07-26-2009, 05:46 AM
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| http://digital-bonsai.com/katew/rp/kae/kae_jaws.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:fixed; padding-top:221px; padding-left:25px; padding-right:25px; padding-bottom:10px;"> A black memory had entered the woman's consciousness, swirling up before her eyes and devouring all of her other rational thought. There was that girl, her true oldest daughter. The dead one, that one she'd torn to pieces in some godforsaken spit of forest outside of their old territories. Maeryn had looked so much like Kaena, silvery gray with a black saddle and a white underbelly, and that same bloodied splash across her face. She was a younger, wholer version of Kaena, sans the scars. But she had been larger and stockier than her mother, with more of a wolf's build, especially her face. That face was Zulifer's reborn, and in a fit of blind rage Kaena had seen him in her, and... what? Nothing. There was nothing there anymore, just a blank, buzzing white space in the hybrid's memory. And then, there was waking up covered in her child's blood, pieces of her scattered about the trees and hanging from their branches. Then there was only running. She could barely repress the cold feeling that had slithered into her spine and stomach, filling her with heaviness and hurt. That memory had shaken her to the core, and she gazed at Samael with hurt in her eyes as he spoke. She could only respond in kind and throw in that she was a monster—what else would she be, if she hadn't killed her flesh and blood? That act alone was enough to condemn the silver woman, let alone the rest of her malevolent deeds. "So am I," she said, though her voice was deflated, destroyed. He was on her, his tongue gently lapping her jaw, and for a moment Kaena was almost ready to give in to him. If it took this to keep Samael from chasing death, she would relent. Her son was worth that to her, though she did not know if she could swallow the event itself. She did not know how she would sleep after that, but then she supposed some were doomed to sleeplessness. But there was nothing more than closeness after that touch of his tongue, a small, sharp head against her chest. She placed her hand on the other side of it, stroking the scarred golden fur softly even as he dreamed of death. The tips of her teeth dug into the coal of her lips and she pressed her chin against the top of Samael's head, her nose buried in the silky fur behind his ear. He did not smell of death or disease, just her son, and the faintest stench of desire. It was not enough to repel the woman from her child, and she only held him tighter, as if to squeeze away the feverish thoughts of dying and desire. "I don't want you to die," she affirmed. "You don't deserve it, just for..." she trailed off, still unable to say it. "Just for loving me more," she quickly remembered the words, settling on that vague enough phrase—it was not derisive of Samael and it did not feel so strange to say them. |