Speech // French

To escape the burgeoning summer swelter further south, a dark dainty shadow carefully picked her way through the fragile slices of ice. Perhaps she needn't wander this far north but the silhouette of this strange structure held her curiosity like a spell.

A careful step would follow a dancing skittering dash as she found her way over the layers of ice holding the metal beast fast to its mooring. The evening chill in the air held fast the moisture low to the ground, making the oxygen around her arid. As she drew near to the monstrous structure she couldn't help but see the strange metal beast as... disappointing. It was just some strange two-leg building. Rusted and groaning with an eerie moan.

Alone. Her wildflower eyes wandered up the rusted metal expanse with a distasteful longing. It was an image of her loneliness. Stark and barren. She huffed at it. The evening would close in like a harsh wind, she wouldn't want to be trapped here when it got too cold.

She turned to move back south and startled backward!
"Mon coeur est surpris!" (my heart is surprised!) Her French spilled from her dark lips in an unthinking exclamation.

With the change of the season, Sephiran found himself becoming even more restless, his warped mind balancing on a fragmented sense of reality.

An impending psychotic break.

He’d often pace the borders of his domain, stopping to rhythmically tap his claws against the stone and earth, portraying his boredom for all to see. His mind raced more often than not- jumbled thoughts, each one crashing into the next, altering his focus. Bursts of energy consumed him, quickly morphing into an unsettling agitation- a heightened intensity - a compulsivity that led him to commit more severe, perverse acts.

Satiate the depravity. But his long nights with the Sidi women were not enough. Satiate the depravity. The frustration welling inside him was overwhelming, the deep, pulsating need to find a new outlet consuming him. His kingdom was starting to feel claustrophobic, oppressive. He needed to escape this state of perpetual motion, if only for a night. Satiate the depravity.

He’d left the Sparse Pines at an unknown time, wandering farther into the North, darting across the frozen tundra with his companions. He’s gravitating toward a structure on the horizon- an old, time-worn vessel left to rot in the icy wasteland for the rest of time. The creaking and groaning of the ship’s hull echoed across the tundra, drawing him in, beckoning to the frantic curiosity in his mind. What would the Saxe Sultan find in the labyrinth?

Closing in, he almost misses the silhouette of a woman stopped in admiration of the ship. But was she truly admiring the timeless landmark? His falcon screeches above, alerting him of her presence, drawing his attention to her, which seemed hyperfocused- as if an internal impulse was driving him forward, and yet, he cannot truly settle his focus. A girl. A girl. A girl.

A foreign language spilled from her lips, her lithe, slender build adorned in deep black fur- a blurring contrast in comparison to the stark white backdrop of the tundra. “Tot singur, tot singur. “ (All alone, all alone.) Deep baritones rumble from his maw, his sudden fascination with her driving him away from the ship's, as he moved into her proximity. Typically, he’d speak in the common tongue- but her odd language brought out his impulsivity and thus, his Romanian. “On the brink of moonlight,” His lips start to twitch, his eyes growing wide and brimming with manic excitement. “Și ea este singură.“ (And she is all alone.) He slows into a saunter as he nears, his movement more predatory, yet erratic. A girl. A girl. A girl.


"Sephiran Saxe"

Speech//French

His rich vibrant amethyst fur held her attention as she quickly drew in her breath of surprise. She hesitantly took a step back as he drew nearer. The words he spoke were a language she didn't know, interrupted by the common tongue that made her brow furrow. A romantic? He was coming at her with a look she thought she knew all too well.

She lifted her lip, the last one that demanded her squat for him had thought she was a meek child with no self-preservation. He had only surprised her. This one wouldn't get the same chance as the last one. She glanced beyond him for a mere half moment, the wide-open tundra stretched out beyond. His height would no doubt overtake her if she ran.

"Pardon moi, monsieur," (pardon me, sir) She greeted cautiously, another step back. Her own eyes of vibrant violet indigo hardened with rebellious unease as her eyes settled on his approaching form. Another step back but this time with a purpose to tell him she liked her personal space.

"I did not... see you zhere." She held her ground, her eyes narrowing, watching for his initiative moment. Would she be able to find a hiding place within the rusted ship if she needed to? Or would this be a simple greeting between strangers and she would be on her way? How naive she was.

The evening drew closer, the sun had touched the horizon slowly turning the sky ablaze in a vibrant sunset.

As the girl takes a step back, Sephiran takes a step forward- entrapping them in a dance of wills, as the Sultan refuses to allow her out of his sight. In his eyes, a manic wildness burns with frantic intensity, fixated on her and unblinking, never straying. His steps, typically calculated and well-placed, are uneven and erratic, as if he’s struggling to maintain control of his movements. As if he is a puppet on a fringed string, suspended before her, being controlled by an unyielding, dark force.

Another step back, an exchange of words. There is a rebellious unease resonating from her, and from Sephiran, there is an overwhelming sense of malevolence- a sinister presence that commands attention, instilling fear and trepidation. The unpredictability of an unhinged predator. “Did not see me?” He croons, deep baritones cutting into the space between them, delivered with breathless enthusiasm. Behind him, the sun is setting in the West, quickly dropping beneath the horizon to cast an ethereal glow across the tundra.

A final step back from the girl, and Sephiran is taking another forward. “But did you feel me?” His lips curl upward, revealing a flash of sharp teeth- it is an expression devoid of warmth, beaming with an icy satisfaction of instilling apprehension and fear.

He is not referring to the physical sense of touch- but the palpable shift in the atmosphere, the electric tension that was building by the second. The silent battle of wills, the exchanging glances laden with unspoken words. Unspoken threats.

"Sephiran Saxe"

Speech//French

This male was certainly not the same as the one she had experienced before. Not at all. This was another beast entirely. The fading light of the evening reflected off the whites of his frantic mismatched eyes as he pressed his approach into her every step. The wild look in him was nothing she had ever seen.

Her heart picked up the pace, her breathing shallowed as the alarm bells rang. This was no fairy tale. The light around them would have had an enchanting air if it did not threaten to freeze the night solid with the midnight chill of the deep north. Not if she were alone on a rusted-out heap with a madman.

She felt his deep crooning voice in her chest as if he reached up to grasp her stomach and pull it out with nothing but his breath. The gleam of his teeth finally turned her stomach to tell her to run. Nothing good would come of this.

But she was French, and though she shivered with how he pressed his presence over her, she would not cower so easily.

She snarled and jabbed forward, aiming to snap her teeth at the soft tip of his nose, hopefully enough to blind him with pain.

She whirled around and used her claws to dig into the ice for purchase and fly over the terrain with long leaping legs back toward the growing moaning monstrosity. To escape the monster behind her.

She skittered over the metal, her claws scraping over the iron ramp into the iron hull. She dove to her right and ran down a corridor.

"Aide-moi! Allo! Help me!" She called into the echoing structure, begging another soul to at least help her hide. The response was a slowly increasingly loud croaking moan and the eerie oppressive air of ghosts long long gone.

The structure was devoid of all life. The floors uneven and slanted. Her claws sang through the ship as she clambered up a rusted staircase and dived into a dark room. Growing ever darker by the minute. Her breath heaving in her chest as she slunk under a desk and covered her mouth to steady her breathing.

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"

Speech//French

She couldn't still the beating of her heart thrumming against her chest. His maniacal laughter echoed through the ship like a horrid phantom. Her breathing caught in her throat as she could *hear* him climbing after her. Stalking nearer, nearer, nearer. She silenced the whine that threatened to escape her throat. She had never known this kind of fear. She remembered he had a few accomplices, who no doubt would aid him in his hunt.

She buried her nose into her arms to still her breath as she hid under the first thing she had seen. Her breath would not slow as the sound of his canine claws click and tick and clack over the boards, closer, closer, closer. Ringing like a dire bell toll down the empty rooms.

His voice entered her ears like a ghastly call in a glass house, intent to break them. She stilled her trembling as she could practically feel his entrance into the room she had prayed was her sanctuary. The scent of him was imperceptible under her own terrified pheromones. Iris wished she could stop her ears from the cacophony of his symphony crawling over the floor and slowly climbing the desk under which she cowered. Slowly she pressed her body further into the floor, wishing the giant tin can would simply swallow her up into its growing deepening shadows.

Her eyes, the color of her namesake dared to lift up and see the puff of his hot breath linger in the air before his bruised and bleeding nose appeared. Impossibly her body saturated itself with immodesty, blooming for him as a last resort in the most twisted turn of depravity. She was repulsed by her own sordid rousing.

With a shuddering breath louder than a damning bell in the dreadful silence she swiped up again at his nose presented for her and scrambled out of her bolt hole, launching herself against the sides of the desk. She slithered and leaped around the corner and darted back into the corridor, heading the way she had come.

A panther materialized out of the shadows and she screamed as it launched toward her to keep her blocked. She scrambled back the other way! Penned in like a wild mare between the panther and the violet nightmare she dived down into another room, her tail a banner behind her. Her breathing was harsh and uneven against her throat.

The room was sparse! Too sparse! A table, some wooden crate boxes! She crawled behind the only space she could find, the shadows between the wall and the crates.