As the moon ascends
The wolves come out
to see the end

from the flames of the fire
i feel you crawl into my bed
throwing shapes at the sky, i watch you crying into me

beryl mist rises, spiraling, cascading. insects crawl and flutter in their cloying, mating dance; leading euphoria to this desolate secret. this hidden promise of earth and verdant foliage, pressed behind walls of water and shadow. breathless, beautiful, there is a flushed serenity to these vine-touched walls, the waterfall's misty breath rising against the cascading rivulets of water, as a hymnal darkness - arresting and holy - saturates the atmosphere.

he can feel its beauty settling like a prayer against his skin. he can feel the holiness of this place, the purity of this place, saturating into his flesh made of hard muscle and days-old-blood.

it feels like paradise, it feels like sanctuary, with the noise and vibrancy of life coloured all around him. a sanctuary, a beauty, not meant for wolves such as harou. thus, the dark-haired leviathan is the silent, prowling wraith against the jagged, vine-touched walls. upon his skin, lies the aroma of dried blood and winter's religion. broken bones of animals he'd kill knots through his long, wild mane, those disheveled tendrils cascading in falls of ebony and ivory, kissing the edges of his powerful chest as he surges forward with each graceful, predatory step.

harou looms in the shadows, his eyes burning brightly, stalking in silence. he lets the mist waft across his form, bringing their new religion to his lips.

two eyes making a home —
two eyes. dark. unlike her own.

she notices the stark red before anything else, her lips parting in a quiet gasp. caught unaware, imogen blinks: once, then twice. fireflies that linger in the grotto cloud her vision instead, flitting about her ears and nose, twinkling about her head like some crudely crafted halo.

as quickly as she had spotted those red, red eyes they have vanished into the swirling mists.

its an eerie feeling, one that causes the short fur along her neck to prickle. the enchanted chambers echo all around her. the sound of imogen's breath stutters in her chest. electricity creeps through her toes before she urges herself to move this time towards the exit of the grotto and in the direction of home. don't look back, she urges herself. her mind dances about at the thought of monsters and ghouls — stories from her homeland about night touched specters and fog laden fiends.

she had thought she had been alone, but as she pauses alongside the side of the cavern wall, the stone cooling her (fear flushed) skin, the dove whispers into the dark over a slender shoulder: "i know you're here."

@Harou

ART BY AURORA, CODE BY JAVS

As the moon ascends
The wolves come out
to see the end

from the flames of the fire
i feel you crawl into my bed
throwing shapes at the sky, i watch you crying into me

he leans into the night, like beast leans into beauty. beauty blooms all around harou; fireflies dance in their alluring flutters, their wings a rapid flicker-beat that synched with the rhythm of the wanting heart. the insects brush their translucent wings against his elegant, bearish skull. their delicate, rotund shapes, glowing like little lanterns flashing in the dark. in and out, the fireflies would weave through the waterfall's mists, curling like bright stars falling against his obsidian mane. moisture cultivates the atmosphere, too, a cool kiss lent by the autumnal grace of the night.

o, how this place dripped of wealth, beauty and undertones of sin. a magnetic shangri-la, cautiously hid from prying, mortal eyes. endless in his wanderlust, harou would travel far and wide, sating his curiosity upon each terrain, upon each kingdom of mother gaia; the religion of love and adventure, birthed in its holy name. this place would be no different for hungry harou, as he studies the cavernous lines, counting the shadows that gathered at their base, silently admiring the strength and allure of such a stony, watery kingdom made of shadows and wealth. here, he could imagine ancient dragons slumbering beneath the wicked earth, piles of treasure and ghouls hidden from view, just waiting to be explored amid their crystalline, incense-infused chambers.

what he does not expect, however, is the delicate voice of @Imogen's to sweep towards his cupped ears, his wicked vermillion gaze, now sharpening with predatory intrigue; hungry for that mysterious, angelic tone. his tongue curls against his lips, wolven jaws agape to draw in the feminine fragrance so delicately woven against the soft, luring scent of night. she smells delicate, soft like a rose; soft and dark, like the earth that purred beneath his taloned feet. he follows her, quietly, slipping like a shadow into the tenebrous veil, his muscled physique weaving in between the mist as he follows the source of such a voice, hoping that he can attach a face to those haunting words.

"show yourself." his whisper comes out, soft, gentle. taunting. he looms against the shadowy walls, his viperine physique surging forward with all the grace of a python. he will follow her scent. he will find the nymph. he will undress her from the shadows.

the voice that reaches her ears is far more merciful than expected. maybe she should have suspected that in a place teeming with life past and present. here and not there. show yourself, and she leans away from the cavern wall almost as if commanded. ahead, in the gloom and clipped light of fireflies, she can make out the imposing figure of @Harou and finds herself frozen in place.

exposed; a flower without its petals. a maiden bereft of her conservative garb. she stands before him with eyes too wide, a face too cherubic to be anything but innocent - manicured claws and soft palms that had recovered from her days of running, that had never known how to shed blood or mince flesh. she bears herself to him through the veil of swirling mists with nothing but the sparkle of fireflies to highlight her freckled cheeks and emphasize the flutter of emotions hidden the rosey pink of her stare.

the little dove wrestles against curiosity and self preservation. it's obvious which one has won. ( for what was there to be afraid of? )

"i'm here," imogen breathes, almost as if calling out to a wayward friend. a touch of desperation wraps around the fringes of her voice, eager to end this haunt - to find flesh and lion fur and put behind her the thoughts of ghouls and fiends. "are you lost?"

she takes a single step back, unable to hold the cutting ruby gaze. he smells of rolling dunes, age old life blood, frost and secrets. a masculine face beneath a wild fringe of hair; a strong jaw that is home to savage teeth. "i-" imogen falters for a moment, a delicate breath caught between her lips as she averts her eyes from the stone floor and back to him. "i can show you out." a generous offer, handed to him with thin, trembling fingers. a velveteen box with silk ribbon. she makes to smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. too much lip and much too tight.

once before, imogen had met a translucent creature with an eye of red and the ferocity of a killer. surely, this was another cruelly crying ghost. visions of the howling banshee flood back to her and the lioness wonders if they know each other.

if, perhaps, they both bask in the same gruesome loneliness of death.

ART BY AURORA, CODE BY JAVS

As the moon ascends
The wolves come out
to see the end

from the flames of the fire
i feel you crawl into my bed
throwing shapes at the sky, i watch you crying into me

twin vermillion eyes gazes forward with a predatory fervency, watching the misty breath of midnight shift in ethereal patterns. the diaphanous threads of light and shadow would eventually weave against the woman's delicate frame, as forward the nymph, steps, her voice half-wavering and half-saturated in almost-courage. when that soft, sweet voice comes again, spilling past her lips like heavenly nectar, something dark and unrelenting stirs within the wintry leviathan. a soft siren cry echoes in his hungering mind. calling, whispering to his fragmented memories, as he dreams of broken kingdoms and dying maidens dressed in blood-splattered silk, imagining their white bodies drapped against temples made of bone and ash.

harou says nothing as he drinks in the shadow-touched likeness of @Imogen's frame, taking the deep, smoky lines of her physique materialising softly against the cavern's shadowy din. drinking in her alluring fragrance, too, the fragrance of a swan trapped in shadow's repose. a soft beauty, a soft sound; like the wings of a dove, caught by the jaws of a beast, turning midnight fairytales into sudden tragedy.

like the angelic intention of her star-touched voice, she too, appears to mirror the physical and the spiritual; tender, waif-like, innocent. a voice not meant for this painfully mortal world, an aura not ravaged by the ways of sin and evil. only purity, only perfectionment, and the army's wolf allows himself to be temporarily bewitched by the girl's ethereal ways, having never seen such otherworldly tenderness before. involutarily, his own strangely graceful steps begin closing their distance; his massive paws flexing upon black earth to approach the pale-hued woman in a cold, yet predatory silence. even for such a soft creature that drips of fragility, of elegance, her eyes would still mirror his eyes. but where harou's glowed like hungry red moons against the darkness of night; there was a genteel warmth to this girl's stare, a softly smouldering curiousity - like wild, red roses, blooming beneath the sun, petals unfurled against an overgrown garden hidden in the woods.

still, harou does not speak, merely taking his time in drinking her in, allowing his silence to settle against her like a holy prayer, like an angel's wing. when he does speak, his voice is that same soft tone; a luring, serpent's whisper forming against the dark curving his lips. a sound both bold and spectral, at the same time. "not lost," he breathes, atlast, his gaze moving across the softest point of her throat, watching still, as the mist wove against her pale neck like a star-dusted choker encasing delicate flesh. he moves closer, now, close enough to touch noses, and maybe then - between the mist and the shadows - she might see how his fangs curves with a wolf's eagerness. long insisors, leaving ghost-prints against his mouth.

"are you?" lost?

you look lost.

never has she been restless, or despairing but apprehension tears at her like barbs. for one so intimidating he moves with a silent grace. so when he is upon her, so close that she could ghost her nose across his own in a tender kiss, imogen is shaken quiet. the boyish twist of his lips and the glint of his fang catch her eye. again, the bird doubts his worldliness. her ears snap against the curve of her head as she inhales his perfume so deeply that she could choke on it. all things sharp, sensual and dangerous.

even after her question is ferried back at her, imogen looks upon him wordlessly. she is not lost here in the grotto as much as she is lost in the whirlwind of his presence. the lioness pushes herself up on dainty toes to make herself taller, to feel the unruly strands of his mane brush against her pale chest as she discovers him. its fleeting, the way she leans into the spectral creature; a beast made for moonlit nights and bloodletting and gently attempts to twitter her whiskers in soft butterfly kisses against his own.

real. he's real.

an "oh" of surprise leaves her breathlessly. flesh and bone. solid and vital. @Harou is real in a way that she hadn't imagined and the medic finds herself torn between surprise and disbelief.

imogen swallows thickly, falling back to her diminutive stature. the fairest of the maidens cast upon a dark knight in rusted armor. he's armed with a jagged, double edged sword that is poised artfully at her throat and she can only stare, wide-eyed and pray for some blighted form of mercy.

"not lost," imogen repeats as she remembers she has a voice, no matter how coy and hushed. "i was searching —" for flowers, for excitement, for life, for clarity, for lakes and rivers, for old
souls, for gods. "exploring."

fireflies have abandoned her now and left her with this serpent of a man. the lioness presses back a slow step, looking forlornly into the distance behind the stranger and then, in the direction which she knows the exit to be. "come with me?"

imogen takes another step away from him, mossy gray fur melding into the darkness, away from exit and towards whatever rich mecca lay hidden within. she waves him towards her with a flick of her blond tail tip; enticing in a shy 'come hither'. if there was anyone to guide her through the shadows, and him through the light, they were fated to be a pair.

ART BY AURORA, CODE BY JAVS

As the moon ascends
The wolves come out
to see the end

from the flames of the fire
i feel you crawl into my bed
throwing shapes at the sky, i watch you crying into me

the breath of misty suspire would slide between them, weaving in and out of their shared space like gilded serpents. harou watches her with the intensity of a wolf - unable to take his eyes off her face, off her body. ephemeral, fleeting, she'd move with a dulcet grace; a sensual gentleness laced in her every silken gesture. even her fragrance would bring forth divine promise; the scent of feminine roses and cozy nights - all things soft and innocent, not meant for this brutal world. not meant for violent men, such as harou.

the army's wolf follows her closely with his vermillion gaze, thus, watching how the shadows would descend her hips, fluttering inbetween her delicate legs, like a translucent nightgown tapering at her pale flesh. and then she steps upon her tippy-toes, and he feels her delicate whiskers brushing against his whiskers. his eyes would involuntarily move downward, now tracing her lips; noting the fullness of their cherubic curve. they are so close, now, that they could have kissed. but she suddenly steps away - to the side - and harou cannot help but feel the faint stirrings of light-headedness overcome him. perhaps, it is her aura that makes him feel this way.

her light, aerial presence in contrast to his dark oceans, his dark moons for a soul. this is something harou would never know. no, he's made of silver moonlight and sharp knives. he's made of ancient forests and burning suns. not gentle kisses and softer touch. not for tender angels such as @Imogen. he is no knight, he is no king. and yet, her words come out once, again. her spell-binding voice. harou turns, only half-way, standing still in his momentary contemplation. he should leave, really. let her wander the darkness on her own. but there was apart of him that worried she'd get lost in all the shadows. perhaps, it is the softer side of him - the secret side of him - that worries for her well-being.

"there is nothing but darkness down there," he warns her, standing still, unflinching. his voice echoes with a gentle stillness, even for all their hidden threat. unmoved. he does not follow her. no, there is nothing but shadows and more shadows. the darkness would hide many things; many creatures, many things, not meant for soft girls such as her. this time, it is he who reaches out to her. he turns around, and hopes to touch the side of her hip with his dark mouth. a gentle yet fleeting touch, like the guiding of a male hand pressed along her feminine curvature. you should go. leave the darkness to me.

maybe she was meant to be afraid. but for all of her worry over children's tales and grandiose stories spun to wisen up unruly cubs, imogen remembers her favorite fables told with delight. an unexpected duo, the connection between a brazen wolf and a rabbit, the way the sun and the moon always met half way in the sky. the man before her is made of a darkness that is near tangible, though after the sweet kiss of their whiskers, its the only thing she can feel.

as his eyes graze her skin, the dove finds herself enamored with the ornaments in his hair. some of them she recognizes: shattered long bones and phalanges tangled within his tresses. somehow charming despite representing death itself. her fangs worry at her lip as her conscience again begs: get away! but as the little lioness sets her gaze on the shattered bone of a hare, she decides to stay.

hadn't the rabbit clung to the wolf? to learn his ways for herself; to put to use claws that had only ever known leaping across fields filled with flowers and morning dew.

where the wolf was violent, the rabbit was resourceful and imogen —

imogen was naive.

she is the one lost now, caught within the whirlwind of her own thoughts but the tenor of his voice peels her back to reality. imogen doesn't resist as he ushers her away, easily relenting to a masculine hand. nothing but darkness, he said, and although she doesn't resist leaving, she cannot help but to point out —

"no, i found you here," and finally, freckle blushed cheeks furrow beneath her eyes as she smiles. no longer thin, tight and more akin of a grimace, but a subtle flash of too white teeth that pleasantly wrinkles the top of her nose.

although this place rung with the aftermath of faith and prayer, imogen could argue that the deep, dark pits of the grotto weren't suited for anyone. she cannot force him to explore with her, or to leave after the guided touch of muzzle (so surprisingly light, yet the slight curve of her hip still tingles from his touch), but she can learn the wolf for what it is worth. write his name in slanted cursive and send him postcards dotted with lipstick stained kisses even if that meant venturing back here.

"who are you?" she wonders then what sort of name would fit one like him. did anyone ever come calling into the depths for him? as an afterthought, she offers her own name, wincing momentarily at her own rudeness. "i'm imogen-" the lioness peers away from him, tearing herself away from his cardinal gaze once more. she had eased, but there was still an anxiousness. "didn't mean to bother you."

it feels like stalling — she doesn't truly want to leave.

where the wolf was hungry, the rabbit was clever. and imogen was innocent.

@Harou

ART BY AURORA, CODE BY JAVS

I wanna feel the change consume me
feel the outside turning in

he needed to breathe; to taste the moonlit atmosphere against his lips, to taste anything other than the divine hit of her sultry innocence. his brumal flesh moved over dark muscles, the tension surging beneath his winter coat made of shadows and ice. reddened eyes, carved like devouring moons, would drink in @Imogen's beautiful likeness, tasting her innocence for what it were: soft petals, crimson elixir and midnight dew. darkness saturates his thoughts, bleeding fervent prayer against the wolven mind. he has half the will to devour her flesh with predatory enthusiam. to reap the moonlight off her skin and taste her divine essence between his obsidian lips, his greedy fangs. perhaps, that is what he is feeling in this moment, trapped between light and shadow. trapped between four walls, and the gentle stirrings of her flesh, that reminded him of first kisses against dawn-light.

the tension that slipped down his spine felt beastly, growling, he has to hide his animalistic impulse. hide his brutal intent. hide the urge of vehement monstrosity that threatened to escape. in this, he is well-versed, the perfectly controlled gentleman; his icy persona leaving no room for others to breathe. thus, harou remains perfectly still, poised like a deadly viper against the darkness. drinking in the woman's feathery countenance with the cold stare of a deadened beast. he watches with dark intention her soft curves, as they'd melt beneath the shadows, as they danced before him with the beauty and grace of a gilded swan. harou says nothing still, for the longest of moments, content only to hear the softness of her voice. and then moments after it, as if gently coaxed from his frozen stillness:

"my name is harou."

but the name harou does not feel soft, it does not feel gentle like the name imogen. no, harou whispered of death, of dark dreams and long hours beneath a blood moon. the name harou held primal undertones, something dark and sensual like the fragrance of earth and blood, oozing after the witching hours of deepest nightfall.

"you aren't bothering me," he finally states, low masculine tenor stirring against the stillness of the shadows. oh, but what a lie. he is bothered, he is disturbed. the way hounds are disturbed from their sleep, harou feels disturbed. he hides it all, however, he swallows everything down with a cold, male voice. "if you lead the way, perhaps, i will follow you," without another breath, harou takes a step forward, suddenly compelled to explore these caverns with her. perhaps, this is what he needed. he needed her light in all this darkness, to guide him away from the violent hunger of his thoughts.

table by ryuu

a change of heart —

it seems that @Harou has had a change of heart.

the gasp that leaves her suddenly is joyous, as quick and unrelenting as his steps to roam deeper into the caverns. eyes bright and wide as the bewitched moon gleam even brighter if possible. no longer does she have her halo of fireflies to guide her, or the beat of her lonely heart, but instead, the shadow of the midnight beast at her side. worried that he may leave her (or again, change his ghastly mind), she bounces on her toes to hurry along to his side. she can still feel the touch of his muzzle against her flank, a cold flame that burns with some unbidden emotion, and comes just close enough so that she can feel the warmth radiating from the thickness of his wild coat.

"there are stories, you know, yes?" imogen begins, speaking out into the air between them. she focuses less on her short stride and his height. focuses less on the idea that he could swallow her up much like the relentless wolf. somewhere in the distance, she can hear water trickling down the cavern wall. "a treasure in the deep darkness that nobody knows," if it were impossible or possible, or right or wrong, or paradise or hell, no one had ever told the little bird. had it been initially what she come here for? no, before she was aimless but now with harou, she felt a purpose. "you have to tell a secret to find it." she had grown up soft with stories and dance, she thinks, ears pressing momentarily against her head. imogen wonders if harou hadn't been afforded the same thing and feels a pang of guilt for thinking him some foul ghoul at first.

she blinks through dark lashes, squints ahead into the mists that writhe and twirl in the recesses of this mysterious, divinity charged grotto. and then, she looks up to her newfound companion and with a voice like velvet asks, "tell me and i tell you." an exchange. the purest form of a pinky promise.

ART BY AURORA, CODE BY JAVS