une surprise si sombre

The dance between predator and prey- it is a delicate dynamic, one that could determine ones fate- a game of wit and determination, as both parties try to outsmart one another. It is a dance that Sephiran enjoys with every fiber of his being, a thrill he finds addictive, fulfilling, and perversely enriching. The instilling of apprehension and fear, the icy satisfaction of creating a macabre climax. And this girl, this poor, unlucky girl. She would play a part in this game, in this dance, as an unwilling participant.

As he takes a step forward, the Sultan expects her to bend beneath the weight of his oppressive aura, to freeze with fear, and crumble at his paws, begging for mercy. But my, was she bold. As he flashes his fangs at her, he presses forward, invading her space- but she fights back, lunging forward with lighting speed, biting onto the tip of his nose before whirling around to flee. Ribbons of crimson blood weep from the wound, dripping down to the ice below to create a contrasting sanguine splatter. Oh.

For several seconds, Sephiran is the one who is frozen- but his eyes, manically wide and brimming with unbridled energy, watch the girl flee toward the ship, her dark, slender silhouette vanishing into the icy labyrinth. His tongue slips past his lips, sliding across his nose to caress the wound, to savor the sweet, metallic taste of his blood. A blow against godly flesh- it was almost unbelievable. The realization of her assault settles into his brain, and a low, guttural chuckle bellows from him, bubbling with a predatory edge, growing into a frenzied roar of mirth. He’s running now, sprinting across the frozen tundra, each peal of laughter punctuated by harsh, jagged breaths, his claws tapping against the ice in rhythmic, eerie beats.

Entering the vessel, Sephiran hears the girl's outcry, pleading for someone, anyone, to help her. He releases another peal of laughter, the chilling cacophony seeming to twist and contort the air in the vessel, creating yet another palpable shift in the atmosphere. Danger. Danger. Danger. Peeling around a corner, he follows her voice, heading down a corridor to his right. The creaking moans of the ship helped suppress her paw steps, but her scent, the sweet, floral aroma of gardenia and blackberries that were tainted with fear, guided him through the darkness. He flew up the staircase, tearing through the dimply lit space with restless, frenzied steps. A long hallway appeared before him, an array of doors leading into darkened rooms appearing on both sides. At the end of the hall, was a wall, meaning, the girl had to be in one of the rooms. Glancing at his panther companion, he gives a silent command. Do. Not. Let. Her. Leave.

Drawing a sharp breath, Sephiran starts to creep down the corridor, arriving at the door of the first room. As he pokes his head inside, his eyes gleaming with feverish, predatory delight, darting from corner to corner, as he slowly stalked his prey. His ears are perked forward, ready to catch the slightest shift in the atmosphere of the room; but after several moments, he determines it is empty. “Why does she hide?“ He croons, deep baritones echoing off the walls of the hallway. “Why? Why? Why?” His words sound like chants he moves to the next room.

Stopping in the doorway, Sephiran’s gaze is drawn to the large, wooden desk dominating the center of the room. His nostrils flare, drinking in the room's scent, which is doused in the faint smell of berries and gardenias. He takes another inhale - this act of savoring the scent of her perfume a form of perverse worship - as he reveled in this sensory experience. She was here. Slowly, Sephiran takes a step inside, the rotting floorboards creaking beneath his weight, his claws tapping against the wood with rhythmic, eerie beats. A slow, perverse smile curls the edges of his lips, as he thrives on the slow, deliberate buildup of dread. Savoring the act of wrapping his victim in a suffocating shroud of dread.

He’s at the front of the desk now, his shadow looming across its face, stretching out onto the walls and consuming the space. Raising onto his hind legs, he places his front paws on the desk, meticulously measuring his movement, as he drags his claws against the wood. His paws snake across the wood until his claws grasp the edge of the desk, right above her head. He grips it, leaning forward, his chest hovering over the desk, to make his snout appear over the edge.

He does not see her yet, but he is certain she is here, right under his nose.

"Sephiran Saxe"