12-06-2007, 12:54 PM
[html]private for hybrid. :]
He had dreamt of Kaena. He had seen her in all her beauty, the scars more beautiful than any unblemished face he'd ever seen on a mortal. He had felt her warmth; her body pressed against his in an embrace and her scent intoxicating. He had felt her breath at his throat as he straddled her, pushing himself inside her while she sqirmed and writhed, face twisted in beautiful misery. And he had enjoyed it. He knew he had, for when he'd awoke, the evidence remained on his abdomen, cold and wet.
Mind drunk with lingering emotions, he crouched in silence between the trees, blood seeping from the wounds he carved into his flesh. A light snow was falling around him, silently frosting the darkened landscape in a pale white veil. He rose, moving like a deadman with eyes blank and hollow toward the city, unable to sit still for fear he'd tear his own body apart.
The blood relaxed him; calmed him, yet it excited him in another way. A different way from sexual lust, yet was quite similar. Crimson gaze, so like the garnet shade of spilled blood, flickered with a new life as he crawled between the boards nailed over a window on a house. He was a monster. The need to cut, to mutilate, to kill driving through him like a venemous dagger.
He laughed -- a soft sound that slipped quietly past his lips as the boy fell to the floor in a heap for fur and limbs. He lay still where he was, unmoving from where gravity had thrust him at random against the dusty, wooden boards. But the night was far from over; it had only just begun.
He had dreamt of Kaena. He had seen her in all her beauty, the scars more beautiful than any unblemished face he'd ever seen on a mortal. He had felt her warmth; her body pressed against his in an embrace and her scent intoxicating. He had felt her breath at his throat as he straddled her, pushing himself inside her while she sqirmed and writhed, face twisted in beautiful misery. And he had enjoyed it. He knew he had, for when he'd awoke, the evidence remained on his abdomen, cold and wet.
Mind drunk with lingering emotions, he crouched in silence between the trees, blood seeping from the wounds he carved into his flesh. A light snow was falling around him, silently frosting the darkened landscape in a pale white veil. He rose, moving like a deadman with eyes blank and hollow toward the city, unable to sit still for fear he'd tear his own body apart.
The blood relaxed him; calmed him, yet it excited him in another way. A different way from sexual lust, yet was quite similar. Crimson gaze, so like the garnet shade of spilled blood, flickered with a new life as he crawled between the boards nailed over a window on a house. He was a monster. The need to cut, to mutilate, to kill driving through him like a venemous dagger.
He laughed -- a soft sound that slipped quietly past his lips as the boy fell to the floor in a heap for fur and limbs. He lay still where he was, unmoving from where gravity had thrust him at random against the dusty, wooden boards. But the night was far from over; it had only just begun.