A kingdom of blood and past [amenti/tor/newwolves]

THANK YOU SEREN ♥


Emotions of inexplicable rage and utmost sorrow intermingled at the recognition of failure, intensified by the fact that she had vowed for a victorious reign but instead had allowed the reigns of authority to slip from her domineering grasp and into the paws of whichever ambitious outsider decided to pick up her slack. Distress had forced its way into the banshee?s core and she had been reduced to the pitiful sham of a once-competent Amazonian, ribcage protruding slightly from her abdomen and porcelain visage now sallow and lack of the infamous smirk it typically possessed, evidently affected negatively by her loss although she had intended upon passing the crown along in the upcoming seasons. Since the pack?s disbandment, she had strayed just once from the domain that had previously been under her regime to relocate her small family to the springs where she had once encountered Vi, but had been drawn back to the looming mountain where Tortuga had lurked on a solo journey as if she was bound by invisible shackles that refused to relinquish their grip upon her. The urge to witness first-hand what was to become of the pack she had grown so attached to was strong within her, and although she had failed to redeem the name of Tortuga, her hopes for the future sovereign ? whoever that may be ? was dwindling. Severe doubt plagued the wraith that the pack would flourish as it had upon its first generation, especially under the rule of another canine whose given moniker was not Morphine.


Perched atop the rugged face of a boulder within the premises of Tortuga?s domain, poised as a queen although the title failed to brand her any longer, the serpentine babe was likely the first to recognize the regal summon of a presumably unfamiliar creature that was eager to claim the pack the witch had lost, ears flicking forward as she registered the gruff beckon. Disgust settled within the pit of her stomach, and despite the fact that she desired to view the newfound imperial, she refused to budge from her perch, muscles tensing as she contemplated how to handle the impending situation. After a few minutes of internal struggle, the wench heaved her mass upon all four sturdy limbs, leaping from her makeshift throne and heading off in the direction of the amphitheater where many meetings had been held before, rolling back her shoulders and settling into her defenses as she maneuvered with the posture of a seasoned juggernaut, the summon obviously fueling the witch with remarkable confidence. As she approached the small gathering of canines that had presented themselves in favor of the new queen, irritation surged within her, failing to physically manifest upon her countenance, instead, allowing a contrasting expression to consume her visage. A small smile graced her inky lips as her metallic eyes digested the scene before her, pupils automatically locating the source of the call and widening accordingly as she registered the face as familiar: this was the behemoth that Medusa had defeated and the former ally of Tortuga. Conflicting emotions breached the witch, but still she offered the gargantuan woman a curt incline of her muzzle, gaze dancing between the figures that dotted the familiar landscape. Pupils lingered upon the all-too ecstatic form of her chosen sire, causing the wench to halt in her step in disbelief, rage steadily bubbling within her chest cavity as his vocalizations flooded the air. A hollow smile etched its way across her visage as she realized that the male was so willingly pledging his allegiance to a woman he hardly even knew, curiosity enveloping her as she wondered about his motives for such a decision. It was betrayal in the eyes of the ice queen, and although she desired to confront the male, she instead pushed onward, her stance atypically friendly as she brushed against the right side of the chosen male, fine strands of pallid fur grazing his own as she seated herself beside him, hardly stealing a glance to the sable babe adjacent to him, unaware that the child was her fallen ally?s own. ?What. The fuck. Do you think you?re doing?? the wench hissed between clenched jaws, vocals hardly audible even to her own ears, meant only for the brute beside her. Through her venomous speech, her gaze never once strayed from the ringleader nor did the small smile ever falter from her velveteen lips, desiring to maintain the friendly fa?ade although, internally, she felt nothing akin to joy.