Anger is manifested in the individual who spurns love

And opts instead for fury.

This world was not ready for Keturah, but she was coming anyway. She was the embodiment of sin, the personification of all the world's wrath forced inside a body. Fate had placed the most violent of storms inside of her, and even in the darkness of the womb she could feel it flowing through her veins and stirring inside of her. The whole world would fall to it's knees before Keturah or face her fangs. The prodigy daughter of the great Ava would live up to her family blood line and make her mother proud. The chains on her prison were breaking, and soon she would be free; the weak would know true fear.

For as long as the young bitch had consciousness over her surroundings, she had heard the thundering rhythm of her mother's heart and felt the bodies that surrounded her. For a while, the beating was heard as a war drum, but now she hated it. Of all the kick's her mother had felt from her children, Keturah was responsible for almost all of them. Tiny paws tried to kick away the bodies that cramped her up, to kick at the cage that kept the fearsome child locked the the sound that she loathed. The embers of rage burned hotter each day she remained trapped, her kicks now aimed to claw out of her mother's abdomen. She hated this place, hated the tight darkness. More importantly, she fucking hated that noise.

The beating increases and with it, her siblings are ripped away from her one by one. Something is happening, and it.....pleases her. It takes a long time, but she too is pulled by some unseen force, away from that incessant, though the beating had seemed to have.....slowed. The tiny creature is pushed from her mother, she the being that has sapped what remained of her mother's strength. She does not yet not whine, her tiny lungs pushing out snarls and growls. Keturah has only had her airways cleared, and it shows by the roars she makes. Her needle sharp teeth, which would one day be replaced with ones more fitted to rip flesh, slashed at the creature that dropped her so carelessly next to the wriggling pile of her siblings.

Her nose scents food, but more importantly it scents blood. It is a delightful smell, more tantalizing than the creme of her mother's milk. Keturah is still painted in her mother's blood. A daughter born with war paint, wriggling through the red substance with a rage. The other pups were taking what was hers and she would not stand for it. She uses her strong legs to push one of her brothers away from her prize, lashing out to bite at him for good measure. She latches on and begins to feast, a constant growl rumbling in her chest, a warning that if her sister or her brothers came near her she would bite and make them bleed. She does not love, and never will. She hates and tolerates, and she does not tolerate her siblings.

Only when she has had her fill does she move away from the seemingly lifeless body of their mother. Her siblings may fall asleep at this time but she does not, her nose picks up on something else. It is not blood, food, mother, or siblings, and therefore she moves towards it, angered by its presence. She moves to a massive paw, bumping into it blindly and causing her snarls to grow louder. The bloody girl lashes out immediately, hoping to sink her needle sharp teeth into one of the toes. It is a message, that she was in charge. Keturah would not be satisfied without more blood on this day.

KETURAH; ZERO; SOULLESS; HEARTLESS; GLORALL; COVET X AVA