Post by Deleted on Aug 27, 2013 23:25:01 GMT -5
you are falling, down and dirty
Dirt flecks showered out. Fenrir raced forward digging his boots into the muddied ground, narrowly avoiding a frenzied slide across. His right heel kicked out from a protruding root, propelling him back into balance. Dried branches reached out scratching at skin. Thin lines of blood trickled. His breathing was hard but steady-heart drumming against its cage of bone. The darkness was thick-impenetrable. But his eyes were keen to every sting of the wood-his body was familiar with the layout, light a mere luxury. The whispers of wind between the leafy canopies tickled his eardrums, muted against an erratic pulse. She was not far ahead. Her gasps were labored and sharp. Pain had begun to burn at her lungs. The fire would spread and blister, crippling her joints. He fantasized her ashen corpse spread along the earth, core ripped wide. Indisputably her bled juices were sweetened by youth. Fenrir could hardly suppress the sensual quake in his spine. Like daggers his claws splintered a budding sapling; green liquid spewed down the snapped trunk. He was drawing near. Her scent grew pungent, rose milk beneath flared nostrils. So close. Faster. Faster. Faster.It was an electrifying torture filled with the promise of pleasure. He would tear her limb from limb to feast upon meaty marrow.
A strangled cry slit through the night. Her body thudded to the forest floor sending up a cluster of dead leaves, their edges a rippling symphony. Victory. Blonde tresses gleamed in the shadows-he was closing in. Truthfully Fenrir did not know her name-how could he possibly track every dead girl’s identity? Dead was dead. What did it matter once they were stuffed in his mouth? He understood only that she had been missing for three months-the last of which she had been imprisoned within his own camp. Ill-behaved little whore, always scraping at faces, never quiet. Sent the other bitches in a frenzy. He would be glad to be rid of her, the daughter of some silly auror. Teach them a lesson, he hoped. The wizards were rash enough to believe themselves capable of his incarceration. But Fenrir had shown them, he always would. A wolf cannot be caged. And she knew-the look of terror draining her color was proof enough. Elbows grated vainly against the mossy beds as she tried scrambling up, but her body was too bruised, verging decrepit -any strength a fragmented hope. A mouse beneath his paw, the girl cried. She was far too young. But he had taken younger.
His palm collided with back of her skull. The girl fell onto her stomach, face digging up soil. She spluttered turning for a breath. But she could barely manage a pant as Fenrir twisted his calloused digits into her mane. He yanked back, hard, and brought the girl to her knees. Her thighs trembled weighed heavy with fatigue. His grasp tightened drawing crimson. Scalp held tight she could only whimper as death leaned in for the kiss. Fenrir pressed his mouth to her ear, snarling. ”I do like the sweetness of the skin.” Her let her squirm, swaying feebly beneath his clutch. Salty tears fell from her chin’s point, melding with the dust at his feet. Too enticed in his fledgling meal, Fenrir failed to fully pay heed to the footfalls at his rear. Fenrir chuckled, rotten stench ghosting along the nape of her neck. ”Mhm, girly?”
A strangled cry slit through the night. Her body thudded to the forest floor sending up a cluster of dead leaves, their edges a rippling symphony. Victory. Blonde tresses gleamed in the shadows-he was closing in. Truthfully Fenrir did not know her name-how could he possibly track every dead girl’s identity? Dead was dead. What did it matter once they were stuffed in his mouth? He understood only that she had been missing for three months-the last of which she had been imprisoned within his own camp. Ill-behaved little whore, always scraping at faces, never quiet. Sent the other bitches in a frenzy. He would be glad to be rid of her, the daughter of some silly auror. Teach them a lesson, he hoped. The wizards were rash enough to believe themselves capable of his incarceration. But Fenrir had shown them, he always would. A wolf cannot be caged. And she knew-the look of terror draining her color was proof enough. Elbows grated vainly against the mossy beds as she tried scrambling up, but her body was too bruised, verging decrepit -any strength a fragmented hope. A mouse beneath his paw, the girl cried. She was far too young. But he had taken younger.
His palm collided with back of her skull. The girl fell onto her stomach, face digging up soil. She spluttered turning for a breath. But she could barely manage a pant as Fenrir twisted his calloused digits into her mane. He yanked back, hard, and brought the girl to her knees. Her thighs trembled weighed heavy with fatigue. His grasp tightened drawing crimson. Scalp held tight she could only whimper as death leaned in for the kiss. Fenrir pressed his mouth to her ear, snarling. ”I do like the sweetness of the skin.” Her let her squirm, swaying feebly beneath his clutch. Salty tears fell from her chin’s point, melding with the dust at his feet. Too enticed in his fledgling meal, Fenrir failed to fully pay heed to the footfalls at his rear. Fenrir chuckled, rotten stench ghosting along the nape of her neck. ”Mhm, girly?”
You’ll be crawling, lower than low
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