Thalassa
She's still adjusting to the new molten tiger shift, observing the soft pad of her paws with mild interest and running her teeth along the fangs as she listens to the lava drip onto the grass with a quiet sizzle. None of these are things she'd noticed in her hollowed state of roaming, but as she'd hunted and killed a blink hare to satiate her growing bloodlust, every shift of her muscles and twitch of her tail felt like something she'd always know, a piece of her that had escaped from the crack that Pierce had ripped open.
It's depressing to think that it took him leaving for the feline to make an appearance, making her wonder if she's always meant to be broken, to be cast aside in order for her to find these new aspects of herself. It makes her want to reject it, willing to give up anything and everything to bring him back. But she knows it doesn't matter. She knows he's not coming back. And she hurts all the more for it.
Sitting at the edge of the water, she slowly cleans some of the blood from her black and silver fur, letting her mind wander a safe distance from the hole in her chest. It's hard to do when every topic is a slippery slope back to that purple-black hollowness, but she does her best to put up a flimsy gate of warning in hopes she doesn't stumble.
Thal runs a damp paw over her muzzle, whipping more blood from her cheek when her ears perk at a sound, intrigued by how easily she can hear it amongst the other ambient noises. She lifts her head from the puddle of water, glancing through the darkness to spot a figure walking her way - another apparent benefit of this form. At first, she's tempted to resume her mindless cleaning, but the familiar scent and casual gait has the fur on her haunches raising, a different kind of ache making her tail twitch.
Before he can see her (at least that's what she thinks), Thal slinks off to the side and into the darkest of midnight shadows, where only the glow of her pelt might give her away at the edge of the garden- but she doesn't leave yet. For some inexplicable reason, she stays, watching and waiting.
It's depressing to think that it took him leaving for the feline to make an appearance, making her wonder if she's always meant to be broken, to be cast aside in order for her to find these new aspects of herself. It makes her want to reject it, willing to give up anything and everything to bring him back. But she knows it doesn't matter. She knows he's not coming back. And she hurts all the more for it.
Sitting at the edge of the water, she slowly cleans some of the blood from her black and silver fur, letting her mind wander a safe distance from the hole in her chest. It's hard to do when every topic is a slippery slope back to that purple-black hollowness, but she does her best to put up a flimsy gate of warning in hopes she doesn't stumble.
Thal runs a damp paw over her muzzle, whipping more blood from her cheek when her ears perk at a sound, intrigued by how easily she can hear it amongst the other ambient noises. She lifts her head from the puddle of water, glancing through the darkness to spot a figure walking her way - another apparent benefit of this form. At first, she's tempted to resume her mindless cleaning, but the familiar scent and casual gait has the fur on her haunches raising, a different kind of ache making her tail twitch.
Before he can see her (at least that's what she thinks), Thal slinks off to the side and into the darkest of midnight shadows, where only the glow of her pelt might give her away at the edge of the garden- but she doesn't leave yet. For some inexplicable reason, she stays, watching and waiting.
Bite my tongue, bide my time
Wearing a warning sign
Wearing a warning sign
