just underneath the skin

Apparently, I’m expected in Glorall – some stranger ‘won’ me and now I’m required by Moladion law to appear in his dungeon of sorts. A year ago, I would have laughed it off and simply waited in Iromar. Let him come get me if it’s so important. But as a loner (a curious, hungry one at that) it seems prudent to cooperate. I’ve been out of the loop for some time now. I don’t know much about the Glorall pack or their allies; there’s no telling who I might piss off by being difficult.

I can’t help but notice, as I’m exploring, how close I am to Diveen. I haven’t been this near my imprint since she betrayed me, and I loathe the strange pulsing within me that I know is her. I wonder idly if she’s aware of it, too. Does she cringe away from it as I do? Or does she sit in her comfortable den, safe behind Seren, and chuckle about my ruination? My stomach churns, this time not from hunger, but in fury. I hate him. I hate her – a moiety of myself. Were I capable I would cut every fiber of her out of my being and bury it somewhere in the Crags. Were I capable I would bury her. But I’ve proven to myself more than once that I can’t – at least, I couldn’t. Perhaps one day in the future, maybe even one day soon, we’ll meet again. Maybe then I can do what needs to be done.

So I stride along the marked borders of Glorall in the early morning, plotting murder and inspecting things from a distance. I’m not foolish enough to cross over without announcing myself, but I do wish they’d hurry up and find me. I’ve been out here for an hour or so, and I haven’t seen hide or hair of anyone else. Whoever they’ve got keeping guard over the place appears to be slacking. Having seen all I care to see from this vantage point, I finally take a seat and prepare to wait it out. I’ve decided to give them another hour or so before I pick up and leave. ‘Prisoner’ or not, I’m not going to wait around all day.

six ;; Demon King x Blood Mouth ;; angel dust