I’d be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice; Imagine being loved by me.
The growl that erupts from the fyrhund's throat at the approaching lial is feral at best, but only as some vestige of sanity takes hold does he make room for her at the doe. Fox feasts until the white of bone is bared to the sky and the doe's pelt looks like rags, and no sooner does he finish when he shifts back, panting and covered in blood.
"Fuck," he hisses softly, spitting out crimson onto the wet earth and trying to wipe at his mouth with hands that are too coated red to make a difference. His expression as he looks over the mostly eaten luxere is one of near shame, and he shakes his head. "Fuck. It didn't need to die like that."
A clean death would have been one thing, but being literally eaten alive? If he didn't know that he'd need to do this all over again, it would have made him sick.
"Fuck," he hisses softly, spitting out crimson onto the wet earth and trying to wipe at his mouth with hands that are too coated red to make a difference. His expression as he looks over the mostly eaten luxere is one of near shame, and he shakes his head. "Fuck. It didn't need to die like that."
A clean death would have been one thing, but being literally eaten alive? If he didn't know that he'd need to do this all over again, it would have made him sick.
Fox Sinclair
Horns: Small, bone-like protrusions (aka your stereotypical devil horns) that are easy to miss in his hair.
