i can feel the flames on my lips; crimson blood on my skin
That he marvels at the death she wields balances the denial that Starlace watches flicker across his face, the scales sliding in his favor and then back to even.
She could become fond of this one, she thinks; he is rather like Chain.
A simple thing, he says, and she regards him with a tilt of her head. Does he mock her? Starlace considers punishing him for it, but she is eager to hear this simple answers and chooses to delay his discipline. For now, at least.
Envision what it is she would become. Simple.
The air is thick with blood and gore, they stand atop a mound of bodies, ash and fire cover even the dim light of the sun.
And then she snaps back, for as much as she might desire infinity she is still bound by some laws. The reminder brings a snarl to her face, a rage that fits better on the feline face that she soon wears. It is dark, like Atrox’s but it seems some of her dapples remain in the form of barely visible rosettes . The roar she emits is not enough to siphon off the bitterness of her denial, so she leaps forward in this delightfully fluid shape, and lands atop Atrox.
“This nose is better,” she tells him, her whiskered face pressed close to his. The sensations she feels from those whiskers are more intense than her true shape, and a shiver runs down her spine and is released in a twitch of her tail. “I could eat in this form,” she adds, heedless of the way this pleasurable thought causes her clawed feet to knead against his chest. “I want to eat. I’m starving.” Then her claws are gone and she is laughing and purring and bumping her forehead against his, the excitement expressed in a way that comes naturally to this shape, though not her own.
“I want to kill something,” she laughs. Prowling forward, she peers closely at the shadowy souls with golden eyes. There is no blood in them, she smells, a disappointment. “Something that will scream.”