I Have No Mouth but I Need to Scream

To finally be far enough out of her homeland's reach that their rumors no longer clawed at her existence should have come as a relief. There should have been time to relax, to settle and make a new life for herself. But years of torment, of being chased and abused and called a monster had succeeded in breaking her soul. They had called her these things, things that were not true, that she would deny time and time again only for her pleas to fall on deaf ears. In the end, what sort of irony was it that she had become the very monster they said she was? There is only so much one can take before it simply becomes too much to bear. So even here, where no one could possibly know the witch, a witch she remained. [i]Strega[/], once a title that cut her with every utterance, had become a cloak. Strega was not afraid. Strega was not weak. Strega was a beast to be feared, a name that had turned into a reputation, a safety blanket against cutting fangs and ripping claws. No one wanted to get close enough to Strega to hurt her, she was safe.



Belladonna was dead. The innocent she-wolf had been ripped away, revealing an ugly center that glared at the world through the ruined husk. She was as if a mummy, her skin a bandage that hid the grisly corpse beneath. She was okay with that. Had come to terms with it, come to relish the fear reflected in the eyes of those who crossed her path. Her repertoire of knowledge had grown over the years, and in knowledge there was power. What did she have to fear when dozens of ways to kill a wolf untraced swam in her hollow mind?



No, it was everyone else who should be scared. Three grueling years it had taken. Three years of running, of isolation, of going so long without tender company that words and etiquette were foreign to her now. But she felt confident, finally, in her craft that for the first time she felt free. Fear had bound her so long, and they say that a caged bird does not sing sweetly, and that was true. A bird confined to a cage did not sing as sweetly as it once did, but it still sang, of fear and pain. And wasn't fear perhaps one of life's greatest motivators? Without it to drive her, she would not be where she was today. Venom personified.



Her travels had taken her to many strange places, but none so strange as the place she came to now. A mammoth heap of strange material lie before her. It gleamed red and gold in the dying sun, stark against the darkening earth. She didn't know what it was, but it pulled her in. Strega thrilled in the unknown. She wanted to know everything there was to learn in the world, in order to prepare herself for anything.



So she approached the ship with caution, climbing the ramp upward carefully. Her paws didn't grip it very well, so it was slow going, but eventually she made it up to the ship, entering a passage that led into its belly, nails clicking the whole way. The scent of blood permeated the air, and her fur stood on end with caution, thankful she had cloaked her claws in venom. Though the ice might have diluted it, perhaps enough would remain to assist her if she needed to defend herself.