Seff knew the shadows as well as he knew himself. He knew what it was like to be tossed to the outskirts -- of a land and of a mind. As a child, that had not sat well with him, but now, as an adult, he had no choice but to accept it. The immature youth he'd once been had dissolved long ago and the remnants were thrown carelessly into the darkness with the remains of his family.
It had only been recently that Seff -- now in the prime of his life -- had come to terms with the fact that he was not meant to be unknown. There was this feeling, like helplessness, like fear that churned deep inside him, in the farthest recesses of his soul when he realized he didn't have any control. Powerlessness was a fucking disease, and it festered, grew within him until he was consumed by this need, want, an insatiable desire to be over others.
It was called dominance, it came in the aftermath of a raging superiority complex, and it was a curse.
Having been born within these lands to a relatively unknown pair of wolves, Seff knew everything. He lurked, and watched, observing carefully, and absorbed what he saw. The alphas of these lands came and went but the alpha female of these lands -- Malignant Felicity -- had yet to be kicked off of her throne. In fact, she had been around for his entire life, and maybe it was him, wanting to convince and show himself that he was stronger, that spurred him to try and steal the royal seat.
There was one good thing that he had been taught, and that was that no matter where you were there would always be someone better. He had been taught that only cowards hid behind those who were considered the better half of the animal society, and that alphas should never be cowards. Seff honestly did not have any idea why no one had managed to bring the dirt-colored bitch down, but she was known for having a spitfire tongue that drove off anyone who dared. It was probably good, he mused, that he held a certainly immunity to words.
Repetition stole meaning, and the words kill, the words corpse, dead; they meant nothing. Not anymore, not to Seff.
He was a fighter -- that much was clear by the ridged muscle stacked along his body and the dangerous glint in his pale blue eyes. And what's more, he was a willing fighter. His thick, dark rusty fur -- like copper without the metallic sheen -- was periodically marred by the lines and etches of things that were more than just scars; they were stories. Seff stepped to the border, tempted to lift his leg and just be done with it, but he forced himself from that and instead lifted his nose into the air. There was no music in his howl -- nothing melodic. It was husky, and blunt, and straightforward. He'd made his intentions clear.
S E F F *
derailed, did i fail to mention
i put it on the line -- whether you and
me could ever be, we'll never see, no; |
