Pay no mind you the rabble . joining / introduction

[VIRGIL M.]

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XVIII - THE MOON

a monument dreams and fantasies come to life, the representation of instincts often left suppressed and a knock into our subconscious.  Virgil of the pitt is a study in beauty: a perfect understanding of that which terrifies you, a perfect picturesque of horror and delight

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intuition, Virgil knew, was a delicate thing. trust in it and you can open up something dark and terrible and slippery with quick decisions and playing catch up- recovering from the same split-second decisions mistakes you make with it. intuition was a double edged sword for the untrained, half-right and half unrestrained lethally wrong. in the desert it lead to dying, it lead to dying a painful death. drinking cactus juice, battling pit vipers or black- mawed snakes- it all was levels of dead, slow and torturous.

insticts came after, the fight-or-flight, driving needneedneed. it told virgil to fight for her food, told her to retreat towards the shade. it looked at a rotting corpse with milk staining her maw and told her to consume it told her to dominate that which would not bow to her whims- her world: and her instincts saw such defiance and told her to deface it, consume it and take the animal pleasure of dominating that which would not b o w.

mother told her it was the combination of both that created the beasts of the world. who would roam in forever torment, thriving in their short pitiful lives and would die- pitiful, incomplete. they would return to their dens and never come back to face the morning sun; would no longer see the sands or taste the chilly breath of the coming winter in the water. they were nothing more than beasts and the cycle would continue: such beasts were no more than prey to her, to her and mother. Intuition and instinct driven things fell so easily. no more use than rotting for the grub or a compost for the soil of the superior, her children.

the sight curse ; girft mother had bestowed upon her was the difference. the stench of rot, rolling and spreading as the sun would slowly rise and consume the night; Virgil knew that the pitt would wake, would spot the decimation vir had left of her father's blood-den and know of the thief. it was only a matter of time before she was found- before she was had. it was the gift mother gave her that gave her her edge. cunning little ears twitched at the rustle of sand without a pitch in wind. Virgil knew, someone stood, tred the sands and they made their way towards her.

Virgil took to the air, her nose high in the sky and she inhaled nothing but rot. Nauseating pungent beasts clung to this land and bled into it, fed it in a way that was unholy, savage- bestial. Virgil wanted to turn, to flee to return home but the calling of home, the need to return- the instinct that tugged at her with maggots and rot and unholy- divine savagery-

called her deeper into the pit.

[glow=#cc3232,2,300]so come home[/glow] the red god called to her, hungry and yearning and in a voice so familiar-

her indecision was her plague, and oil slunk into her ears and dolled along her brain, slogging through it sickly eyes stared down at the vile infested- thing that dare speak to her. a beast her intuition told her ; p r e y her instincts sang lowly. [glow=#cc3232,2,300]mine[/glow] the voice, new and loud and booming into her mind called. bathed in blood and savage and free it called to her, this beast called to her and crooned sickly sweet nothing. it spoke on the behalf of it. spoke through this beast, the red seeped into her vision and she felt drunk with the lust to maul, to shred.

along the corpse wall, rotting piles of flesh stood Virgil, maggots swam between her toes as her claws sank further into the decaying-death-wailing echos of static that fell to white noise. along the wall the resemblance was clear, in the dawn of a new light Virgil cocked her head. Sickly hued eyes narrowed on the beast before her and she knew-

your father is a dead thing, little moon mother had crooned to her once, grinding bone into dust for their own want. a rotting corpse just wasting for the next hit to be fatal; and looking, truly seeing she could see it. Her father was a dead thing, no longer even fit to be a beast. something other, something new and it t a u n t e d her.

she broker her silence, her vigil and her daze in equal measure a slight cock into her head completely bestial, and hoped he saw the tang of blood lust and shook with the fear. knowing that even if he didn't, wouldn't look at her with nothing less of devoption of reverence virgil took the oath to promise: oh, he will

"what is there to stay for?" a question already decided for her, and the slow matching grin along her maw told this "what kind of place smells of rot and death, could call such a power- home?"