Malignant Felicity is a paradisaical abode to the faithful remains of a mighty pack. Once ruled by the magnificent wolf Genocide, now the wolves of this pack follow the laws of the Alpha Lance, son of Sorna, Beta and Genocide's best friend...

The sounds of crashing water fill your auds as you enter this tropical paradise. The tall trunks tower above you. The treetop canopy's seem to shade the beautiful land from the sun's rays. What a paradise this place seems. This place dubbed Malignant Felicity. As you draw closer to the boarders a stench slowly devours the air around you. The stench of death.

"Beware..." scream the birds from above you. "She kills for games. She kills for fun." Something deep inside tells you to listen. Your body tells you not to go no further. Do you listen or do you dare move into the pack borders. This could be a life or death decision...

Follow the Queen, or become a corpse that lines her border. The choice lies with you.

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LAUGH CHILDREN
IP: 76.226.177.83


be_brave__dear_one_by_oo_amarok_oo-d5mi22t_zpsf5f59017

can you hear that wonderful sound?
The Ferris wheel has started, now we’re stuck going round and round…

He spoke of death as if they were one being and it was at once enthralling and terrifying. She didn’t recoil as his breath wound around her ear, but it twisted away from him nevertheless in acknowledgement of the threat that lingered deliciously between his lips. The simpering smile that had mutated her own face relaxed into the more natural bearing of one who enjoyed the aimless banter of teasing, and Carnival leaned in with the casual smirk on her face. “Challenge accepted. But…do you know where I might find him?” For a moment they were sharing the same air, exhaling the inhalation of the other in their close proximity.

Then she stepped back, tossing a laugh into the air at his authority over life and death, his certainty that he could kill the soil. No stranger to the art of the hidden compliment, the girl did not blush, uncertain of whether she even knew how to or not. No, she retained her girly airs and fluffed out her fur, throwing her gaze in a high, exaggerated arc. “I should think I make a damn good substitute, should it die an untimely death at your paws.” The shadow preventing her passage over the borders grew more enigmatic by the second, speaking after his joke in riddles that felt like tests, just as many things at face value were not what they appear.

For once, Carnival looked at the serious side of things as it snarled and snapped at the humor that cackled like hyenas in the audience of her mind. They prowled forth, becoming defensive of her (admittedly unbalanced) mindset, wanting to keep her in this cradle of laughter and fun, where they slaughtered pain with the whites of their teeth. But their teeth were her teeth.

She sat back, allowing her honeyed gaze finally to travel up his muscular, toned chest and thick, masculine neck, to the depths of those surprisingly fierce golden eyes. It was not a threat; her shoulders sloped inward and her ruff was flat to her neck, but it was intense. She wanted him to look into her eyes, to see her thoughts there and to follow them. It’d been obvious that was what she’d wanted all along, when she’d thought to herself those words, those taunts of the Devil, and had by some chance felt them slipping from her lips. Did he see the utter lack of searching, the deadpan flatness, yet the somber acceptance of life, in her eyes? Did he see, like she saw, the same ambitious, never satiated hunger, which in her looked like a constant battle with the edge of paranoia?

She did not recoil at the passion of his gaze, even if it should be a merely passing glance, but she dropped hers after a moment, visibly maturing instantly in the straightening of her shoulders, the reclamation of her soul, the smile restored on her lip.

”My mother once asked me, “Have you heard the children screaming?” She watched the bones fall from my mouth, and she asked me if I had heard the children screaming. She gave me my name to deafen me. Have you heard the children screaming?” The last question fell out, a reflective whisper that held a hint of nostalgia, and something more, before strengthening. “I don’t know what it is about mothers; that they always want to give their pups a fighting chance, no matter how much blood they’ve swallowed.”

The aftermath of this pondering statement was inevitably grim, but she winked to take the sting out of her past, adding, “Whatever it is, it was definitely good for me. When your fur is red not many are prepared to help you clean it. The real value is in finding those who will help you dirty it again, and remain to help later.”

His single fang slipping over that midnight black fur was burnt into her memory. A single silver claw scratch against a perfect pitch black, like the moon throbbing in unison with her heartbeat on the other side of the trees.






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