12-27-2007, 03:02 PM
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Pilot had visited weeks before. Since then, Deuce had only gotten worse. Now she laid in her and Lucifer's den. He'd brought her home from Shadow's grave and let her get drunk until she passed out. This had become a nightly ritual for the mother. She just couldn't deal with life anymore. She couldn't deal with the hurt, with the dissapointment. She couldn't deal with the condemnation she thought she saw in lucifer's eyes.
She laid on the sleeping furs he'd brought from her den, the one she'd stayed in while they were apart. He only kept her here to be sure she wouldn't kill herself, she was sure. Not that he cared. Because of her, his pups would never be born. He had every right to hate her. She rolled over, sighing restlessly. She didn't want to get up anymore. Her fur hung loosely on her gaunt frame. Her eyes were sunk deep in her sockets.
She looked listlessly at the ceiling of the cavern. She could hear whispers, faint and indistinct. Eric again, taunting and teasing. And Shadow too now, berating her for lettingt him die. her son, her only son. Dead. And it was all her fault. She accepted the blame numbly, when her mind accepted that he was dead. Other times, she spoke to the boy as if he were still alive, seeing him there with her. Right now she was lucid, aware. Sometimes she was off in her own grief-created world.