her house sinks down to death and her course leads to the shades,
The grim.
That was who she was. Death did not always come from her hand, no, but it seldom failed to follow thereafter. She was the foreteller, she who hunted their names and brought with her the wave of infanticide, genocide - she brought with her the ending of times. She was the spear of knowledge; the infiltrator; she who lured them from the path of light. Neigh, no fallen Angel as the others claimed but of God's first creation - a being made by the Angels; the physical, tangible form of the bastards, the deserters and the demons. The demon of seduction who rested upon the tree of life; she who had been created alongside Samael, God's angel of death.
She was Lillith and there was nothing holy about her; nothing holy about the way she vexed men, the way her hips swayed as she moved. She was temptation, the mother of disaster, embodied in the form of a beautiful woman; eyes like the sun and a body chiseled from obsidian, a body made to turn heads. She had, according to her lineage, been created in the image of God - long graceful limbs and a pelt of black more flawless than even the shadows. She was fair by any standard, marred only by the crimson that spread up her forehead - a sign of her bloodline, a sign of her capability for wisdom and trickery. Perhaps the others flaunted their marks of strength and brutality but ah, what would they do without her? Yes, they could enter a land and dominate by force but there were more... subtle ways. After all, a name was not just a name but a clue - a clue to bloodlines, to heritage and to eventual destruction of an entire family. They had no names, not yet, no but she would find them. She would be the one to lead Baphomet and the others to victory and she would take her spoils. Perhaps she would keep one of her Angels alive, like a butterfly held by a child, to admire and dote over until she grew bored. They were nice to look at - nice to corrupt and partly the reason she wanted to find them first; they weren't so pretty torn apart and half devoured, sadly.
With her trademark slow saunter she moved, her lithe form moving along the stone shoreline with easy grace. They had dispersed in several direction, their group, to discover the most useful vantage points and to find pertinent information. Bapthomet had taken to the Mid-Western crater and never to be far behind, she had taken to the Western side of the colossal hole. Why the area had interested her, she did not know - it was merely full of unfamiliar scents, a large cluster of wolves having seemingly formed at some point in the recent past. Curious, that, something she noted down as she glided about the stones - females, males, some leading off to other sites. It seemed the wolves of Moladion were a social lot - good. It made things quite a bit easier.
With a light sigh, she drew her attention to the large cluster of rocks that overlooked the falls - almost bored with her findings, or lack thereof, she began her brief ascent. It took no more than two leaps to reach the plateau, the falls running immediately through; she could almost sense the cold radiating from the water as she settled onto her haunches some feet from it. Winter was a useful month - her scent lured in prey and attention alike, both things she had no objection too. Spring, too, was useful. Females may have been safe when filled with their offspring but the moment those whelps slipped on out... it was game season. She smiled at the thought, her lips curling up into an elegant, almost toothy smile as she suddenly perked up at the thought; spring in a whole new hunting ground! Baphomet had practically given them a buffout with the promise of Angel for the main course. Who could have said no to that? She could not help rolling her pink tongue across her muzzle in anticipation.
But now it was time to get the damn show on the road - it was not her orders, no, but who was to stop her? She was not so easily swayed and with a brief survey of her area once more, she twisted her head back before biting down onto her own flesh; a set of shallow punctures by her flanks, just deep enough to draw an amount of blood that would look... convincing. She forced a yelp from her jaws, a shrill cry for help before she flopped onto her stomach, her exposed wound being free to do its work; with haste, she continued to tend to her own muzzle, removing as much blood as possible. It was a convincing act, her chest being made to heave and her breath run ragged in feigned pain - her features remained flat, almost livid with pleasure as her gaze slowly searched, her ears fluttered about in hunt of they who approached.
"Help, please! Somebody!" she called, her voice shrill and desperate followed through with a loud whine. She would repeat her pleas until somebody came - anybody, it did not matter. They would come and if they did not, then she would find them.
all who go to her cannot return and find again the paths of life |
