine - a c h i n g. Harou is aching. Harou is haunted. Memories, whispers, screams; they all would collide in fragmented pieces against his skull, crashing like a tide against the winter's shore - every drop of blood he had remembered taking, every throat he had slit, would fill his dreams with wrath and hunger and absolute bloodletting.

He was a devouring void - both god and devil - the breath of hunger, and ruination. Each of his step feels leaden - furious, his feral strides revealing that he was oh so restless, sleepless. He was chaos; wild unrelenting chaos. He is the Heart; full of vitality, wickedness, passion and life. He knew he was destined for death, destined for greater things, destined to be pierced by the righteous sword of justice - one day.

But that day would not be today. No, not while there is still breath in his body. Not while ichor flowed through his veins and violence breathed down his powerful flesh like unholy whispers from the darkest abyss. Faolán would be wrong. She and her sisters would be wrong - there would be no turning back from the Bjorn, from the crimes they would commit, from the fate that wove them altogether, so tightly. Faolán will see, one day.

They all would.

Restlessly, the titan moves forward. Hungry, wretched, aching. There lived a promise within the stillness of the universe; within the cold rolling breath of winter and the glacial breeze that swept like a dark kiss across the hallowed earth.

From the moon-touched grounds whose lakes would glint like wounds dipped in silver - a she-wolf would appear; cold, regal, beautiful. Like a revenant - a ghost. He tastes her fragrance from the passing, curling arctic breeze. Saccharine, s w e e t. A sharp melody against his tongue. His blood-red gaze sweeps towards this mysterious lioness draped along the earth, the mist leaving her jaws like spilled cigarette, and her one eye plucked from her alluring face.

"You look like you could use some excitement," Came the cold, male reply - tones laced in icy amusement. The wendigo's garnet-stained eyes would be trained icily upon the blood-touched woman as Harou draws closer, his shadow draping against the earth with all the curling, silent wrath of a wolf.

@Teodora

Slowly does her head lift, a single piercing eye staring into the features of the titan as he approached, his voice cool, icy - tones taunting in a way that made her skin crawl. Vibrant talons glint in the lowlight as that peek from beneath the lush fur of her paws, taking a moment to knead the icy earth - finding it resistant to her needs. For now. He is not familiar, but it does not stop the Matriarch from accessing him fully. Every memory is tried as she searches for any familiar features - only relaxing as she finds none. For now, he was not an enemy.

Tongue unfurls from within her muzzle as it slithers from between perilous jaws and slides along those cool lips of hers, a single brow arching in question. "And would you be the solution?" A young beast, cocky - likely versed in his own way, yet Teodora knew well their games. Sex or violence, there was usually no in-between. The woman moves not an inch as he approaches, finding herself more curious than anything at his arrogance.

She is so used to the hesitance, the fearful respect of her family. The knew of what the ghoul was capable of, this stranger did not. Lips quiver faintly, brushing those elongated fangs that made her hunger blossom to life within her gut. A crimson eye lowers, watching his mouth a moment before attention focuses back on the calculated features of his handsome face.

Teodora is ever the vision of a cold, calm - resolute gargoyle as he approaches, but she knows her own boundaries and refuses to allow them to be pressed. Lips peel back slowly, glistening saliva gleaming at him with silent malcontent as the ghoul lets out a soft, barely audible command. "That is close enough." There is no outright aggression, but it was there all the same.

Beneath that calm demeanor was a predator awaiting ambush.

I see the clouds they're rolling in
They hide the sun but not my sin
the judas kiss still on my lips
can't walk away from where i've been

Hushed, beneath the moonsong; the silver tendrils descends his toned, athletic frame. Tension curls against the wintry air; rabid, aching. It spills down his muscles, against the hefty brawn of his chest - all those whispering shadows. All that twisted moonfall. There was a feral restlessness to the large titan - a hot-blooded man - always on edge, always killing, hunting. He is hunting her even now, mesmerized by the infernal features of both beauty and sin; the draping of darkness, and red shadow, as her elegant visage were painted by the gorgeous, red stains.

Blood and snow. She reminds him of blood and snow. The way the red would run down, hot and warm, with visceral abandon down her breast. This she-wolf would only captivate him in silence (a raw kind of tense-filled quiet, where the silence would scream louder than words). O, had he been any other man, he might of feared her. So much beauty, so much silent prowess. But Harou, the army's wolf, was wild. Reckless. Passionate.

Fearless.

In the silence of the night, that pooled between them like silver threads, he studies her, intently. The elegance of her curvature were so keenly assessed by his gaze; how dangerously she drapes herself across the earth; as she kneads and treads long talons through the silky ground with predatory intent. Regardless of her icy nature, his vermillion stare would eat at her flesh, silently, devouring - challenging. That rabid hunger coursing through him is barely contained, yet he is the very whisper of dark elegance. Criminal, poised, taunting and edging an inch closer before he stops before the wintry she-wolf. This iron maiden of thorn, blood and icy resolve.

Would she yield? Would she ever break?

For awhile, there were no words, there were no whispers in the moon-soaked darkness yawning between them. Nothing leaves his lips, his softly curved mouth. Only breath, only the shifting of hard, male muscles beneath toned, icy flesh. Only the tracing of his devilish gaze, as he runs his wicked vermillion stare against her slender form, his ears catching the steel of her words. He does not settle down, nor does he lay across the earth, like she. He is quiet, still. His breath the only whisper in the dark; cold, calculative.

"As you wish," Finally, came that dark, male whisper. And then, in a tone more taunting, laughing - haunting:

"Queen."