The Art of Murder [Cifer]
03-10-2013, 02:39 AM
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The rat slithered from her head, scampering across her spine and bounding away into the nearby scenery, vanishing from view. The rodent did not recognize the scent, but he recognized Glaciem. That pretty little healer, the toy Banshee had tortured for weeks... he knew, eventually someone would come to exact revenge upon her, and Banshee of course would accept the challenge. A demon never retreats from a field of blood and carnage, and he surely was not coming here to exchange pleasantries. He ducked out of view, his thin body squeezing between a few rocks, his beady eyes ever focused upon his mistress.
She stood like some ancient Heathen God. Fur dripping with water, tainted with brown and red goo, sludge that fell from her pelt. Her muscles were absolutely motionless, her fur, barely ruffling in the wind, she was so matted, so foul. Her chest barely expanded and contracted, nostrils flaring, and empty, soulless eyes trained upon the snowy pelt of her advisory with an unblinking gaze. His words, did not even seem to reach her, her ears remained tucked back, a statue, a stone. She was perfection. A gorgeous, blood lusting sight to behold, and this white warrior would not win this day.
Of course, if he did, by some fiery chance in hell, Wraith would not fight his coming, his death. Bella had been his life and Banshee was all that remained, with her gone, Wraith had no purpose. Perhaps he loved her perhaps she was merely familiar, but she allowed him to remain and he would be content, but for now, he watched, waited and lingered, his body quivering in anticipation, and then she moved.
Like the flip of a switch, her head slowly lowered, her jaws splaying wide, the intestine caught upon her canine slid from her maw, hitting the earth with a wet plop. She lifted her head, her mandible shutting once more. Her audits slid the rest of the way down to rest against her cranium and a muscle spasm shook her ebony pelt.
"Vengeance? Asheni...was her name." Her speech was broken, twisted. Her tones were wickedly cruel and her lips pulled up into a smile befitting the most foul of creatures. She had enjoyed teaching the woman that not everyone was good, but apparently her dear companion had returned for more.
Speech,
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