Crucifiction

“yes.” the boy answers with complete non-chalance, intent on the scarlet spray he produces with each calculated push. ”…but not until I’m done.” fresh horror fills Dulla’s mouth, cloying and bittersweet. she unhinges her jaw on the winds of another protest - he’s practically torturing the creature - but it’s swallowed by a shriek as blood splatters across her pelt.

twisting to examine her ruined fur, she eyes each jewel-bright drop as though she expects it to jump up and bite her…but as several moments pass, her heartbeat slows and her initial fright seeps away. exhaling a shaky breath, Dulla begins to note the thick consistency of the blood, the cooling warmth, the black congealing of clots in the midst of a particularly gummy splatter. again, that curiosity surfaces. altering the course of death? was such a thing possible?

Dulla’s stomach churns with renewed nausea, bile rising at the thought of her own intrigue. swallowing, she observes the stranger; he is perhaps the most openly sadistic person she’s ever laid eyes on, a terrible gleam in that cruel two-toned gaze. and though he is scarcely older than herself, his body ripples with muscle and power. as his attention settles on her, she feels just as that dying creature must - trapped beneath his paw, compressed into a bloody mess. prey. she recognises the look he levels at her, understands the hunger darkening those slate features. he thinks her prey. trembling, Dulla lifts her chin and meets his gaze dead-on. she has to prove him wrong…her very survival might depend on it.

”my family thought death a pre-destined event, divined long before one’s birth.” she keeps her voice steady and calm - a miracle within itself. and despite her nerves, every word is the truth. ”personally, i’ve never agreed.” her confidence grows as she speaks, and she finds herself incrementally circling the dying creature, running an eye along its shuddering flank. ”i’ve always thought death to be a consequence of living - random, impersonal.”