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[VALE VERSE] you are the air i breathe...
Apr. 8th, 2019 01:34 pmIt had been six days and eight hours.
Four of those hours of this particular day had been spent in the living room, deep in meditation. Around him, life in the house went on--he was not an uncommon sight on the corner of the sofa, legs crossed under him, palms turned upwards on his knees as he sank deep into the trances he needed to make use of the single most valuable source of information he had: the earth herself.
He hadn't realized, in life, that not everyone could talk to plants and hear their voices, not even farmers could shut their eyes and feel the forces in the dirt beneath one's feet making things grow, providing life and succor--listening to everything and everyone that walked upon it. What he believed to be a talent for botany, for farming, was magic--and he'd had nearly a century in death to hone his gifts.
He felt only moderately guilty for the fact that he now used those gifts to kill.
As he spoke to the earth in his trance, looking for information and strength to heal fresh wounds from his latest kill, he ruminated on the lives he'd taken. All of them were brutal, bloody, and needed. Enemies of those he sheltered, running the gamut from child molesters to thieves and back again--it was the only relief he could find from his growing obsession with the young woman that he had kissed six days and eight hours ago.
The desires Jazmin kindled in him were dangerous--too fine a line ran between his hunger for her life and his hunger for the pleasures of her beautiful body. He'd hoped that the time he allowed to pass would let her get her strength back, make her less appealing to the dark passenger that lived within him: all the demonic bloodlust that he'd been poisoned with during his time in Hell, shadows in his mind and soul that constantly begged him to finish his transition.
Time had not eased that hunger. As she grew stronger, more rested, she only became more appealing. The fantasies became more visceral, more vivid--bleeding her to feel the heat on his bare hands, ripping out her heart, eviscerating her...and he was concerned that if he gave in to one desire, the other would rise up to swallow him.
The problem came from the fact that she was charming. She was clever, well bred, and once rested--more certain of her safety--her true inner strength was exposed. It all engendered in him a softness, a warmth that confused him...that made him want her more.
That made him certain if he were to kill her, his transformation would be complete: the last of what made him human would die if he snuffed out her goodness, and he would forget he ever desired to protect a single living soul.
Paw wasn't sure that even her guardian angel could save her then--especially not since he was busy courting that damn demoness.
Gradually, his trance was pierced by the weight of a consciousness impressing itself upon his. Cautiously, he withdrew his thoughts from the earth and opened his eyes--only to find the subject of his troubles watching him.
"Good afternoon, Jazmin."
Four of those hours of this particular day had been spent in the living room, deep in meditation. Around him, life in the house went on--he was not an uncommon sight on the corner of the sofa, legs crossed under him, palms turned upwards on his knees as he sank deep into the trances he needed to make use of the single most valuable source of information he had: the earth herself.
He hadn't realized, in life, that not everyone could talk to plants and hear their voices, not even farmers could shut their eyes and feel the forces in the dirt beneath one's feet making things grow, providing life and succor--listening to everything and everyone that walked upon it. What he believed to be a talent for botany, for farming, was magic--and he'd had nearly a century in death to hone his gifts.
He felt only moderately guilty for the fact that he now used those gifts to kill.
As he spoke to the earth in his trance, looking for information and strength to heal fresh wounds from his latest kill, he ruminated on the lives he'd taken. All of them were brutal, bloody, and needed. Enemies of those he sheltered, running the gamut from child molesters to thieves and back again--it was the only relief he could find from his growing obsession with the young woman that he had kissed six days and eight hours ago.
The desires Jazmin kindled in him were dangerous--too fine a line ran between his hunger for her life and his hunger for the pleasures of her beautiful body. He'd hoped that the time he allowed to pass would let her get her strength back, make her less appealing to the dark passenger that lived within him: all the demonic bloodlust that he'd been poisoned with during his time in Hell, shadows in his mind and soul that constantly begged him to finish his transition.
Time had not eased that hunger. As she grew stronger, more rested, she only became more appealing. The fantasies became more visceral, more vivid--bleeding her to feel the heat on his bare hands, ripping out her heart, eviscerating her...and he was concerned that if he gave in to one desire, the other would rise up to swallow him.
The problem came from the fact that she was charming. She was clever, well bred, and once rested--more certain of her safety--her true inner strength was exposed. It all engendered in him a softness, a warmth that confused him...that made him want her more.
That made him certain if he were to kill her, his transformation would be complete: the last of what made him human would die if he snuffed out her goodness, and he would forget he ever desired to protect a single living soul.
Paw wasn't sure that even her guardian angel could save her then--especially not since he was busy courting that damn demoness.
Gradually, his trance was pierced by the weight of a consciousness impressing itself upon his. Cautiously, he withdrew his thoughts from the earth and opened his eyes--only to find the subject of his troubles watching him.
"Good afternoon, Jazmin."
