sochi/laura pony;

[sochi]

there are wolves in my head and their howling
there was a garden of evil in the palm of my hand

We always seem to be changing,

“Is that such a bad thing?” she muses, feeling the heat within her rise to meet the heat of him, something tangling in her throat at his mismatched eyes and the bruises beneath the depths. She wants to drown in them. She wants to find herself in them. She wants to know that there are others out there with predator hearts and that it’s okay—it’s okay to feed and hunt and feel no agony for it. It’s okay to be both jury and judge and executioner with the hint of fang and the splitting of flesh, the flood of life into your mouth.

“I don’t think I hate what I am becoming,” another thoughtful moment, despite the hunger that she feels beginning even now, the edges of it rippling on the outside of her consciousness. “Maybe I should.” She laughs a little here and it’s a husky sound, rare coming from her mouth. “The younger version of me would hate what I am becoming.” Something in control of her own destiny. Something that no longer felt the need to hide or apologize or regret her decisions. Something that could live on her own terms.

“But I don’t.”

He says her name and it sets her nerves on fire, racing up her spine and branching out through her veins. She has no womanly wiles here, no reason to play coy, and she doesn’t hide the animalistic hunger that begins to darken her eyes, combatting the weakness she feels from the sickness. She takes a step toward him, testing the distance between them, her lips parting to reveal her canines, the edges of them glistening in the dying light. “I am many things.” She slips easily into her tigress form, her fur going from onyx to sunset orange and cream and obsidian. She glances up at him, tipping her feline head back before prowling around him, the sound of her paws hitting earth the only noise at all for a moment.

When she gets back to the front of him, she shifts again, the iridescent blue of her face once again shining through, her silver eyes finding his own. “I am not afraid,” she says quietly, because she can feel the danger of him on the tip of her tongue. He is a predator, but he is something different. He is something otherworldly and the shrouded mystery of it is enough to cause her pulse to race just a little faster.

now I'm broken and bleeding, I’ll never find my way

S

OCHI

stranger in this land

@[Castile]