[m] the killer in me is the killer in you
#1
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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.
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(309) <3 <3 <3 foredated march 19th 2012


She'd left on a whim, bought a first class ticket to hell and back. There had been confusion at first, mainly upon arrival, as she'd expected broken down buildings with stories to tell; tales what would correlate and confirm the authenticity of childhood myths and legends. But no such confirmation was found. It took some time to assimilate the information displayed before her. Had she taken a wrong turn? Her trek through the ancient nirvana had not been without understanding; her dam's sanity was once more belittled. The sheer reality of what was left before her was painstakingly obvious: the leftover ashes of a burnt down empire. The Concrete Jungle had once upon a time combusted into flames, along with whatever sacred church had been nestled within.


Inquiries arose with this newfound awareness: had Lillith known all along and chosen to forget undeniable facts? Had there ever been a prophet, a chosen one, and a supreme being? Had it been naught but a fantasy constructed by an irrational mind? It all came crashing down on her like a ton of bricks; the feeling was atrocious and before long, the two-toned juvenile found herself overwhelmed by a surge of calamity. It lasted seconds at most, accompanied by a vague feeling of revulsion, only to be replaced by a strange composure - a pitiful complacency worthy only of the dead and the hopeless. There was no hope left for her last remaining parent. No hope left for her. Sickness had prevailed. Had their family been doomed to dementia from the start?


She fell to her knees amongst the ruins, running a hand through the remnants of her heritage; all of which had possibly been a lie. Lilin had no way of confirming the authenticity of anything; proof had been incinerated along with Thavardo's legacy. There was nothing but void and shadows.



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#2
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The woman walked through the fire-burnt landscape with slow, purposeful steps. Her world had become smaller these days, driven by the singular goal of a dead woman and her holy child. She had seen the truth in him and heard whispers in dreams, in passing voices spoke through flames and rain. Lillith could not, and did not, deny the fact that the dead man she had once loved was now gone. What lingered of him was the shadow and the ghost of a god. They could die, she had learned; one could stop being anything.

Naked save for a glittering silver and blue charm around her throat. Time had aged her. She was seven now, and she had children to stretch and sag her belly and breasts. Her fur helped to hide these things, still thick and plush and glossy. The madness in her eyes was far brighter though. It was a feverish gleam, one that made her ice colored eyes sharper, like glass. She breathed in the cold air and exhaled steam, sending it skyward. A familiar scent trailed in along the frost, but she had known her destination long before she had scented the girl.

She found her, in the few remaining stones of what had once been a holy land, a shade of her father. Lillith’s black lips pulled away from teeth yellowing from time, her whiskers curling towards her muzzle. Her steps became stiff-legged, her fur bristled along the length of her spine and turned her tail brush-bottle. As she moved slowly towards the girl, her snarl twisted into a terrible grin. Of course she would come here—it only served to mock the dead, something her daughter seemed to do without care.



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#3
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(275)


Soundless screams were replaced with an echo of footsteps in the rubble; they were sluggishly slow-paced, a bad omen of what would come. It was a cadence she knew too well. To the untrained ear, there was no difference between her dam's walk of madness and an ambling drunkard. But to someone like Lilin, who had lived side by side with eccentricity itself for far too long, there was no room for misinterpretation. She did not move immediately, allowing her shoulders to sag further instead. In the silence, Lilin found her last remaining moments of blessed solitude before the impending storm. A familiar chill traced its way up her spine and into the crease of her neck. "Mom," she murmured bitterly, temporarily at a loss of words. The madwoman had come. This soil was sacred; it was her home- the place where she had been brought into this world and the place where she would die.


Releasing the debris from her hands, she awaited the eclipse that settled over her silhouette with the steady approach of her procreator. She turned then, mediterranean blue irises crashing into two near-identical pools similar in complexion. The disease was spreading, feeding on whatever little sanity the older woman had left. “You need help,” she almost pleaded, propping herself up on hands and knees before ascending to an upright position. Height-wise, they weren’t much different. Lilin stood a mere few centimetres taller and it certainly gave her no additional authority. Even in a crazed stupor, her dam had the ability to become a ringleader and sway the conversation in any desired direction. “There is nothing here for you anymore.” Her voice was strained under the emotional weight of this reunion and the realization that nothing would ever change.




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#4
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The daughter she saw as a blight responded to her presence, shrinking with the grief of all those who could bear no worth. If only it had been Ahren and not Haku, who had served her only for this worthless child. She would have brought forth children to save the world. Gabriel was enough proof of that, though it was a true shame he had been conceived by a coyote and not a wolf. What a sight he would have been then, unrestrained by hybrid blood, given the full advantage of size and power. She lamented only that it had not been her chosen to bear such a beast; that Ahren had died before she could find him once more.

Her steps stopped suddenly. Lillith raised her head proudly, pale eyes gleaming behind hair too-long and too-wild. She held one hand out before her, a black palm amongst blacker fur marked with old and thin, faded scars. A voice make deeper by time rolled out of her mouth. “You know nothing,” she hissed, and her words became profluent as her voice rose. “I gave you my life and you squandered your gift. You turned your back on me and you turned your back on Azathoth.” The name rose with a reverence, as if the dead god might hear her yet in this once holy place.

“I will do what needs done,” she affirmed, showing a tooth as a proclamation of how far she would go.



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#5
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(351) i put in a [m] tag in the title just in case c:


Her dam's words were like a slap in the face. She stood there, gaping, at a loss. The madwoman's gesticulations offered an insight on her fake pride and holier-than-thou aptitude. Instinctively, her daughter's head rose to match the same level of righteousness presented to her; a foolish move, she knew. Opposition would only serve to trigger an even greater dispute. As much as she planned on avoiding the forthcoming battle, something about her own ego prevented her from stepping down so readily. "I know nothing?" she quipped, bellowing with a matching hiss and an emphasis carefully placed on the latter word. Lillith's accusations were spat like venom, causing the Soulstorm youngster to flinch at every single one of them.


However tempting it might have been at the time, refuting nonsense was counter-productive. She could have taken the higher road right then and there; she had every intention of doing so until impudence came tumbling out of her mouth. No longer would she kneel before her. No longer would she feel sorry for the self-proclaimed monarch. "I know you're living in a fantasy world," she taunted, allowing her gaze to drift elsewhere momentarily. They were surrounded by ruins and oblivion- to think the area had once been intact and sanctified by a group of fanatical cultists. "They're all dead. He's dead. Wake the fuck up and move on, mom." Never had she raised her tone of voice with her parent until now. Her comments weren't tossed around without remorse; grief was ever present on her face.

Her sentence had been cut short, silenced by the unspoken menace thrown her way. It only served as confirmation of her mother's psychic condition. Direct confrontation had never been her preferred method of choice. Lillith had always preyed on the helpless and never on healthy, capable wolves. Manipulation had always been her conventional technique. Either she wasn't thinking straight or she believed her daughter to be weak. The last-mentioned alternative pleased her none. It was downright insulting and it made her blood boil. "And what are you going to do? Harm your own flesh and blood?"



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