Word Count :: 392 Not sure if you wanted me to distract Mis with the Eternity crap, so I left it out for now. :O I can edit it in there if you want, though -- lemme know.
Eris had come to the realization-slash-conclusion that she had never experienced true happiness in her lifetime, nor true kindness. Whatever she had been given in Eterne it was by virtue of Astaroth's lies, and once those lies had faded and exposed the truth, there was nothing for her there anymore. The sable-shaded woman wondered why, at times, she had been allowed to walk away from such a place. They enslaved and they killed, sacrificing the living for their godless rituals. There was certainly no truth they held -- blinded old hypocrites, the lot of them. This was not to say Eris had been disillusioned from religion entirely; on the contrary, her own, personal beliefs were held more closely and protected more viciously than they ever had been before. Stripping her faith of all unnecessary adornments, the baubles and ornate decor forced by the Eternians, well -- this measure had only served to strengthen it.
“No, they don't. Not too fond of coyotes who look like wolves, either,” the woman responded, lifting one shoulder and dropping it immediately in a half-heartedly angry shrug. Inferni had never rejected her -- Gabriel had shown her kindness, anyway. She had been allowed a home, almost to her own surprise. Though she had walked three thousand miles or more, the entire time, the chartreuse-eyed woman had suspected she would be turned away at the borders. Even if her mother had been dead, Eris had expected the rest of the clan to hate her. It was far from the truth, really, but having failed to craft any close friendships, with the unbearable trauma she had to deal with -- it was just a bit much for the shadow-colored woman.
“Eris,” she said, failing to provide a surname. Though she did not wish to be a Lykoi anymore, she did not yet feel like an Eternity. “You related to Larkspur?” she asked, too curious. The pallid woman before her did not look much like the supposed father of her children, but then again, what Eris actually knew about Larkspur, his family, and so forth was pathetically little. At the question, there was a faint and quite bitter smile, the flesh along her muzzle wrinkling in displeasure. “The world and everything in it,” the woman responded, rolling her shoulders once more in a helpless shrug. Too much, the gesture said.
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