This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of death, gore, blood, masochism, toxicity... & other.

Despite its lack of plants the red rock kingdom was shining gold in the setting sunlight, making up for missing out on the array of colorful autumn leaves. The light painted everything red, a color that fit the Bluffs General quite well. Despite that, his jowls did not lack the very same color, although much deeper. Much richer.

Droplets of blood left a trail as the beast carried a seemingly asleep girl upon his back. Seemingly, because at a second glance one would recognize the many wounds and blood that coated her, and especially her throat.

She had proven to be a fighter but nothing beats a hound when he is hunting. If only she knew the honor he was about to bestowl to her, she would simply scream in delight.

He climbed, seeking his lover. His Matriarch.

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like a shark in the water she weaves through the rocks of the bluffs, drawn by the copper tang in the air. Louve knows the scent well and while an untrained nose might mistake it for that of mere herbivore hers was the nose of a dieudonne. she knew without a shadow of doubt what she would find at the end of the scent trail; knew, too, who was carrying such a treat.

this was the courtship of the matriarch and her lover, painted in the blood of the innocent.

drawn to him with a growl in her throat, saliva pooling in her mouth. already she can taste his gift and she approaches without preamble. the growl turns in to a warning snarl, a demand for that which he has brought for her; if he does not give it she will tear in to his throat instead.

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The girl hung firmly upon his back, taut muscles working beneath her to carry her further into the shark-infested Wolfbron. Her body was warm against his skin, enveloping him like a grotesque accessory.

Instead, however, she was an offering.

One to appease a fickle in temper goddess. A goddess on whose altar he shall worship for an eternity. He will be her most staunch believer. The man that sold his soul to the devil and made love to her for infinity.

Theirs was a bright-red love.

Like a moth to a flame her chartreux shape materialized before him, a growl marking her presence and her demand. He paused, lowering down to let the body slip to his side, then took a step back. Bowing low, he spoke with a pleased, proud, note in his tone. "For you, my Queen," his deep baritone spoke, and he remained bowing until she told him to stand.

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for a long moment she does not move. yellow eyes remained locked on her lover, on the pulse of blood through his jugular. she could take it all, she knows. could sink her teeth in, again (she can still see the gleam of fresh healed marks from before) and drink deep of his lifeblood. she could consume him, steal away his strength, and he would let her. Louve knows this and for a second she is tempted; living prey is a thousand times more appealing than dead, even fresh as she was.

finally, though, she growls a release, a feral sound more than a verbal word. then without any more she lowers herself to the ground, slinging a forepaw over the corpse. teeth and claws rip and shred and tear. she is not neat or tidy and it is only a matter of time before she is bathed in red, looking up at him from over the slab of meat.

as she becomes satiated a new hunger is sparked, but she does not immediately move to quench it. instead she eats, and waits, and stares at her lover.

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She could very well do all of those things. But would he let her? Would she ever do something so foolish as to throw away her precious bloodhound? Despite the hierarchy that so blatantly cast men below women ( and rightfully so ) he had made sure to be a useful soldier. A man that could be reliable, her red right hand. He had given her seed, and she had birthed the next generation.

Again and again, he had proven himself to be invaluable.

And so he was always confident ( but not foolishly so ) that she would not command his death. Of course, a man living in this world must always have back up plans, and he was not so idiotic to believe that death did not lurk around every corner.

He was a master at playing the game of houses. One slip, and he could easily fall out of favor. One mistake and he could be cast aside from his place in the spotlight.

Her growl makes him ease, and the General stands to observe her. And oh, was she a feast for the eye! Bloodied and beautiful, licking the flesh off the bone so seductively. It made his skin crawl, his mouth water and he was unsure if it was because of hunger or desire. "I hope she is zho your zhastes," she must be - he had made sure she was pleasantly young. Tender

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could and will were two very different things, weren’t they? she could strike, tear flesh from bone, have him beneath her before he knew what hit him. don a charming smile until she was close enough to ruin him. but Apollinaire had worked tirelessly to ensure his value; Louve thrived on the knowing, not the action. it was talk and thought that spurred her, attracting her to him simply because he drove her fantasies.

“I am still hungry,” she purred, despite there being plenty of flesh clinging to the young body before her. it is obvious she means a different hunger, and the neediness in her eyes speaks of lust and not true hunger.

still she does not move — let him come to her.

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He drove her fantasies and he knew that very well, wielding it as a weapon to bond her closer and closer still. Father of lies, it was a befitting title for one such as him. A sly man that weaved whatever story the other party wanted to hear. Some were true, others were blatant lies. Who knew? Only the future could tell. For now, she had him on his knees.

"I am still hungry," she spoke with a sultry purr that was irresistable if only for the sheer power she carried. Hungry, but not to devour. No, this was an even higher need - one that only he could satiate. He basked in this thought. "Oh?" he dramatized, one brow lifting in fake surprise. He took this as a sign, and drew closer to his Matriarch. One step at a time. "Mon amour, my insatiable Queen. Speak and I will deliver," his head lowered down to coo in her ear, hot breath seeking to dance upon the curve of her neck.

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it was too easy to be consumed, to bath in the fire and blood that ignites the coals. louve watches as he moves closer, watches from the corner of her eye as he comes beside her. a shiver as his breath hits her neck, a curl of lip that is both a warning and an invitation. Louve is torn between the need to give in and the need to control.

“Now,” she growls, because it is the only word she can bite out, the only word that matters. her control is tenuous and she is more dangerous than she had ever been, but she knows he will not balk. Apollinaire does not know fear.

A grin, suddenly. “Now, let us strengthen our family…” pressing up in to him even as her teeth find the flesh of her meal again.

-fade to black-

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Desire & the need to control evidently warred in the Queen's mind, and he relished in the satisfaction of knowing he was the cause of it. Strange how ironically, two factions warred in his head as well - one was the desire to be dominated, to be torn asunder. The other was the desire to have the upperhand, for once, over such a powerful woman. The most powerful woman.

Now. Oh, commands! They bring him to his knees, and he is ready to give in and yet serve. Ready to give her what she so desired and yet wished for nothing -- nothing -- more to hear her beg one more time. He hinges dangerously close, flesh brushing against flesh, jowls hanging loose above her scruff. He wants her, but he wants to hear her voice once more.

Before he can do that, she sinks her teeth into him and then: "... let us strengthen our family."

He obliges, without a drop of hesitation.

fade to black

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