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What had she done to deserve this? Always, she wallowed. Always, she pitied herself. She was a fucking princess, but her dresses were torn and her skin dirty. So pretty and so delicate, only looking into her eyes would reveal the monster that she truly was—that she had become. The bottle lay smashed—her spiders creeping and crawling away across the concrete. She cried out, shrieking, falling to her hands and knees in an attempt to collect them up, but a shard of glass drove itself into her finger and pain rushed forth. Clutching her wrist, blood streaming from the wound, she stared, transfixed, as though unable to comprehend any longer what physical injury was.
Bruises lay like blush across her pale skin beneath the coat of soft, velveteen hair, and she moved slowly, languidly, pitying her damaged form. Only the most wicked treatment could soften her heart, drawing out love and desire in the darkest of manners. Only brutality could earn her affection. Again, though, she was alone, and like a ghost in the night she crouched, unmoving, peering at the black shadow that had begun to trickle down the pale surface of her arm—the black dress that she wore spilling out across the pavement like ink made of lace and ribbon.
Solitude cloaked him, the night whispering seductions within listening ears. Cool fingers traced loving patterns through the man's dark pelt; claiming him as a lover might. He was born of the wickedness of this night-time temptress, a creature spawned from the loins of a mad prince, a King to rule a long line of Kings. He was Narcissus; Arrogant and vain, merciless in his pursuit of beauty and perfection. His people loved and loathed him, with the keen blade of manipulation carving their loyalties out of stone. He was the puppeteer - The man behind the orchestra, the creator of a cacophony of chaos, complex and infinitely beautiful to eyes of acid green.
He was the peacock monarch, and his reptilian heart was adorned with a crown of thistle and thorn.
The cool night air soothed the manic beat of his mind, a mechanical genius that bordered frequently on the edge of the madness his father had claimed. So sharp was that mind, so constantly in motion, that solitude such as this was needed for it's repair - Else, undoubtedly, it would have been run to ruins a long time ago. Sirius wandered without purpose, allowing the thoughts within his mind to align themselves to various piles, to neaten themselves in an array of categorical storage, on which to dwell at a later time. Plots and plans, schemes and studies, all manner of thoughts that whizzed mercilessly through the chambers of the King's wicked mind were allowed, gradually, to rest into stillness. Still his paws carried him, and without conscious effort they were the paws of a beast, a creature changed into his most frightening shape.
His Secui form was indeed a beastly sight - The lean, angular handsomeness that usually adorned his features was warped into hellish nightmare. Thick, dark fur spilled over a hugely tall form that appeared, in the brittle half-light, to be almost emaciated. Ribs protruded, hip-bones pronounced; Snaggle-teeth grown longer till yellowed sabers peeked over a tufted chin. Large, sharp ears lifted to a cry in the distance; Unhindered by his mind, the predator loved into an effortless, silent lope, the smoothness of the action hindered only by a slight favoring of one fore-leg, where a deep gash had yet to fully heal over and remained as an angry reddened scar.
The scent of blood filled his lungs as he neared the source of the cry, and the beast's black lips quivered over his yellow fangs. Glittering, poisonous eyes glowed from the shadows, parting to allow him to emerge into the scene. A girl was spilled across the hard ground; His long nails clicked on the pavement as the Hunter approached. Narrowed pupils drank in her form, hungrily; Seeking the blood that ran in a small inky rivulet down her pale arm. "Little princess," Came the hiss of the serpent, a voice that oozed with venom and charm, alluring and deadly in it's own right, "Little princess, why did you cry?" The beast lurked beyond the circle made by her dress, where shadows could still cling to his dark pelt.
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She was the little girl lost in the forest, crouched between the trees as the Wolf drew nearer. The hair along her neck lifted, warning her, and she turned her head languidly, drinking in the sight of the beast. He spoke, his voice speaking of ill-will, and a delicious chill swept throughout her body, enticing her. This monster was beautiful. He wished to bring her harm, that much was evident, and she welcomed him with open arms. Tempting fate, daring destiny to tear her to bodily shreds, she walked along the knife's edge without hesitation.
Always, creatures were born egotistical, refusing to accept that they should ever die, or come to harm, but Elvira dreamed only of tempting this, intentionally throwing herself into the path of the train just to see what would happen. Misery delighted her, the deranged, twisted monstrosity that she was. "I hurt myself," she purred, holding out her hand for him to see.
She turned to him, and her eyes were unlike anything the Hunter had ever seen; Such luminous yellow, so unbearably shallow and cruel. He had never witnessed a gaze so spectacular - As shadows fell across the girl's face, they became black, inky pools, tracking his movement.
A pale limb was held out towards his seeking nose, and again the scent of blood stirred long-denied thrills within his veins. A voice came from the parted maw of the angel, and it curled within his ears like the tempting song of a siren, luring the monster closer. Huge paws rose and fell, thick pads crushing small particles of glass beneath their spread weight. "Silly girl," His tone was chiding, but thick with desire, heavy and ladened with the silky music of death. The words rasped around enlarged fangs, and he was his father's son, after all. Pupils engorged themselves greedily on the half-light, a flat, abysmal mass that swelled until only a thin rim of acidic olive remained.
He approached that offered limb, unable to resist the scent of her, black lips pulled up in a half-grimace, half-grin; Wicked and wide, a Cheshire smile that displayed rows of glittering fangs. Then, with much false tenderness, a salmon tongue appeared to lap at the slow black river that trickled down her arm.
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She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, tilting her head ever so slightly to one side, showing just the faintest glimpse of the soft, pale fur that covered her throat. His voice was silk, spreading across her skin like the finest of garments, so lush and enticing. She wished to wear his thinly veiled violence, her body aching for his touch, craving a blow to send her sprawling to the concrete like a crumpled, broken doll.
Slowly, her eyes opened, finding him close, feeling his tongue against the stream of blood that marred her pale arm. She smiled, enticing, wicked, drawing him in like the spiders she had lost would draw their prey toward them. Those vicious, yellow eyes watched his every movement greedily, drinking in the sight of him.
pp, lemme know if you want it changed >> wordcount: -
She was the succulent nighttime, the voice that cooed to his sickly soul on a brittle dark wind. There was a place within him where another creature lived, where even this beast succumbed to the impurity within his foul bloodlines; Where a mad prince cackled within the chasm of his very being. There was an ancient wickedness to him, a taint that rotted behind the facade of genius. And she, this voice on the wind, she sang to it - She sang to it a lullaby most cruel.
It awoke within him to taste the rust of her blood on his tongue, the warmth of her wrist as his rough tongue rasped against it. The thin rim of toxic acid that lined his swollen pupils glittered with a feverish brightness, a feralness that spoke of the reaper that stirred within him. The licking became harsher, pushing against her arm, and his yellow teeth drew nearer until the limb itself was held in huge secui jaws.
The tips to large, stained fangs rested gently against the pale flesh of her forearm, the grasp restrained from puncturing her skin. The beast wondered if he could crunch through her very bone - Wondered if he wanted to. Each breath rasped in a continual growl from his throat, a purring sound that reverberated deep within the giant, spectral creature's chest and through the entirety of his dark, shadowy body. His father had enjoyed such mayhem as this, but he was a different breed of monster, bound only by the same brutal and primal desires of his kind. Without intention, his shape began to change, back into a form most familiar to the devil; A form with hands, hands with which to teach her, or break her.
