NIGHT OF THE HUNTER // AGATHE

[GABRIEL]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Bastille. Moon. Agathe and Titan. Their names pressed red into the backs of his eyes, and he kept thinking he should have worked faster in the beginning, or that he should have found...other means of setting his cover aside, because the deaths deteriorated Gabriel and worsened Reaper's hunger. They were not as separated as they should be. It was too late to reverse the decay, but he could still finish the job, and then- then he could rest, escape this never-ending cyclical insatiability that simultaneously filled and emptied his belly. It gnawed at him, chewing the flesh from his bones and suckling the marrow. Control was a distant concept. Reaper held a frayed leash, an illusion of control that snapped so easily whenever a bit of blood sweetened the air. He hated it. He was a professional, he was calculating- he was not dominated by some bloodlust fueled frenzy.

But he was. And maybe she could stem the tide for a little longer. Maybe there was a temporary peace in her broken body.

He left Agathe a note, as he had Moon. Asked her to meet him at Lazarus' murder scene. Reaper did not believe she would have thought it authentic if Gabriel arranged a meeting in a less haunted location, because where Reaper was death, Gabriel was the trailing aftermath, the mourning. He was the specter drifting the land.

The massive lion shrouded himself, swallowing the saliva already flooding his mouth. In attempting to ignore the hunger, he fixated on it. Red on his claws, his teeth, sliding over his tongue so decadently. Savory sweet. Flesh in his belly.
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