WHEN HEVEN SHOWS IT'S TEETH . hunt

[VIRGIL M.]

[table][tr][td]

[/td][td]

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

[/td][/tr][/table]

The words echoed into her, something ancient and asleep lay under her feet suddenly aware in a way that made Virgil feel as though she stared deep into the pits of an entity who’s name was forgotten, death, dread, rot- called to her now, it called for more than the sacrifice, it called for sustenance, and it was an order to all; the ignorance of it’s order on promised your own corpse to it’s hungry maw.

In the silence of a shrewd crumbling pile of corpses, Virgil shuddered as something came awake in her, the presence took hold, and otherness that possessed this land filled her fragile form with power, euphoria, pure ecstasy and rush of such a feeling of death- Virgil tasted the blood on her tongue, the maggots feasting along her skin and their single minded love. virgil wondered if this was the feeling that kept worm attached to them; the single-minded spite to be clean developed into something more, raw, rotting, a living brood of insects to build their own ruin under his flesh. Virgil shuddered, equal disgust and awe. Horror and knowing.

Feed it, and you will be rewarded-

And just as virgil rose, she fell. The feeling of all that power escaping her in as quick as a bling, the pup's body unmade by such power- fell to the earth with weakness. Her moral body shuddering and tensing; limbs in complete disobedience. Her bones felt like static rattling under her skin, unstable, and large amounts of fur clumped down, sticky with the bodies of her father’s old home. She could only think of the fleeting amounts of power, just a taste of such a greedy heady thing filling her with it’s own aura was enough to send her through the aftershocks of one of the worst withdrawal known. Worse than the hunger of her innocence, before that sole corpse next to her became flesh and when there was only the sense of milk on her tongue.

A boon for a boon

And what kind of boon was this? It was trying to create a need in her, trying to create a reliance and Virgil shook her head; temptation was strong. The feeling was addicting, a drug: in the presence of a god of such ruined landscape calling to her- made her feel worth it. even now it urged her, the feeling digging into her skin and borrowing deep into her veins. She craved power, she wanted more.

But a boon, could be anything: virgil reckoned, anything at all, and something in her giggled high and ecstatic at the thought. She could ask for anything, for a power; a magik of her own. She could- she could cancel the gift if she wanted to; oh, she could ask for anything

Slowly, she rose up, fur matted and stench of rot surrounded her. Botflies picked the tender flesh that tangle in her main, sickly green eyes twisted out towards the desert; slowly she began her walk deeper into the lands of sand: a home forgotten, a place left for the rotting thing that lived under the pitt, now it’s scent intermingled with her’s. a ghoulish delight that gave her crooked grin it’s razor fangs.

As the sun set, mother’s presence never felt so welcoming.

…

It took time to find her prey, the desert was barren even in the dawn of night, but as a maggot felt into the dirt; no longer gripping at her pelt, Virgil went to crush it, distain and disgust in her sickly hues did she spot a burrow. The sounds of soft snores stilled her, moving closer around the entrance; she watched-felt it move the scent of rot was a sweet smell to most in the desert. It promised food, It promised sustenance. And to her It was the perfect bait.

She waited for it to venture out of it’s burrow, a badger if the long stripped back were anything to go by. It snuffed the air and turned to face her; the hyena mix watching the other with wide eyes as she descended- blocking the way of escape back into it’s den.

Then, it were time.

The battle were quick, a tumble as the badger grappled her down and away- virgil gnashing drooling teeth and ripping from the back of thick hide and flinging it further out, running to pounce, to maim: utterly ruthless as the badger started to shriek, high pitched wins and giggles escaped her own maw as they traded blows. Vicious and bloody dusk kicked, and ever under them the land called for blood

…

It was in the stillness, of early morning, she could be found; dragging the cooling body of her prize. A sluggish cut along her ear making the sounds of buzzing flies echo into a ring inside her own head. Blood watered her mouth with it’s ichor she felt the temptation to take- to feast rise. But it was only the echo of the voice- as mother’s presence fell with the sun that stilled her hungry jaws from engorging her found prey.

A boon for a boon