they say I did something bad, so why's it feel so good?
Charlie’s grin widens, a glint of bright fang framed in the red lip she’s wearing like jewellery. She tips her head, letting her gaze drop to the bowl as if weighing it; not in ounces, but in all the heat and meaning it carries.
"Because of what blood is," she purrs, drawing the word out just enough to make it taste different. "Life. Death. Struggle. Pleasure. Hunger..." Each word rolls off her tongue like a bead from a broken necklace, her blue eyes catching the firelight in quick, dancing sparks. "It’s a story you can hold in your hands, still warm, still wanting."
Her tail flicks, slow and sinuous, tracing idle shapes in the air. "It’s the most common offering she gets," she goes on, voice wrapping around the thought like silk around a blade. "But Dygra’s appetite is...versatile."
She flashes another smile, quick and feline, and with a shrug that seems more like a ripple, adds, "Nothing wrong with blood, of course. Which is why I keep a fresh supply handy for those who prefer it." One hand ghosts over the rim of the bowl, trailing the steam, before she glances back over her shoulder.
Firelight slips across the curve of her horn as she nods toward the temple’s deeper corridors, the air there thicker, darker. "There are other rooms," she says, tone low and promising, "for other kinds of worship, as well."
"Because of what blood is," she purrs, drawing the word out just enough to make it taste different. "Life. Death. Struggle. Pleasure. Hunger..." Each word rolls off her tongue like a bead from a broken necklace, her blue eyes catching the firelight in quick, dancing sparks. "It’s a story you can hold in your hands, still warm, still wanting."
Her tail flicks, slow and sinuous, tracing idle shapes in the air. "It’s the most common offering she gets," she goes on, voice wrapping around the thought like silk around a blade. "But Dygra’s appetite is...versatile."
She flashes another smile, quick and feline, and with a shrug that seems more like a ripple, adds, "Nothing wrong with blood, of course. Which is why I keep a fresh supply handy for those who prefer it." One hand ghosts over the rim of the bowl, trailing the steam, before she glances back over her shoulder.
Firelight slips across the curve of her horn as she nods toward the temple’s deeper corridors, the air there thicker, darker. "There are other rooms," she says, tone low and promising, "for other kinds of worship, as well."
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
