He was calm. Oddly calm. Though that never meant much when in regards to Dovev.
He would explode at a moment's notice.
He could be a tender lover, soft touches and sweet murmurs, so unlike the hard jagged bone that shielded him. And the moment he's set off, he could be total destruction. Take down entire kingdoms, call the gods down to earth to play.
He'd be the last one standing when all the giants fell.
So, yeah. He was calm.
He wasn't particularly seething beneath the skin, though his black eyes held a chaotic tempest in them. As always, an explosion waiting to happen. One spark of a match and it was all game with him as the victor, the last one standing. Each deliberate step took him further, put more of the world in danger. Maybe that's why Violence had taken an interest in him. An unbreakable toy with destruction in his wake.
This did look a little like where he'd been when Violence held him. Those memories he'd had no issue recalling. He didn't have the typical reaction to being possessed and puppeted around either, forced to do someone's bidding without any free will. Fight and panic and survive, right? Nah.
He fuckin relished in it.
Take me and do what you will.
But there hadn't been a body on the ground last time, though. Not one he or Violence hadn't put there themselves. And yet there she was just laying there at the river's edge. It almost tickled at a different memory, one certainly long lost to him now.
He could remember thinking of her color.
That it was close.. but wasn't quite right.
But that she was close enough.
And walking to her beautiful, resting body as he did now. Towering over her and eyeing her silently as he did now, admiring these precious things he shouldn't touch. Ignoring that thought, and brushing her hair from her face so gently anyway, as he did now, leaving behind a smear of blood in the tender passing of his muzzle over her perfect skin. A stain of deep red over her rich mahogany.
And in her quiet, falling for her.
She had been awake last time, stirred at his touch. And he'd pushed her down so slowly, so gently and firmly and curled around her like she was his. But she was. She was his. She still is. He can feel that she is, feel the fraying thread he'd chewed at so many times to free her from him. Why couldn't she understand he was so bad for her?
Maybe she did now.
But she was still his.
And he was still curled around her where he belonged.
Maybe this time... it was fortunate.
That he'd already forgotten their last meeting.
Run, Love.
I'm the truth that you're afraid of.
