She hasn’t thought of him in months—years.
Hasn’t thought of the fury of what he had done, the primal rage at losing in their fight and the trauma that had followed. But she does now. It mixes with the heady frustration and anger she feels now, the reckless chaos that stirs in her blood as she twists to look at him, her eyes narrowing in thought. He comes into focus and her hackles rise, lips curling back, the ivory of her teeth showing against her pink tongue.
“Mutt,” she spits out the name like venom and takes a step forward, feeling a heavy paw sink into the earth so recently washed with rain. He grins and she wants nothing more than to rip it from his face; wants to see what it would be like to cleanse herself in his blood. Would she feel vindicated? Would she feel healed? Would she finally find some relief in the aftermath—would she be able to sleep?
It doesn’t matter. She can’t back out now.
Another step forward and her tail twitches behind her.
“Have enough time to lick your wounds?” her voice is harsh, the husky roll of it tinged with some humor as she imagines what it must have been like for him to lose his kingdom. To have it all ripped away from him. She ignores the fact that it was Castile who had done it. The same one who had caused her her own pain. It doesn’t matter because at least Sinner had felt his own pain; at least he wasn’t immune to it.
She smiles although she feels no joy.
She feels nothing but cold fury rip through as she takes another step forward.
Into the madness—into the endless, beckoning promise of it.
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed