NO REST FOR THE WICKED

                    the sweet ambrosia of blood engulfs the tyrant’s senses, causing mismatched eyes to roll ecstatically within their sockets as velveteen nostrils flare to indulge in the metallic fragrance -- intoxicating and enticing. red streams down the front of her pallid countenance as serrated incisors begin to probe the loose flesh of the carcass { a flayed fawn } at her paws, feral growls of possessive and contented sentiment simultaneously reverberating within her larynx whilst her engorging commences. for the phantom queen is famished and excessively gluttonous as of late, having rarely strayed from the rancid interior of her family’s cavern due to a newfound obsession with her son: her little titan, little odysseus. he, a bastard son and cherished kin, the sole survivor of his mother’s first litter and a fated king -- a child whose mother is willing to bleed for his sake, and would. though all would come in due time; for now, the elysius monarch can merely scheme and prepare.