[private] wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me; birthing

[Decimate]

Decimate

It was damn cold.

Really goddamn cold. And wet. And completely gross.
And it was all over him.

He was born with a scowl on his teeny face, deep indigo dusted with a smattering of stars. There were galaxies, both known and mysterious, embedded in his skin, buried in his eyes, impressed onto his soul.

Not his heart.
He may not have one.

A voice assaulted him, soft and sweet and terribly melodious, and he turned to it. Ah, yes that's better. He was more welcoming of her when she began cleaning the muck off him. Perhaps she could stay, then. Yes, that was good. He rewarded her with a brief return lick, made his eyes as dumb, soft twinkly as hers were. Just to please her to show that he was pleased.

Good girl.

Then he shifted to the side a little, out of the way of her great, heaving body. Watched as another came. And from the very start he was irritated, though he had no experiences to give him reason to be. Yet there he was, certainly irritated. His little scowl deepened and his eyes shined maliciously. As soon as the littler rat was closer, he'd snap and snarl, his lips curling in preparation.

This was his mother, not hers. Not anybody's.
Just his.

can the killer in me tame the fire in you?

I am sick of the chase but I'm hungry for blood