:::not here for my _{confessionals:::}

Not too many moments had passed before Malignus realised just whom he was dealing with. Unfortunately, she was not the sweet, naïve flower he had so hoped for. No, the scars on that ebony pelt and the bold, charismatic eyes told him all that he needed to know, and he ceased his growling to welcome the stranger instead, putrid meal forgotten in this new and intriguing turn of events. The female watched him, unblinking as he wove between characters, listening to his sickly-sweet introduction with nary a flick of her battered ear as she took him in. Instead, she fixed her whirling eyes on his own and stepped forward. He lifted his head, feigning courage, and widened his stance in an effort to appear more self-assured, giving nothing of his cowardice away in his eyes. Upon completion of his speech and bow, the stranger opened her own jaws to reveal gleaming canines, sharp as daggers. He eyed them even as she spoke, noting how they protruded dangerously as she smiled at him.

With a flourish of his head, Malignus' expression shifted to impersonate genuine hurt, his voice silky as it slipped from his clever, clever maw, “Oh, darling! But I would never dream of lying to one such as you! I can see that you're much too clever for that, even from just a single glance.” He flattered her shamelessly, enjoying her perfume as it wove around him, reminding him of the winter to come and his looming conquests. She seemed to regard him once more before speaking again, and he remembered the bloodied carcass that lay a little way behind him.

Malignus turned his head to regard it, thinking while he did so, before blinking at the black shadow whose ranking was apparent in her aura, “I suppose that keeping up my guise is of no use. You see, why would it matter to me whether I eat rotting flesh, or fresh? My heart is just as maggot-ridden as the carcass upon which I dine. However, I was never a wolf to say no to a hunt, blood is always better hot. Are you inviting me on one, foreign queen?”

He smirked, for once wearing no mask, and the sight of his blackened soul was truly terrible to behold. He was as dead and empty as Tobias, remorseless and cold, but he felt comfortable enough showing his true colours to one who so obviously understood him. As he stood before her, grinning like a clean-picked skull, he remembered a meeting he had shared with another wolf a few days prior. The blackness of that youngster's pelt had been reminiscent of the one who stood beside him, and he hazarded a guess as to their relationship, “Forgive me for asking, darling, but I met a pretty young primrose who looked a little like you the other day. She didn't fear me much either. I cannot recall her name, but could she, perhaps, have been related to you? A daughter, by chance?”