watch the bedsheets turn blood red.

Harlowe D'Angelo · 10-15-2010, 07:57 AM

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Word Count :: 500 HI BABY 8D Also, deliberately vague first paragraph because I am not sure wut goin dahwn in that thread yet. ;P

The pallid youth had meandered outside of Dahlia once again, despite his uncle's warnings. He had been shaken by the encounter there, and he needed to sort his own thoughts out. Solitude seemed like the proper answer for this, and he knew that his own confined spaces would only cause him to think about what had happened once again. It had seemed similar to Rio—a test—but if this had been a test, he had certainly failed it. Larkspur had given him a directive, and he had not obeyed it. The boy was ashamed of himself, in a way, but relieved, as well—as much as he had wanted to do what Larkspur asked of him, he knew in his heart his mother would not have approved, and he could not act in a way that she would have disapproved of... could he? Hadn't he acted in such a way with Rio?

These thoughts tore into him, and no matter how many times he wrote them down, the facts stared him back in the face. It was not as if he needed to write down these thoughts; he could remember in stunning, perfect detail what had happened to Rio, though he did not dare describe it to that extent in his journal. Such a thing seemed exhibitionist and improper, and he did not know how he would feel writing down such acts in graphic detail. Would it make him a monster twice over if it aroused him? For the first time, Harlowe had doubt. He did not know that he was doing the right thing with Larkspur anymore; he did not know that he was pursuing the right path. It was clear to him that his mother and Larkspur were representative of different beings, and though he knew quite well just what each was supposed to represent, he could not bear to make such a choice. It should have been easy, either way, but instead, he was tormented and haunted by this choice, this imminent decision of his.

It did not occur to Harlowe that he had already made his decision, that he was an unwelcome presence in his home pack at best. He did not know of his sister's well-being or whereabouts, and he had ceased contact with the rest of his family save Larkspur, isolating himself for fear of their retribution. They would never understand what he endured. He leaned forward, clutching his chocolate-stained head in his hands, his ears pressed back into his unkempt and shaggy hair. He was a long, lean canine, and it seemed he was finally growing into his limbs; he had lost a considerable amount of gangliness after passing his first birthday. Harlowe was unaware of the tensions between Dahlia and Inferni; he might have been more careful, as he was rather close to the coyote border. Still, he was not planning on venturing any closer, and not realizing the potential problems, he figured he was a safe distance from the clan.

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