I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust
How long has it been since it last fucked and saw a product of its acts? Children are a figment of its memory ever since the twins that murdered their mother. It wonders if its children and grandchildren are still running rampant somewhere, watered down by lowly bloodlines outside its own. It wonders if there is still a legacy left in the Tundra or the Chamber because it certainly hasn’t scoured Beqanna to see for itself. While there was potential and greatness in them, very few of its children upheld their duties and made anything of themselves; Infection scoffs at them and mentally disowns them. They’re worms.
Its spine rolls in an awkward stretch as it stirs beneath the shade of an old tree. The soil is gauged by its claws, the air poisoned by its putrid, rotting stench. It only really knows solitude and thrives in what silence it holds until there is a crack and a rustling that shatters that delicate balance. It turns slowly, never in a hurry, never afraid of what’s to come. The girl is young, curious. She looks at him with her mouth agape and her eyes wide enough to wholly drink in the sight of him. A wretched creature he is, chewed and spat out by the bowels of hell and yet she seemingly admires him for a reason that she quickly admits. It inches forward and closes the space between them. Her body heat unfurls across his mangled flesh, kissing its face and reminding it of what it once was like to be young and mortal. ”Cute,” it growls with its lips curled in a snarl, ”and how do you come to that conclusion?” Once, years ago, women wanted to be had, to feel a relentless king on their back, but now they are repulsed by the maggots and blackened holes of its body. Now it rarely breeds and spreads its chaos across Beqanna.
The girl is not old enough to have been conceived during its prime. She shows signs of a more recent birthdate and it wonders which masochist mare wanted to press against a befouled, has-been. Although still powerful, still dangerous, it doesn’t carry the tales that it used to.
infection