[M] Please be soft and sweet to me

Eris Eternity · 04-15-2011, 08:25 PM

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Word Count › 525 CARP POST

a dog among kings with no self control

There was a sharp, coppery bite on her tongue, that same scent that lingered so heavily on the air. The sword drew back steadily from the man's flesh, sucking and tearing sounds as the tawny-shaded man drew the bloodstained metal from the other canine's chest. Her brilliant green eyes watched this with that same fascination across her face, watching as the sword withdrew and left a gaping hole in the man's chest. He seemed to crumble then, his lovely purple eyes already long cold and emptied of whatever vitality they might have once held in them.

She seemed to follow his body as it fell, her own inclining slowly to match his descent, leaning slowly forward as he fell to the ground. She crept over him, standing above him and slowly kneeling until she straddled him. Her hands lifted again, pressing against that stained cream chest. It was as if she'd forgotten the flaxen canine's presence in the face of those shining intestines, the ripped flesh where there had once been breathing lungs, functioning stomach, beating heart -- and truly, she had forgotten all about the red-eyed canine and his sword. Something else had drawn her attention, seeming to call to her from his dead chest. It whispered darkness into her ears, pulling her fingers down and toward the fatal wound, the tips of them brushing almost lovingly against the torn muscle and skin there. They came away bloody and stained brilliant crimson.

Her yellow-golden eyes were opened wide, her jaw hanging just slightly ajar as her tongue ran out over her lips, licking them hungrily. There was no hunger in her, however -- cannibalism had never held much attraction for the sable-shaded woman, and she did not want to eat the bloodied corpse. Her hands plunged into his chest cavity suddenly, burying fingers between ribs and separating them with a forceful tug. It sent a crack reverberating through the still air, and then her hands were in him further, nearly halfway to her forearm, digging and tearing and shoving past all the useless parts to the center of him.

Eris drew it from the man slowly, the deep crimson-brown color barely differentiated from the bloodied black of her hands and arms. She held it in both hands before herself, staring down at it with that same deep fascination ingrained on her face. It did not matter how many times she saw one of these; it did not matter how many fell before her, how many times she pulled one of these, soaking and still quite warm to the touch, from the fresh dead. It would always hold that same magic, and she would find this magic no less fascinating if she did this a hundred thousand times.

The coyote's face was contorted into something like a smile, though it was twisted and tinged with something akin to cruelty. Perhaps it was her indifference at the death required to have this precious magic in her palms that colored her smile so -- Eris simply did not care that this cream-shaded wolf or anyone else had to die in order for her to have their liver.

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