I am the horror you created;

the mind fuck you instigated

It was a distinctive sensation - that ever so light prickling at the back of your mind - the silent warning that your own instinct drives into your genetic code to alert you of something breathing down your neck. To allow you time to react to what danger may be encroaching upon your space. It is a sense that sends some nearly pissing themselves, others into gut reactions of violence, and the select few who smirk brazenly in the hour of death. This particular feeling has the thick fur upon her nape rising to the sun above before he is nearly upon her and the soft shuffling of rock from his movement resounds in her auditories. She is inclined to tip her crown slightly so that she may barely see his figure from her peripheral vision, the blur of white and copper telling of just whom it may be, it could be none other than one of these self-deemed ‘angels’. What a ludicrous story to weave for an entire fucking lineage. Perhaps they have reasons or purpose, but they will never be anything other than wolves to the feral woman.

Time has taken its toll upon her twisted mind and perhaps she simply didn’t give a damn to remember any of their faces or their names over the years, but this male does not bring any particular memories to mind when he finally makes his way into her line of sight. His eyes are comparable to her own, perhaps brighter in hue more and lacking much more gold, and his spine reveals the tell-tale sign of his ancestry. Yes, none other than one of the many. Those faces who get lost in the hoards of others who look so similar as they breed over seasons and overpopulate the ravine they claim as their home. He approaches as if he has some sort of purpose being here and yet there is none to be found - but perhaps he is simply just being nosy. After all, is it not the angels’ business to know all, be all, and do all? His mouth begins to form words, and yet, before he is capable of speaking them, he stops himself and pauses momentarily before initiating the conversation.

“Perhaps you are right.” Words spoken in a singular sentence and in direct reference to none of his chosen. A small, dark simper slides to its place upon her charred muzzle, her frigid eyes turning upon him in a serpentine’s glare, perhaps to challenge him in some form. Simply because she is in the lion’s den, per se, does not mean she will become a spineless coward. Stella will always be nothing but.. Stella.

Her eyes are in a deadlock with Azrael’s own when the rustling of another is perceived from nearby, the soft parting of brush and limb, and the near silent tumbling of river rocks along the bank as her brother now came to her side. Perhaps it should not have surprised her as much as it did when Kane made a beeline straight for her amidst the river’s flow; but this new relationship with him was.. different and strange. She was not so accustomed to having him approach so closely and boldly move as to touch her. He offers his shoulder to her own in support, though she does not feel the oncoming desire to rise from her resting place in the tainted water. The chilled temperatures of the stream have cleansed her wounds to an extent and have worked to slightly numb the flesh around them, easing her pain in some regards, though her breathing was still slightly labored.

It had become clear to Stella, as Kane now targeted Azrael, that he was not so pleased with how the auburn marked assassin was handling her arrival and it was in these moments that she was able to realize how strongly he had always felt about his family - whether she was only half-blooded or not. This does not go to say that her wicked heart has now melted and turned to gold, she does not appreciate the fact that he feels the need to protect her and her gaze is now sent in his direction as a small glare penetrates through his skull, as if to say ‘I can handle my own.’ But alas, Kane will likely never change, and if Stella had been there when they were younger, she would know that he had always been that way.

Nevertheless, her attention is stolen away for a second time as the bounding golden and white figure comes from south of the river, her intentions directly on Kane himself before she stops and speaks to him directly. Father? So this was one of Kane’s little devils. Her resemblance to her angelic heritage was little to be seen, the only red marking being that of the line upon her chest, and yet she wears the golden crown of Kiska. Interesting enough.

The girl slightly cringes as Kane snaps at Azrael, as if she had heard that tone one too many times before; a little rebel in the making? Perhaps. Stella could only presume until she learned more of these.. little scamps. She moves in a cat-like manner, rubbing herself against Kane’s sturdy foreleg as she grins and speaks in a taunting manner to her relative. Something in.. another language, she cannot tell what exactly it is that the girl is speaking, but it does not bother her too much. It is upon this moment that she finds their conversation dull and seems to realize that Stella is reclined in the shallows of the river, her muzzle stretching forward cautiously as she takes delicate steps closer and inhales the heavy scent from the wicked femme’s own figure. Her white paws are submerged in the waterway now as she is content in how close she has been allowed to get to the giantess, her bright blues peering up curiously as she began to address her in a language she can understand. I guess so.. Stella murmured as her eyes flicked to Kane momentarily before her attention was returned the infantile wolf. Not everyone gets along so well as others should like. A small smirk is brought upon her lips as she speaks in a lower timbre, her voice not so loud and more for the girl’s ears only.

She watches then, as the golden crested child preens inwardly before leaning closer forward, and essentially causing an instinctual growl to begin rumbling low in the dark femme’s chest. But she does not advance any further and her eyes return to Stella’s own as she speaks softly in a playful manner. The growl then transforms into a low chuckle as her sheathed knives are revealed in an open-mouthed smile for a singular moment. Offspring were always so.. annoying, loud, terrible things and yet this is the second Diveenian child she has met whom she would not mind sparing. Perhaps it is because both have respected her wishes and have not pushed their limits with the feral creature - they did not grate against her so horribly as some others have.

She is not given any further time to dwell on these revelations, though, as yet another dark individual approaches with a bounty of nature’s remedies between her gentle jaws. Her eyes shift from Azrael, to Kane, to the pair of them in the river as she approached. It was clear that she was one of the pack’s healers as she set her things to the ground and revealed what it was that she had been carrying. Stella was quick to target the black female as she then began to leave her things to move in closer, her gaze wary and her muscles becoming tense as she prepared for whatever this stranger may say or do. It is then that the female stops and looks down upon her, and the moments following has the Amazonian woman rising to her paws, the water from the river streaming from her underbelly and each hair upon her lower half. Her upper lip curls only slightly, hardly enough to reveal tooth and fang, before she settles herself and looks upon the medic. Lucky to be alive? I have no fatal wounds. Her tone is brusque, not the nicest of ways to create a first impression, but anyone who dares to insult her will receive nothing short of it. Yes, her paw is indeed the worst of it; but her rib would heal itself, her flesh would scar over. She would not die - nor come close to death. Even if she were to have difficulty, she has Kane, she is aware now that he is and will be on her side. She fears not what this so-called healer speaks of, if she truly is one.

But she is not dim-witted enough to deny her practices. “I only need something to settle the aching.” She informs the unknown femme of her condition - in a much more placid nature this time.

devil of abraxus x kiska | ten years | no servitude