Maea
And I only needed one more touch
Another taste of devouring rush
Another taste of devouring rush
There was only so much anyone could do to help in times like these. Easy enough to offer, easier still to accept, yet when it came down to the moment where you had to do your part of the work, there were moments just like this where everything simply locked up inside, and you froze.
Isla was kind and the offered comfort did not go unnoticed. But though Maea wanted nothing more than to be brave and bold and settle into this new part of her life with suave ease, it just wasn't happening. Watching the amber pelted tigress vanish into the tall grass, she lowered herself to her belly and pressed herself into the earth. Molten metal sloughed off her sides and set the grass on fire, small tongues of flame that lapped at her form without burning. The ringing in her ears drowned out most of the sounds from the hunt, but she felt the deer go down as a faint vibration in the ground, followed by a heady scent as blood was spilled into the open air.
It seemed like hours passed to her as well, before she was able to move. Stiff legged, dragging herself along with every fiber of her being in conflict with itself, she found than shame tasted the same on a tiger's tongue and that it didn't actually matter what form she took; the hunger and bloodlust was still the same.
Halting as she came upon the scene of the tigress feasting, Maea questioned why she could be so fine with seeing this behavior in others, yet reviled it in herself. How was it any different to hunt and kill like this, compared to the trapping she'd done in the past? There shouldn't be a difference. She had fought before, killed before - It wasn't as though her hands were clean anyway.
It should be such an easy choice. Hunt or turn to stone. Eat or starve, live... or don't. How many times would she have to be dragged back from the brink before she ran out of chances? Why was it so fucking hard to just flow along with the current and not get hung up on all the things that came so easily to everyone else? You'd almost think she was being contrary on purpose at this point. Except she wasn't.
Tigers didn't cry. But it did let out a bone weary grunt as control slowly but surely slipped from her grasp. Creeping up to the deer, drawn in by the smell of the blood, it was as if a switch had been flipped in her brain. One moment the White tigress hovered stiffly over the carcass; the next she was tearing into the flesh, with the ravenous frenzy of one who had held back for far too long.
Isla was kind and the offered comfort did not go unnoticed. But though Maea wanted nothing more than to be brave and bold and settle into this new part of her life with suave ease, it just wasn't happening. Watching the amber pelted tigress vanish into the tall grass, she lowered herself to her belly and pressed herself into the earth. Molten metal sloughed off her sides and set the grass on fire, small tongues of flame that lapped at her form without burning. The ringing in her ears drowned out most of the sounds from the hunt, but she felt the deer go down as a faint vibration in the ground, followed by a heady scent as blood was spilled into the open air.
It seemed like hours passed to her as well, before she was able to move. Stiff legged, dragging herself along with every fiber of her being in conflict with itself, she found than shame tasted the same on a tiger's tongue and that it didn't actually matter what form she took; the hunger and bloodlust was still the same.
Halting as she came upon the scene of the tigress feasting, Maea questioned why she could be so fine with seeing this behavior in others, yet reviled it in herself. How was it any different to hunt and kill like this, compared to the trapping she'd done in the past? There shouldn't be a difference. She had fought before, killed before - It wasn't as though her hands were clean anyway.
It should be such an easy choice. Hunt or turn to stone. Eat or starve, live... or don't. How many times would she have to be dragged back from the brink before she ran out of chances? Why was it so fucking hard to just flow along with the current and not get hung up on all the things that came so easily to everyone else? You'd almost think she was being contrary on purpose at this point. Except she wasn't.
Tigers didn't cry. But it did let out a bone weary grunt as control slowly but surely slipped from her grasp. Creeping up to the deer, drawn in by the smell of the blood, it was as if a switch had been flipped in her brain. One moment the White tigress hovered stiffly over the carcass; the next she was tearing into the flesh, with the ravenous frenzy of one who had held back for far too long.
But the room was so quiet
Whose side am I on?
Whose side am I on?
