Gone.

Every night the gargoyle took up his post deep within the underbrush just a ways across from her den — every night he watched the opening, scanned the surroundings, and made sure that none would bother her sleep. As dutiful as he was, he still had to part from his post occasionally to do the deeds that nature and kin required of him; and to make sure Serafella was well taken care of.

Gradually as he continued to uphold his post he noticed something — her scent was only strong during the morning and waned during the evening. She was not sleeping here anymore; but still he waited — perhaps he could be wrong. But he wasn't. The creature had been following targets for too long to not notice when his target was no longer in the vicinity; he had to come to terms with the fact that at night...she was somewhere else — with someone else.

With someone else.

The death spiral of his thoughts began to circle the drain. She was with someone else that was not him. His claws would dash out of their sheaths; muscles tensing under his toned form as he picked up from his couched position. Who was she with? Why was she with them? Did they touch her the way he did? Were they as devoted as he was? There was no way they could be. The catastrophe of rain against his pelt did nothing to cool his reeling rage.

The beast had no idea how much he took comfort in his day to day stalking of the lioness until she was out of his vision from no choice of his own. The beast would begin to pace back and forth — muddy paws sinking further and further into the firmament as he whips around on his right shoulder; weight shifting onto his haunches and front right paw as his left forelimb lashes out at a nearby branch — the crescendo of snapping timber fallen wood reverberating as his wroth snapped it in two.

Vladizmir would have to find her again. He could not let this rest not when The Mother's commands rang so firmly in his ears. But there was also the lull; 'don't take her freedom.' That played on repeat inside of his head in an attempt to quell the voice that commanded he grab her by the back of the scruff and drag her back to one of his darkened dens and lock her within so she could never run from him again — in time she would grow used to his presence and even come to enjoy it...they always did.

His skull would thrash as if he could rid himself of the thought. She was not a target, he could not treat her like such. But this, this running was too much for the Shadow to fathom. A ragged breath would release from between his parted but snarling lips as his left paw touched the ground; splinters ignored as he continued to pace. But he had to make her understand...how many times was he going to pray to Mother for forgiveness? How many souls was he about to send to Her depths for the sin of touching the woman he wanted?

Would the Gods grow tired of the sacrifices?

[ Tag ]
@Pyrrha ♔

I'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules

Until the particles part like holy water.

code by corvus

The night leaves much to be desired. Rain in the dark woods was a strange, unsettling phenomenon that gave Pyrrha unease. The sound of falling drops amplifies in the trees, cascades down leaf to branch to ground over and over. There is no pattern to it- sometimes a drop is gathered and held aloft in the canopy and others it descends down with a heavy trajectory to mud and stone below. But the smell was what stuck with her the most. She's grown up knowing the smell of salt and he perfume of the sea when she has her storms. The smell of rain in the forest is unlike anything she has experience with. It's earthy at the foundation as soil soaks up the water hungrily. It's wild and ancient this petrichor.

Another scent offends the moment. A musk she knows- she begins to trail towards without pause. He's here, and all Pyrrha can think of is that woman's den he had taken her to that day and how intense his behavior had been especially when they first arrived there. She trails the dark sword deep towards him in his suffering and lashing. "You wither." She calls a loud, raising her voice so that it might conquer the sound of rain and his antics both while she continued the last stretch between herself and him to see what's become of him.

code by me & art by rabbit

Splintered wood does nothing to hamper the suffuse of his ire.

It coiled back its head; a wrathful dragon that lost a cherished piece of his hoard. The Shadow had to hunt, it ebbed and flowed through him — missing woman. The beast did not know what he was prone to do when he found his pastel goddess again. Vladizmir had to break her of the idea of fleeing, break her legs, kill her loved ones, whatever he had to do to get her to stay. 'Peace beast,' the voice of The Mother coaxed him through the most vile and vibrant emotions.

But he couldn't listen to Her, not this time. She was gone and he had to find her, drain her of the notion that anything but him could keep her safe. Kill everyone and everything. The Black Sword at this moment was just that; whipping and lashing around at anything too close to the blade; hilt not fitted to a hand—lawless demon sword. His emotions were too loud in his mind to the point where the rain couldn't even drown them out.

'You wither.' Was it her? His pastel goddess of flight? No. It was Reinette, her voice carried strongly over the waves of liquid and splintering wood. He stares at her, frenzied, harried to hunt, and enraged. Did he wither? Perhaps he sat here too long, some of his weight fleeing from his body and mane unkempt but that was the price of duty. The Shadow had to fix this situation first and take care of himself second.

"It doesn't matter," the beast would drawl; the edges of his words bitter as he slows his pacing before finally coming to a stop as the rain smashes against his dappled back. "How is your planning?" In this moment he focuses on Reinette perhaps he could rid his mind of the idea of kidnapping Bord if he could fixate on something else.

[ Tag ]
@Pyrrha ♔

I'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules

Until the particles part like holy water.

code by corvus

His response leads her to frown. "It does." At least to her. If he was distracted, if he was dull then she may as well find a stick to use instead of a sword. Her ears fall back and fold against her slicked back wet fur across her speckled crown and for a few moments she stares him down. She could not, would not, push him. But maybe she could pull it out of him?

She restored to what often worked best with him, their bouncing back and forth of questions and talk. Give him a little, take a little. "My stepfather is not as enthusiastic as I about the idea of retaking Caladan." It's a mild disappointment she expressed. Nothing that will stop the train that was Pyrrha, she needs no one's permission or approval, but yet it has been on her mind enough that when prompted for a progress report it is the first thing she thinks to share. "It's a relief, he won't get in my way." But it did not entirely feel as good as she painted it to be. There is a silver lining to it all she's found and will cling to like a life raft. But by their very nature silver linings were just that, only a lining. She hopes the rain and wherever he had going on before in his mind will both aid in veiling what all she was feeling.

code by me & art by rabbit

In his unending misery, he feels steeled, alone, a bastion against all things that would distract him from duty. This was why he swore off women for the majority of his life. They were good for a quick lay, but trying to pin one down to the life of hearth and home was difficult, or perhaps he was the one that was the problem. Was he too rough around the edges? To intense? To brutish? Unlovable even?

No, the beast was forming a plan inside of his head. He would kidnap her. If they could cohabitate she could learn to love him. Learn that he wasn't so bad to be around. Learn that he had her best interest at heart. Beauty would have to learn that her beast was a monster — but never to her. It shifts in him, the thought taking root and digging its branches deep into his mind.

Finally, he snaps back to reality, his gaze resting upon Reinette as he studies her; her pinned-back ears and words finally reaching him in the depths of the abyss. 'It does.' If it did things wouldn't be so hard — he wouldn't be debating on kidnapping and trying to Stockholm the woman he met in lifetimes past. He continues to study Reinette again for a long moment; she with all her family woes was almost as broken as him. Maybe she would help him kidnap her.

His lips part — about to put the newest sin to words and plan as he is about to bid her help him with this dastardly task. After all, when he was away to hunt for her pastel princess someone would have to watch her so she didn't flee... But the words didn't make it into the open, instead he allowed the thought to settle in his mind further to ruminate.

'My stepfather is not as enthusiastic as I about the idea of retaking Caladan.' His ears would push back against his head at the notion that one's parent wouldn't be the first on the front line for something like taking back their home. It was all interesting. 'It's a relief, he won't get in my way.' He wouldn't get in her way? That was what she was pleased about? The beast stares at her blankly for a long moment; dim eyes regarding her in the darkness. "Soon you'll be able to march," he utters as his head lowers — the beast sniffing the ground, tracking her scent.

[ Tag ]
@Pyrrha ♔

I'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules

Until the particles part like holy water.

code by corvus

She's got part of him here. And maybe it's just the rain and weather, but she feels parts of him drawn away. To elsewhere? To back to whatever has caused him to be in this state? She will give him a little more to feast on, feeding his want. Feeding whatever part of him found satisfaction helping her. "I will be to. I will wait until the first thunderstorm after the full moon begins to shrink." Perhaps an unnecessary dramatic- but admittedly it's far easier to get up and do something with a date set. Plans in place that did not require spontaneous action and would give him something to watch for if he intended to show still.

She pushes close to where he ravages the ground for likely scent, based on the flaring of his nares in and out. Pyrrha steps closer and drops her head toward his ear and then whispers. "Her?" One quick, damning word. One reminder she's ever conscious of what is going on around her and not entirely consumed by her dreams and plans. She leaves her skull dangling down close to his, rain slicking over her brow and clumping together her fur in thick dark gatherings. In the dark and din her face narrow and contorts into deep furrowed frowns of growing want for information. To feed on what parts of his life she found joy meddling in.

code by me & art by rabbit

He likes it — the sound of her ambitions upon her lips as she sung the words that would lead to her opponent's defeat. But it would take more than wishing her opponent into an early grave to take back the Cove, but then again...maybe a bit of ambition was needed to lay an opponent low. Confusion strung along his brow at the thought but he snaps back to it, to the reality that he was once again standing in — how cold it was.

'I will be too. I will wait until the first thunderstorm after the full moon begins to shrink.' So that would be the signal to her faithful that she would strike. Head would incline as he nodded in understanding and agreement; he would be there. There to support her but more importantly there to maul whoever stood within the Cove that was supposed to be loyal, supposed to follow, and failed too. They would meet the curve of tooth and claw — not because he felt intensely loyal to Reinette, but because he had his frustrations to work out that were best taken out on a stranger. "I'll be there," he rasps with his tail slowly flicking between his ankles.

'Her?' The singular word curves the arches of pain along the lines of his heart. Her. His pastel Goddess, his soul mate was gone. "Ran," he would admit; shoulders finally caving downwards at rage started to turn into heartache. She always fled, always running away, always leaving him wondering what she was thinking. One moment she would kiss him, and now she was headed to who knows where. "I think I should kidnap her," at least it sounded sensible in his head — maybe before he said it out loud.

[ Tag ]
@Pyrrha ♔

I'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules

Until the particles part like holy water.

code by corvus

Ran. Pyrrha feels a bit of sorrow for him. His passion and want is obvious, albeit methods often strange. Knowing this woman has run off surely hurts. But - Pyrrha can't find it in her heart to blame the stranger, she feels no remorse. It's something that had to be done. And it explains the state Mormegil is in. Maybe she can comfort him? Maybe there is room to squeeze in her own will where previously his trophy lay? But then he speaks again.

Kidnap? Sympathy has never faded so fast nor emotions swung so wildly. She's not surprised to find he's capable of considering the act, surely he's done worse. But to this woman? Someone he seemed to be fond of and who he wanted to feel love from? No. No this would not do. "Do you know what's one thing prisoners are known to do? Keep running." Not only is she revolved by the plan it's a stupid one. Pyrrha snarls a bit, heavy growl rumbling and rolling deep in her chest. She leans in closer still, aiming to draw her muzzle down to his ear good and close. She would leave no chance to be unheard or tone lost to the rain. "You're just like every man I've ever met... No wonder she doesn't love you." And she pulls her head away, growing frown across her soaked muzzle. Ears hardly visible for how flat they lay. You're just like every man I've ever met... You destroy us the first chance you get.

code by me & art by rabbit

He is no longer here.

Vladizmir is gone — upon the battlefield of six years ago; twisting and snapping at opponents and laying them low. One body, two bodies, three bodies, four. There was no notion against the crimes he had to do. He was what he was made to be, a beast of burden, a monster of war, a Shadow to the Blood Mother. An opponent was easily subdued, easily changed, and easily bent to whatever will they needed to bend to — but this thing called love was different, he could not force it, could not break it, could not lock it away until it flourished.

'Do you know what's one thing prisoners are known to do? Keep running.' Her voice cuts through the battlefield of his mind as he flinches back to the reflections of reality. But would she be able to run if he put her in a cell? If he stood guard over the entrance until they managed to bond? Until she was grateful for even a sliver of food, herbs, and entertainment? But would that love be real? Would it make his heart race if he had to break her? He knew it wouldn't, and yet temporary satisfaction would not mend the eternal wound.

'You're just like every man I've ever met... No wonder she doesn't love you.' Brows would draw together at her comment as he pins with her a peculiar look. No, he was not like every male. The beast knew this — he showed a type of restraint that most could not even fathom for a majority of his life. "Tell me about all these men you have met, Reinette." 'So I can show you how I can be so much worse,' he finishes inside his head — but there is something ill and unrelenting that coils about his words, dark and disturbed. Was it his heightened emotions?

Or was it him about to allow the unfurling of darkness that he long since held at bay — out.

[ Tags ]
@Pyrrha ♔

I'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules

Until the particles part like holy water.

code by corvus

All of these men? She laughs and then happily obliges. "They always have a woman they promise they love, a team, a partnership, they hold their strong wives to the brightest flame and will say she's brighter still." Did this sound familiar to the way he thought of this woman? Where did this take his mind and were they hopes or memories? "But in the end he makes her less in every action he takes. He'll stand on what she's built and call himself successful. She's creating and he's right behind her destroying every trace of her." She lifts a paw and aims to jab a paw into his chest, curl claws into mane fur and tug. "She is good at something. She is someone without you. And with you she will be nothing." It's an accusatory tone she's struck. One that runs deeper than this very moment and this specific situation. There's more below it all, the existence of which is not mentioned but betrayed by her immediate passion and emotion.

Maybe that's why she fears his dark side so little. His casual mention of murder and maim. That's hardly the scariest thing a man could do. She'd take a thousand assassins over one husband that would smother her entirely.

code by me & art by rabbit