| He has only known the hunger. A hunger that that carves ever little piece of sustenance it requires. It is selfish and arduous for anything that it desires for. He gives in to the demands, easily, but also because it is all that he knows and understands. The hunger within him feeds upon the weak, the sickly, and those that may cross the darkness. He is at the bend and will, values and moral codes do not apply to him and never will. He finds silence in the hunger as he stands before her, watching carefully with red and yellow glowing eyes. There is somewhat satisfaction he feels coming from the hunger, almost as if he can relax around this strange—yet familiar individual before him. A clash and a clatter draw his attention to the bone-creature. He is consumed by the bone-creature, curious as to what exactly she is as well. His lips turn into a soft, curious smile at her then as she turns back after setting her bones back together. The girl and her bones. “Violence,” he tastes the name after she introduces herself. “Violence and her bones,” he clicks his tongue softly, saliva filling his mouth as his taste the name again. It is filled with malice and chaos. He likes it. She takes a step forward. He already can sense the braveness in her. The way she freely moved about in the meadow with her bones told him a story of one that had strength and control. Perhaps he is so easily drawn to distinct creatures, a heart of a servant always looking to serve a master. He does not draw away as she comes forward, closer, not afraid of him snapping out and tearing her apart. No, she takes a risk—god knows he probably is already wrapped around her, the way she controls her bone so easily he probably is already under her spell. “Some say I am the devil, some say I am angel,” he says as his soft smirk grows fuller now across his muzzle, “but he named me Sinner.” A fitting name for many of the tasks he was meant to complete. A message, an omen, a savior. He was all of it. |
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Most likely always in his hellhound form