Clean claws make a dirty kill

Setekh's eyes gleamed with a sinister satisfaction as he observed Helonia's savagery. Her actions, the violent dance of predator and prey, stirred a familiar pleasure within him; for she was a reflection of twisted desires. A true daughter of his. The wind carried the scent of blood, mixing with the frigid air, an intoxicating blend that set his senses alight. Fire burned his loins, but he would not touch his pretty daughter now.

“Ah,” He purred, his voice a soft, chilling whisper that cut through the stillness like a blade. “How delightfully you two dance together, bound by blood and madness.” As he watched the fawn's desperate attempt to escape, a slow smile spread across his face, devoid of warmth but full of predatory glee. The sight of its struggle, the limping creature trying to flee, was a delicious spectacle. Setekh's eyes never left the scene, his gaze fixed on the interplay of life and death unfolding before him. Slowly the God moved closer, closer, molten gaze fixated on the scene.

“Do you see, my daughters? The futility of its struggle? How it clings to life, even when all hope is lost? Such determination, such will to survive, only to be snuffed out in the end. How poetic.” He mused, stepping closer, his fur a perfect and pristine match in the snowy landscape. He turned his gaze from his daughter to the fawn, still struggling to drag itself away. “Helonia, finish what you started. Show me the strength I know you possess. And Melanth, oh dear. Try not to fret over a little blood. It is but a reminder of the life we take to sustain our own.”

Setekh's eyes narrowed, his tone dripping with malevolent pleasure. “There is no need for haste. Savor the hunt, relish the kill. Let it be a lesson in inevitability.” He watched intently, eager to see how his daughters would respond, the chaos within him momentarily quelled by the anticipation of their actions. The scene before him was more than just a hunt; it was a testament to his influence, his control. And he reveled in it.