Little Fiery One

Alastor hadn't been paying any attention to Manea when she asked him what he had taken after the first vial of medication. He had heard her calling his name, but he was far too gone in his own twisted headspace to comprehend what she wanted. Finally, when she yelled his name, she caught his attention mid-rant. He watched her shift and move, struggling to get to her paws as her weak and fatigued body protested the movements. She settled their sleeping daughter into the furs, and then she began to make her way over to him. Alastor's fur bristled and his body went tense with anxiousness. Dammit, couldn't she see he was trying to keep away from her?! He wasn't stable, he wasn't safe! Yet here she came towards him like he wasn't a few threads away from wanting to tear her and himself apart. Dammit, Manea, always having to push his boundaries!

Abyssal eyes followed her every movement as the violet queen shambled her way up to him and then collapsed to her haunches before him, looking absolutely beat and exhausted. Both of the Mendacium wolves were a sight: Manea bedraggled and fatigued to the point of barely sitting up, and Alastor soaked in his own blood and looking like he was about to have a mental breakdown. Fortunately the drugs he'd taken were already starting to tether his mind back together, much to the chagrin of the feral animal within, and the cage was starting to rebuild itself once more. Manea spoke, explaining to him that their lifestyle and beliefs had never been about the rituals, but about the lineage of their family. She lamented having to kill their children, expressing the same sorrow and pain he suffered through. Then she explained the why, calling out every flaw or imperfection in their children that would have handicapped them or reduced their quality of life. Alastor snorted, his nostrils flaring in vexation, but did not interrupt her. He could never see any of his children as anything less than perfect. Perhaps that blinded him to reality, and the mad wolf very seldom lived within the realm of reality. But logically, it made sense. It was survival of the fittest, the best chance for their genes to survive.

Manea spoke truly and earnestly with him, explaining that as the Matriarch of their family her beliefs would always impact her decisions, but they weren't the only factors she considered. Again she spoke of "complete souls" and the power of the Ancients, and Alastor huffed and made no effort to hide the way he rolled his eyes. Again, the pretty claims of souls and power with no proof to back it up. It was the same as every other religious zealot nut he'd encountered. It was the same false bill of goods he'd been sold by Lurid who claimed his soul was special and grand and a part of the Amarix dynasty, only to have him commit atrocities in her name and vanish, leaving him worse for wear and damned to hellfire. "Well, the Ancients got two more dead pups, so I hope they're fucking happy... We don't even know if she has any of those 'special powers' you talk about," he muttered underneath a growling sigh. As far as they could see, the pup was as normal as her siblings had been. Did that mean her "Ancients" had given them children with no gifts? That didn't bode well for Manea's claims of completing souls and granting power. There was one thing he did have to agree to, however: their children were the best of both of them. Ebony eyes softened when he followed Manea's gaze to their sleeping daughter, feeling that paternal pull to go wrap himself around his child to keep her safe from everything. "That she is..."

Alastor's gaze only left the slumbering fireball of a pup when he felt Manea's paws lifting his, glancing at her while she triaged his injuries. The shards of glass in his black paw caught the light like he were studded with diamonds, the glass glistening from around the rivulets of blood they produced from him. She asked once more what he had taken, but the combination of blood loss and the sedatives mixed in with his medicine were beginning to turn his mind sluggish and hazy. Maybe taking three doses at once hadn't been a good idea, but the giant of a wolf hadn't wanted to take any chances with his wife and newborn around his demon. "Medicine... Drugs..." he mumbled under his breath. "Irilyth made it so I could stay in control. I didn't want to hurt you or her." Hopefully Manea would understand what he meant. He didn't know if he had the energy or the mental fortitude remaining to go into greater details about how he had so nearly come untethered earlier that he'd actually dared to consider murdering her in their own bed.

"Alastor Mendacium"