[mature] if you are a queen then, honey, I am a wolf; sinner

[sochi]

Sochi

darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't

Sochi is well acquainted with her own darkness. She has grappled her demons, seen them face-to-face while chewing the heart out of a mare she thought a devil. She has known the depth of her own tolerance for the unsavory, learned that she was to live by her own rules and her own alone. So she does not frighten when the hellhound emerges from the shadows. She doesn’t shiver or bend or do anything but lift her feline lips to reveal her incisors, the pink of her tongue visible, her eyes narrowed.

“I’d like to see you try,” she growls lightly, her voice husky and rough, a sound distinctly feminine even despite the way it rumbles on the end. She knows the feeling that rides electric on the air now; she knows the way that this man must feel while promoting chaos. She knows he would be tasting the air, just waiting for a lick of her fear, and she refuses to give it to him, refuses to be easy prey.

Instead, she lifts herself to her feet, massive paws sinking into the earth.

“I’d recommend keeping a safe distance.” She feels her adrenaline in her veins, that instinctual feeling of knowing that this meeting was not something rote. He had other plans, other intentions, and the longer that she watched the smirk growing on his wolfish mouth, the more than she didn’t trust it.

“I don’t have quite the stomach for dog meat,” her tail flicks behind her as her languid smile grows wide, a bold, reckless move for a woman feeling like the ground was moving beneath her. “But I’d be willing to force it down if it meant ripping it from you limb by limb. Don’t tempt me, mutt.”

Her stomach tightens, both in anticipation and caution, and she ignores it.

If she was to live within this godforsaken forest, he’d at least know who he was dealing with.

playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf

@[Sinner]