Wash my dreams away

Saracyn squinted down at Scylla with scrutinizing eyes, finding it difficult to buy her surprise at his crude remark of her relations with his own sire. "You didn't say you didn't fuck him either," he pointed out. Omission of the truth did not make it any less true. Saracyn knew Scylla well—too well, sometimes. He wouldn't have put it past her to pursue a fun time with either of his parents for that matter, and given how salacious his mother and father were... well, they might have even indulged in her appetite. But he would pursue the matter no further. In fact, he wasn't sure he truly wanted her answer on whether she had fucked two generations of Mendacium men.

Scylla was quick to rectify that her title was not Queen, but Sovereign. To Saracyn, it all sounded the same. Titles, ranks, stations... none of it had ever meant a thing to him. He hadn't spent his life pursuing goals of lofty positions in Elysium. He had only ever followed the beat of his own heart. Too bad his heart was a fucking uncertain asshole that kept getting itself hurt or twisted up. "Sovereign Scylla," he corrected himself, still trying to mind his manners. Scylla wasn't an Elysium wolf he could speak to however he liked anymore. She was the alpha of her own pack, and he had been given strict instructions to behave himself. Perhaps it showed on his face how much he disliked being leashed. Scylla beckoned him over the border to look around and the dire brute stood to accept her invitation, striding into Obscura's lands to join Scylla on the other side of the border. "Obscura. Interesting name. Where'd you come up with that?"

"Saracyn Mendacium"