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pass is sharpie
Posted on September 11, 2014 by sharpie
i dont wanna be your vessel anymore
She feels his pain, his despair; the memories that flood him and pollute his mind are hers now as well, as she catches flashes of the mangled figures. Corwin, they scream; she deduces that this is his name by the growing disgust and discomfort she can feel attacking him â€" his entire body is tensing for her, shuddering and tightening and clinching. Ah, the set of his jaw is tight and she is comfortable in this frenzied state. No movements, no fighting or cursing but still there is a certain tension to the air as if at any moment the world might crumble down around them (or him).
She has caused this, and it is great. She has brought these memories, suppressed so deeply in the poor man's mind, squirming to the surface. What more can she do? Already she is feeding from the edges of his fear, though the sustenance is weak at best.
In slumber, she knows it will be better. More fulfilling; when the nightmares take hold and he cannot escape, she will revel in the taste of his fear.
And oh, how it will fill her, how it will satisfy the demon that curdles her gut and cries for nourishment.
Her audits flicker towards him as he speaks now, just a simple word that confirms what she's already assumed â€" his name is Corwin, and it is a lovely name for one such as him. "Corwin; and how did you come to Ferraden, to this â€" " Her words are cut short by Pheobe's arrival; Her head swings towards the sound of the pregnant female and a feral growl of annoyance curls in the back of her throat at being interrupted, but it is soon gone and replaced by a half-smile, a malicious thing on the face of this wraith.
"Yes, Pheobe. I've found you after a...mild detour." She chuckles to herself, an inside joke that only she is in on. Yes, she'd found Ferraden after a brief stint in Elysium fields, where she'd devoured the rotting corpse of a fellow equine. They hadn't been dead longer than a week when the scent stopped her in her path to Ferraden. But the taste was still exquisite, a perfect mixture of rot and crunch and sour flesh and even now her mouth is watering and she is salivating despite the fact that her muzzle is still pressed firmly to Corwin. For a moment, his fresh salty scent is forgotten, replaced with the memory of dead things that are so much more alluring to her.
But then it is gone and she is back and her eyes roll from one to the other as she pulls back just slightly from Corwin's nape. She allows her maw to hover inches from his flesh and she can still feel her hot breath bouncing back at her after colliding with his skin.
"Assassin Corwin? How impressive. You must teach me something, some of your assassin tricks..." Her voice is a purr, a gentle caressing sound that seems foreign sliding from such cursed lips. Surprisingly, she has a rather sweet voice when it is not mangled by the growling so common of her. But alas, it is all a façade; there is nothing sweet in her. There is nothing, nothing but death and the means to bring it.
"You're a bit bigger now than the last time I saw you, darling. When's the little creature due?" Her sing-song voice pipes up, addressing Pheobe though her eyes are still locked on Corwin, on the lovely curvature of his withers as they connect nape to back. She wants to touch him again, but she fears that too much of this will drive him away and she doesn't want that. She likes to keep her food close â€" easier access that way.
To remove temptation she pulls away and locks eyes with him as a sinister grin slides across her lips, once again revealing teeth like daggers. Ah, he his a lovely creature; full of promise and full of food for this malnourished monster of a woman.
For a moment, she almost feels sorry for him.
Almost.
She has caused this, and it is great. She has brought these memories, suppressed so deeply in the poor man's mind, squirming to the surface. What more can she do? Already she is feeding from the edges of his fear, though the sustenance is weak at best.
In slumber, she knows it will be better. More fulfilling; when the nightmares take hold and he cannot escape, she will revel in the taste of his fear.
And oh, how it will fill her, how it will satisfy the demon that curdles her gut and cries for nourishment.
Her audits flicker towards him as he speaks now, just a simple word that confirms what she's already assumed â€" his name is Corwin, and it is a lovely name for one such as him. "Corwin; and how did you come to Ferraden, to this â€" " Her words are cut short by Pheobe's arrival; Her head swings towards the sound of the pregnant female and a feral growl of annoyance curls in the back of her throat at being interrupted, but it is soon gone and replaced by a half-smile, a malicious thing on the face of this wraith.
"Yes, Pheobe. I've found you after a...mild detour." She chuckles to herself, an inside joke that only she is in on. Yes, she'd found Ferraden after a brief stint in Elysium fields, where she'd devoured the rotting corpse of a fellow equine. They hadn't been dead longer than a week when the scent stopped her in her path to Ferraden. But the taste was still exquisite, a perfect mixture of rot and crunch and sour flesh and even now her mouth is watering and she is salivating despite the fact that her muzzle is still pressed firmly to Corwin. For a moment, his fresh salty scent is forgotten, replaced with the memory of dead things that are so much more alluring to her.
But then it is gone and she is back and her eyes roll from one to the other as she pulls back just slightly from Corwin's nape. She allows her maw to hover inches from his flesh and she can still feel her hot breath bouncing back at her after colliding with his skin.
"Assassin Corwin? How impressive. You must teach me something, some of your assassin tricks..." Her voice is a purr, a gentle caressing sound that seems foreign sliding from such cursed lips. Surprisingly, she has a rather sweet voice when it is not mangled by the growling so common of her. But alas, it is all a façade; there is nothing sweet in her. There is nothing, nothing but death and the means to bring it.
"You're a bit bigger now than the last time I saw you, darling. When's the little creature due?" Her sing-song voice pipes up, addressing Pheobe though her eyes are still locked on Corwin, on the lovely curvature of his withers as they connect nape to back. She wants to touch him again, but she fears that too much of this will drive him away and she doesn't want that. She likes to keep her food close â€" easier access that way.
To remove temptation she pulls away and locks eyes with him as a sinister grin slides across her lips, once again revealing teeth like daggers. Ah, he his a lovely creature; full of promise and full of food for this malnourished monster of a woman.
For a moment, she almost feels sorry for him.
Almost.
JOHNATHAN BLAKE HOLMES