#bastardsbane

     ANOTHER MIDNIGHT STROLL encouraged by the clutches of insomnia . ella doesn’t mind it much , better than lying in bed tossing and turning , never finding the solace in sleep . the fresh night air is crisp and a little chilly but it is refreshing perhaps enough to indulge in some early morning writing when she returns home .

     As expected the park is empty , street lamps flickering , illuminating stone pavement and wooden benches though a few minutes into the walk she spots another close by .   ‘ hello ... ’   it is unclear what has pushed her to speak up to the stranger but at this odd time of night to be out here — she truly thought she’d be the only one .

she saw what had been done to them . the twisting bodies , expressions perpetually trapped in features torn at the hinges , with unseeing , darting eyes and mouths ever gasping for oxygen . she has seen the madness , the senseless thirst for carnage in the infected , black fingernails clawing into flesh and blunt teeth ripping skin from bone . a tiny village she had passed through a few times before ; flattering that they chose to call for her in their time of tragedy . 

evil spirits , curses , demons --- no longer as feared as in eras past . perhaps this only makes them stronger , as they tremble in rage to be recognized . in any case , though science may reject the very existence of such beings , brushing aside such beliefs as simple folly , the villagers had been smart to call for her . to assume that the supernatural had a hand in the nameless plague perhaps set the village on a course set for a fate of fortune , where further bloodshed can be prevented . 

but it took a single attempt at exorcism for the shamaness to remember , once again , some part of her “ soul ” still resides in her human body . poison coursed through her veins immediately , the stench of rotting flesh and black tar causing her to cease all activities . she found this somewhat interesting , deeply unpleasant yes , but something new . and following the whispers of the fearful villages , she turned her gaze upon the moonlit forest , carrying nothing more than a lantern . after all , the scrolls and instruments she uses for her rituals are little more than decoration to keep up appearances ; if she had a chance to consume the fiend , she would be able to do so without the weight of her ornaments . and surely enough , she came into view . frigid eyes and low lashes illuminated by her lantern , she allows herself a few footsteps closer ; this is as far as she’ll go , as close as she’ll come . ❝ the villagers are ... a bit upset with you , witch . you may have had a BIT too much fun for their taste . ❞  

          a flicker of a shadow;  or so he believed that was what he saw.  he felt torn;  part of him told him that it was simply his  lack of sleep  playing tricks on his mind.  the other part, the more  primal part,  told him that his eyes were not deceiving him, not if he were to take into the account the  peculiar scent  that hanged in the air.  woman, inhuman.  he could tell as much.

he  HUNGERS.  the  growling  in  his  belly,  banging  against  his  insides,  screaming,  LET  ME  OUT,  LET  ME  OUT,  LET  ME  OUT  !  would  a  wolf  shred  his  stomach  as  it  had  the  mother  so  many  years  ago  ?  he’s  practically  drooling  (  this  thing  inside  him,  it’s  starving,  gnawing  on  his  bones,  his  organs  /  GET  IT  OUT  GET  IT  OUT  GET  IT  OUT  GET  IT  OU   —  )  as  he  stares  at  her,  the  god,  the  one  who  begs  him  for  death  when  so  many  have  begged  for  life.  it  makes  his  stomach  growl.  don’t  sink  your  claws  into  him,  terror  ;  he’ll  come  back,  HUNGRIER  :  you  can’t  keep  a  wolf  fed.  LIKE  STOMACH  ACID,  HIS  CHAOS  WOULD  DEVOUR  HER. 

“  get  away  from  me,  “  snarls  the  wolf,  spit  dripping  from  his  lips  :  he  wants  so  badly  to  eat  her  up,  tear  her  to  pieces.  NOT  HER,  NOT  HER,  NOT  HER  /  he’s  going  to  puke  or  starve  or  collapse,  ATLAS,  GET  OFF  THIS  BOY’S  SHOULDERS.  “  i  won’t  hurt  you.  i  can’t  hurt  you,  “  hysterical  :  eyes  wild  like  a  cornered  beast.  he  won’t  give  her  what  she  wants,  but  for  her  or  for  himself  ?  RAVENOUS  is  the  wolf.  flee  before  he  eats  you. 

blood  sits  heavy  on  his  tongue  ;  the  metallic  flavor,  staining  his  teeth,  his  tongue.  he  spits  it  to  the  floor,  bile  mixed  with  sanguine  /  AH,  BUT  SUCH  IS  LIFE  !  his  hands  are  rubbed  raw,  rivulets  of  crimson  running  races  down  his  skin  and  skin  peeling . a  mess,  a  mess,  always  a  mess  after  the  hunt  !  the  taste  of  the  hunt  is  still  in  his  mouth,  the  fall  of  gods  at  his  fingertips  :  she’s  here,  he  knows.  the  devil  ‘  pon  his  shoulder,  the  whisper  in  his  ear  /  one  of  two,  at  least. 

“  what  do  you  want,  she  -  wolf  ?  i’m  tired.  i’m  going  to  go  find  a  nice  roof  to  curl  up  under,  “  yet  he  does  not  move,  instead  watches  her  with  the  gaze  of  a  starved  animal  /  perhaps  he  was  one.  PANDEMONIUM  bubbles  up  underneath  his  skin,  the  sensation  makes  him  nauseous,  the  need  to  vomit  swelling  quickly  but  swallowed  back  down  just  as  fast.  thump  goes  the  boots  against  stone,  briefly  stooping  to  retrieve  a  blade,  flicking  it  to  shake  off  excess  ichor. 

“  you  know,  i  can’t  kill  you,  but  i  think  there  are  fates  worse  than  death.  would  you  agree  ?  “  to  be  the  pawn  of  a  god  was  not  his  desire,  but  the  very  opposite.  HE  BOILED. 

               “      you mere presence here seems to be frightening my animals.      ”      the wolf said calmly to the woman,      tiptoeing circles around her,      almost seeming to be trying to size her up,      but not quite given the distance between them.      a girl knew when something was over her head,      instincts told her to keep her distance lest she wind up dead where she stood. 

               not that that was much of a problem-      it wouldn’t be the first reincarnation she would need to perform,      but the process was a bit much for her and she would really enjoy not dying again.      “      what are you exactly   ?      why do they cower   ?      ”

the  fox  looms  over  her,  amber  peering  downwards  to  match  her  own  gaze  ;  scrutiny  lurks  within  framed  eyes  /  his  neck  itches,  itches,  itches  !  the  guillotine  lurking  always  over  his  head,  the  almighty  gods  dancing  on  his  grave  /  he  blinks  at  her,  lips  opening  and  closing  like  those  of  a  suffocating  fish.  nonetheless,  a  smile  creeps  up  onto  the  fox’s  maw,  and  then  he  laughs.  bone  rattling,  the  death  spasms  of  a  trickster. 

“  i  don’t  believe  we’ve  met.  in  this  life  or  the  previous.  ”