#myrkvae

𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈  𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴  𝚂𝙷𝙴  𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳  𝚃𝙾  𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙺  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚁  𝙸𝙽  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂  𝙰𝙽𝙳  𝚂𝙴𝙴  𝙸𝚃  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙸𝚃  𝚆𝙰𝚂 ;   a frightened child’s desperate need to grasp at a chance for redemption. survival.   it felt like it had been years since that night.   when her lungs had been seared inside and out by the treacherous swell of the sea.   as usual, the waves had kept her up all night.   they crashed against the shoreline like a man seeking vengeance, threatening her in her quaint, wooden hovel with relentless ferver  -  until sleep finally claimed her.   a few hours, at most.   nothing substantial. 

an hour had passed and the chill had already seeped through her furry greatcoat and the tunic she wore beneath it, freezing her to the bone.   but morning brought its gifts, like the hungry fawn urging its mother to find shoots beneath the snow.   spring brought life to some and death to most.   astrid, too, could be among those many if she failed to secure food. 

and while she was the hunter, somewhere in the dark canopy, she felt eyes on her.   like the stare of starving crows waiting to pick her clean once she’d finally given up.  or a predator waiting to strike and wear her like a prize.   it made her hair stand on end, made her stomach swell and twist like a rope tangled in knots.

her finger wound tight ‘round the thread of a trap that had been snagged and released the night before.     “  damn,  ”     cursing under her breath when she caught sight of the white fur-tufts poking out of the moss.  a rabbit, and a clever one at that, evading her for the fifth time in same week.  at this point, she was willing to concede.   the bastard was crafty, and somehow garnered her respect.  

again, the feeling of eyes.   she stayed crouched with her hands on the floor, eyes darting from root to trunk of every tree around her.   just the skinner playing tricks on her again, she would bet.  the man never liked her.   but never would she have guessed him the type to try and frighten her.   she was an outlaw, the same as them.  a moving target for anyone willing to try and claim her honor.

“   𝚂𝙾  𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻,   𝚂𝙾  𝙳𝙰𝚁𝙺  𝙰𝙻𝙻  𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁  𝙴𝚄𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴 ...   ”   before his eyes came a flash of lighting through the broken window pane, and the gentle song of thunder followed.   the gods made known their wailing lament through the spattering droplets and broken glass spent in shards across the floor.  the creature’s claws beckon closer the being of death and decay  ;   so similar,  and still so completely unique from one another.   where one was once a god fallen into rot,  the other was born from festering divine.   IT WAS A QUAINT AWAKENING TO THE TRUTH;  there stood one that,  over centuries,  one who called himself a dracula might have bent at his knees to worship the ground of the famed trickster god.  that one so named for the dragon,  a dracula,  would give up his worship of christ to learn the ancient magicks that were swallowed by the wily serpent’s tongue.  

Purrrfect. When you’re not on edge, you’re taking up too much space. 

          Hard as she may be trying to keep from getting herself killed in this situation, curiosity still seems to get the better of her. Not always one to think first, talk later. Oft the other way around. Though not much information was available to her, from what she  had discovered-- most of which from pop culture and mixing logic based off various films, books, and buzzfeed articles, there are certain fractions about the-- she’d consider him a mass-murdering asshole. Jane (or, what’s left of her) seemed to consider him husband material, least she married him from Darcy’s knowledge. A lot of those quiz-makers on buzzfeed seemed to view him as some sort of sex symbol-- Darcy can’t see it. Looked like an average alien from Avatar to her, except...