If ever were there to be a realm that I could call my place to be then it would truly be nothing other than the woodland. So thick and riddled with darkness even in the midday sun. It is a place where many happenings have been birthed before in the dark conundrums of my past - other worlds nearly forgotten on the cusp of my mind. I drown in these thoughts on a regular basis, submerging myself in their suffocating depths to become numb once again from the obscurity of my times past. To feel the pain and anger that I had become enraptured by in my time of Oblivion and the sudden, loud awakening that had brought me back to the surface upon my discovery of Malikye.

My history shrouds me in a wicked veil that cannot be abated and this I have come to accept. I am already slipping into the skin that I had adorned in my time of solitude and it feels so damn good..

The past has a way in which it likes to repeat itself, or perhaps I am just a bit of a predictable being already, but my presence within the secluded forest is sure to be noted once someone catches a nice whiff of the lavish perfume I am wearing today. Hmm, rather satisfying to the senses even as I am overpowered by such an aroma all around me. It clings to every strand of fur upon my bodice, dragging them into thick clusters of coagulated red at the tips and dripping onto the pristine earth below. The kill site is all but a bloody disarray of crimson and mud, the snow causing the earth to soften and puddle as shuffled paws dig it up and paint a wild mess.

The corpse lay in the midst of it all, nothing but a coat of marred white atop shambles of bones and dismembered organs, the entrails dragged out from its hollow shell to be on display for any passer by. It felt euphoric to fall back into old habits. Without Oblivion as my crutch and the prospect of a new awakening in this land, I was almost an entirely new beast. I could not help but indulge in the blood of the first unsuspecting victim to cross my path - it was only in my nature.

And yet it were I who would become the one to be surprised when it is that I begin to wander away from my massacred doll to find the silhouette of a figure of which my subconscious dares to try and remember. My mind struggles to place a name to this rugged creature of night and still it does not come easily. It is only when I stalk upon him and the tendrils of his scent finally reach my nose that the connection occurs and a rather devilish smile befalls my facade. "My, my Malikye.. What has gotten a hold of you?" It is a sensual purr upon the wind to him, a roughly feminine voice that holds a dominant nature and the soft coo of a minx all in one tone.

for malikye // 391 // o: FINALLY