You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Ravana’s heart sank, but her gaze never faltered. For a flicker of a moment, disappointment lanced through her, raw and sharp like the blade she’d just wielded. The scattered pieces of her disheartened pride swirled in her mind, yet there was no shame — only a simmering hunger, deep and relentless. She met Sephiran's piercing eyes, unblinking, the faintest tremor of a challenge curling at the edges of her lips. She was boiling, writhing on the inside, but just that.

Her tiny body trembled slightly, whether from the cold or a renewed excitement, she couldn’t say. If anything, his rejection felt like fuel — an icy sting spurring her onward. She relished it, that bitter taste of failure, knowing she would turn it into something greater. “Not good enough…” she murmured, voice soft and laced with a dark lilt, “but soon.” She tilted her head, nose pointed toward where the heart lay half-buried beneath the fallen leaves, a crimson spot in the dark forest floor. Her tail swished, its slow rhythm a promise to herself. The blood on her chest and maw, splattered across her face too—it was all cold and hot at the same time.

“Next time,” she continued, lifting her chin defiantly, “I’ll carve a cleaner prize. One worth a Sultan’s admiration.” She punctuated her words with a soft, eerie laugh that echoed in the silence, like the distant chime of some ghostly bell. Her gaze held a defiance that mingled with twisted devotion — a vow to seize his approval by any means necessary, a promise she had etched within her bones.

Without waiting for his response, she turned back to the rabbit’s remains, intent on dissecting every piece with newfound care, knowing he was watching, and determined to give him no choice but to one day see her worth.

ravana