[M] I want to believe

Harlowe D'Angelo · 03-11-2011, 07:47 AM

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Word Count → 457

Fever burned in his mind and worsened the madness, but he wanted his mother's approval no less. He simply did not understand how to seek it, merely expected it, needed it -- the lack of it had driven the pallid wolf mad, and there was no alternative course of action in his mind. His mother was distracted by these children, distracted by Scorpius, distracted by the pack itself, and Harlowe would destroy all of it to have her again. Though he knew Larkspur was there, the boy did not react to him, nor the other dark female. The children were the most direct and clear source of hatred for the newly epicene wolf, and the weakest of the bunch. He would attack them first, and though maybe some logical part of his mind recognized the futility of his actions, he was too far gone to listen to that tiny, distant voice.

There was a weight against him, and his body went hurtling to the ground, more weight pressing into his shoulders and pain wracking his body from the sudden impact, thudding outward from between his legs. He cried out, the noise drowned in the sudden clamor from all around him. There were teeth in his face and a face he might have recognized -- dark and shaded with coal, peppered with places of white. There was no struggle left within Harlowe, no strength left to give for it and no desire for it -- he could not succeed and he would rather die than live without mother's approval and love. She would not desire a failure for a son in any case, and what had he proven other than a failure? Larkspur knew this -- Larkspur had been the one to prove it in the first place.

There was only a small, barely perceptible breeze of hot breath past his face, and fire tore through his throat and neck, the flesh tearing easily between teeth made to crush bone. Blood poured from the wound, spreading out brilliant and red against his chest and out over the stone floor. His body thrashed and twitched involuntarily, his meager weight heaving against the other canine futilely. Harlowe did not want to escape -- he wanted this, but his body, as always, betrayed him. Not even culled of its worst parts could he keep it under his control -- it ran wild with fever, it fought and heaved despite his every wish for death now. A strangled, bubbling noise poured from the wound with his last breath, and finally, the body that had refused and betrayed him at every turn, finally, that body went limp, quietly and quickly shutting down. His jade-colored eyes rolled toward his mother, staring and wide open.

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