if you could only see

THE BEAST YOU'VE MADE OF ME

Masquerade was unhappy. Annoyed, for a better term. For time was wasted, as she sat among the gathering of countless other wolves. Her curiosity had been replaced with boredom, in a way, and so she found herself wanting to go and leave. There was nothing for her here any longer.
The ivory beast pawed the earth as she began her exit, and looked left, then right, seeking something that may catch her eye. It was true that she could always find somewhere to rest herself, but she felt no desire to sleep. Her muscles were aching with raw energy, and she wanted to run. Jump. Heck, she wanted to fly. Anything- she wanted to do anything to relieve herself of the ache. Electricity ran through her blood and bones and flesh. It was if her entire body was shot with electrons from above. But when she looked up to the sky, there was no storm. No scent of rain, either. And so Masquerade came to the conclusion that she was probably longing for a hunt. Something to sink fang and claw into. To tear and shred, and to taste in greedy licks, the blood of the prey.
It was odd that she was feeling such a sensation, as she was normally calm, but she was not naive. She knew the most primal instincts and urges that grew and festered deep in her soul. It was simply the blueprint of a wolf- to desire to hunt and kill. And she remembered a time when she murdered out of sick, hungry pleasure. No, not to fill her stomach. But to fill the void in her heart. The void put there by what had happened long ago; it was something she never spoke of, and probably, never will.

The prickling feeling continued and danced on the tips of her toes, as she neared a wolf devouring a hare. Its maw was stained with red blood, and something inside of the vixen stirred at the sight. Of the scent of sweet, metallic blood. Her fangs ached, her body tensed- yes, she was desperate to hunt. To feel the wind blow her fur, and feel victorious when her victim came down with her jaws puncturing its pitiful neck.
Was she hungry? Perhaps, as she felt her mouth water, and her pink tongue sliding ever so sensually over her female lips. Any man crazy enough would see it an act of lust, but no, it was not. Masquerade was just hungry. She realized it now, that she hadn't eaten for too long. And so her body was begging her to feed itself.

Masquerade

masquerade - five - loveless - loner