Beneath the pines

Sephiran craved a performance from the young Ravana- needed to witness the progression of her hunger for carnage and bloodshed, as she bent to the will of her darkest desires. He knew impulsivity dwelled within the twisted souls of the Saxe lineage - the true Saxe lineage- and if she was really his daughter, that obsessive impulse would fester into depravity that needed to be satiated.

Sephiran was no Father figure- he never would be. But in his own, twisted way, he would feed into his children’s desires, instilling a deeply-seated understanding of power and control. The subtly of influence, the unrelenting will to dominate and control. They would become weapons, but would not wield themselves recklessly- but instead, they will move with calculated intent, and will be ruthless in their methods all the same.

That’s how they would differ from their maniacal father.


These thoughts lurk in the catacombs of Sephiran’s mind, welling to the surface before vanishing at a moment's notice. He’s too consumed by his desire to indulge in the pulverizing of the corpse- which Ravana completes in a wicked, delightful manner. When she is done, there is nothing left but an unholy splatter against the ground, the bobcats remains adorning her coat like macabre jewels.

She steps closer to him, and Sephiran stops, craning his head down to bring his face beside her own. His lips crack into a wide, grotesque smirk that exudes his indulgence in this moment of perverse joy. His tongue snakes out of his maw, strings of saliva creating a tapestry between his fangs, before he slides it across Ravana’s gore-coated head. “Delightful.” He hums, his pelt bristling down his spine, muscles growing taught beneath his fur. Like a venomous serpent savoring the agony of its prey.

"Sephiran Saxe"