A midnight Mendacium dance

The autumn nights in northern Boreas were cool and crisp, cold enough to leave frost and delicate ice flakes clinging to the surfaces of trees and rocks, freezing the dew on the grass into beads of tiny ice like crystals scattered across the ground. Overhead, the auroras that belted and banded their way across the midnight sky were dancing their usual rapturous display over inky black skies and smothering the celestial heavens beyond. Only the light of the full moon managed to make its way through the neon colors, casting silver amidst the hues of light that lit up the world like a wonderful kaleidoscope in motion. It was beautiful; a picturesque scene fit only for the gods, and yet mere mortals like themselves were blessed with its grace and presence.

As Alastor sat outside the den he and Manea had shared for the entirety of their lives since they had formed Elysium, he couldn't help but feel a little melancholic as he watched the auroras, reminiscing on the years that had passed. The more he reflected, the more he realized just how much of his life had passed. At eight, he already had a half dozen children, a loving mate, had been an alpha for half his existence, and lived a comfortable and peaceful life. Major life events flashed before his eyes, mixed in with the swirling spectrum of color overhead, each one making him feel older than the last. Alastor released a heavy sigh, glancing down from the auroras to his long tail fur curled around his paws—and spotting the irregular silver flecks of gray fur in amongst the sea of black. Fuck, he was getting old... With a frown on his face, Alastor huffed and resolved himself to do something about the emotional weight of age. He was going to do something to make himself feel young again, dammit!

Returning back to the den, Al stuck his head inside and called out, "Manea, darling! Could you join me out on the terrace, please?" The behemoth of a wolf went back to where he had been sitting on the flat plateau and waited for his wife to emerge from their den. The moment his violet-furred mate stepped outside, Al immediately greeted her with a toothy grin and dropped into a fighting stance, paws spread and muscles tensed to spring into action. "Would you share a dance with me, my love?" he asked, though the wicked gleam in his eyes and bared fangs betrayed just what kind of dance he was hinting at with her. A rough, violent dance, the kind the Mendaciums reveled in. He wanted her to fight him and make him feel like he did when they had fought each other when he was courting her back in their youths.

WC: 464
Total: 464 / 1500

"Alastor Mendacium"