Hungry, but no, hungry, but no, no, no.

He does not understand what is preventing him from consuming her, does not understand why his form is pulled and repelled by this foul white creature all at once. His frustration, born of confusion only rises until it spirals like blackened rage and he tears at the earth and savages any flesh he may be given to tear- even his own. It doesn’t matter, his mind cannot perceive this connection, cannot understand it for his ability to feel is fractured and shattered and yet- whatever pathetically useless fraction of a soul he posses has clung to that of Salem as if the white female is a life raft for it’s revival clinging fiercely as the demonic entity attempts to near literally tear it from himself before those emerald eyes fixate upon her form as his own stills to nothing- glaring with reptilian eyes of emerald blankness before demanding she come to him. It is a twisted logic and yet it is not entirely foolish, his mind may not be given to compute and fathom as others and yet there is a darkened cunning within the creature that allows for the manipulation of others- and of himself and indeed it is this ability to presume in a way that has caused the creature to believe that if he cannot approach her- surely, she can approach him and he may lock his fangs within her throat and tear apart this source of frustration that has confused the Demons of his mind as they scream and scrape in his skull until his head aches with anger and rage.

She speaks again, his ears twisting with the sound, though such words are lost on him, he cannot understand them any more then he can tolerate such sinful noise, lips pulling back in an abrupt snarl, staring as she slithers forward and towards him, rising to his feet once more like an obsidian shadow as his own paws carry him slightly forward, shifting upon the earth, coming towards her though ever so slightly as his head lowers and heckles raise once more- though not in aggression, or at least not really. It is pure dominance now, the creature seeking yet another approach though a growl still coils within his chest and throat, curious in a way, wary of this white female who looks as the Shining One who so many years ago had savaged his throat apart. Yet she is not, she is not of the Angels for he knows that scent, understand it with some vapid connection of his brain and thus she can be consumed- yet not. He does not have an ability to perceive this connection, of all the years he has lived he has not faced this situation before and thus the computer of his mind has no answer, no result to repeat and fall upon like the savage broken record that he is, doomed to an existence of lifeless and meaningless life whereupon he repeats the same phrases again and again. Salem forces change, forces an adaptation the nightmare- though wether for the good of this land or not cannot be said. It has been some time since he has been forced to change in some way, to alter his hunting to appeal to another and yet he is not so far removed from this vile earth that he cannot do that. He merely- resits it, and her.

Her position shifts into something defensive as his own dominance responds, tail and head lifting higher in warning, in threat, that for the sake of her existence she should remain low to this earth, stay defensive and yet remain unfearful- for fear is a potent poison, a siren song to his fangs and mind, to remain unafraid and yet submissive is to live, it is a language he understands and his frustration is soothed by this display though his fangs still remain bared- they are no longer threatening so fully to pierce her hide as he inches towards her and she him, the shadow creature pausing before her as he sniffs at the air- at her, dead eyes still staring upon her own. So he stares, dark tendrils of his mind twisting and turning as he attempts to place this creature. She is not for eating- though he does not know why, perhaps.....she is his. She is his possession, not for eating, no, for keeping, yes. One side of his face seems to lift, bizarrely into a lopsided grin that flares before disappearing to be replaced by that same, dead look as he seems to await her reaction, tongue rasping across his blood tainted jaws while he looks upon her, dominant, aggressive and yet perhaps less threatening as his mind shifts his personality again. If she cannot be eaten, she can be owned, yes, owned. His- and he tells her as much, voice empty and hollow as he, that tiny fragment of his soul attached to her own.

“Mine. You. Mine.”

He doesn’t know her name, nor would he likely be given to understand it, months of work by Aaliyah the only way in which she had finally managed to convey her calling to him, to make him understand. Hot breath spills from his nostrils and muzzle, running across the white female before he turns abruptly from her, leaving her un-touched, moving back to the embrace of the shadows that welcome him with reckless abandon, caressing his midnight form as he melts back into the darkness from which he came. He will return- for the rest of his or her life- he will return for her. His possession, forever and always.