I'm n(o)t scared? [ joining ]

[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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Virgil's return to her home was still fresh, but the whelp was quick to her usual self: beyond the border of carcasses, there was another kind of rot that called to her: her father's home was slowly crumbling in of itself and Virgil saw no better place to plant a new garden. Going towards the shambling marketplace that once held during the beginning of the pitt- was now burned embers: but  Virgil found her way scavenging flower seeds from the ashes: the scent clung to her now, even flashes of grey hinted at her mane as the hyena wolf bound towards the group: two a stranger and the other's entire presence an enthralling call to Virgil's senses. The sacrifice was large, a leader even in his martyrdom: Virgil felt a swell of emotion... devotion? may-haps- stutter into a bafflement at tone of the stranger's words. Silentgrave was going to eat the panther? It wouldn't be the first panther from what she had heard.

"the sacrifice's hunger is insatiable", Virgil's tone was grave when she spoke, what was normally a drifting voice sounded like gravel- a growl from inhaling the smoke and ash of the far off burnt city. Her words were one of warning, but there was a sparkle of interest in her eye as she regarded the two strangers, excitement bubbling from the witch's features.

"All gods call for some sort of sacrifice," And now, Silent grave wasn't a god- not in the eyes of Virgil: he had never laid eyes on a god, but she could feel them. Deep slumbering under the pitt and in sussuro's shadow. Both spoke in the silence: screamed in her ears and called for death- blood- penance for the sight and ears to hear them. Gods were demanding things. Silentgrave asked for nothing from them: his shadow was quiet as the grave- if he were a god it was a different kind. Virgil wondered on asking. "either a contract in blood or an offering in one. Anything less will foretell you're own demise" It was fact: spoken in the way the child defined the world of gods and death, blood and contracts were tricky. always have been- mother warned her against one until she was more than five moons old- she was almost six moons old- maybe then.

" if you are here to join, Methinks you're not food; or at least, not allowed to be food. That's how it works. Unless you're a bloodless- can you prove yourself stranger?"