violence
God, but she loves this.
She is a taker, by nature, inherent selfish and wanting. So wanting. She wants power, wants magic, wants to be terrible and terrifying, wants them to kneel before her.
They are easy enough to take, the monsters. These fleeting moments where she becomes, wrapped around the folds of their minds, taking in the heightened senses, the strange body, using them for whatever whims she dreams.
It’s fleeting. It’s always fleeting. But god, the first few seconds are so good.
The hunt is good – quick – over, and there’s blood on her - their - mouth, and she is savoring it, enjoying herself, when a thought comes through, cold and articulate.
I do not trust you.
And then she is flung from her own sister’s mind, projected like vomit, and suddenly she is back in her own body, stunned, and that same monster she had coveted lunging towards her.
Without thinking, she steps back, hurls her bone-thing’s skull forward, its wolf-teeth bared in long-dead savagery. She pieces it together, quick, and it paces in front of her, a protector.
“Oh, sister, we were having such a good time,” she sighs, “but if you touch me, I’ll have to punish you. You’re being a very bad girl, you know.”
I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips
