saudade (open)

There was something moving inside of him, like a tide that had gotten off track and was surging outward from his heart. It was moving forward, ever forward, searching for a shore to pound on, to drown, to destroy. It was a chaotic feeling that made him desert his post when he was needed most; it was a feeling he could not contain, and did not want to. He followed it, like a good kitten, following the lead. His nose was level with his shoulders, the muscles rumbling thickly with the tension of this desire. The nameless one moved with the instinctual desire of a creature on the hunt for something just out of reach, and he moved with purpose, though his steps were erratic, though his nose tugged him in different ways. Always, always, he fell into the abyss, into the eternal darkness that enshrouded his soul, and was left with nothing. Nothing.

Nothing to look back on, nothing to look forward to, nothing to own, nothing to be. He was a shadow himself, lost adrift in the sea of his consciousness. Perhaps he moved as if he were dreaming, but each dark step he took, took him closer to a goal he felt thrilling through his spine. In a way, he knew, as he always knew, who it was he sought. It was the same pattern, though the voices in his head were disturbingly quiet. Perhaps they had died too. He chuffed, a sound of roughness deep in his throat as he cut through the different boroughs of life -- so often they saw him, this strange, deformed cat, skulking in the shadows of the middle class, only to fall head first into the low. It was not his home, but it housed the one he sought -- the one who would make it all go away. The worries, the doubts, it was nothing so simple as this. He was a broken creature, forced to live in a world he did not belong, and so he had carved one, and still did not feel pleasure.

Emotion was gone --but for this searching, thrilling feeling tickling his heart. He was craving her taste in his mouth, the dark insidious look in her eye, the sting of her claws in his flesh. It was an echo of a past life, one that he would never be part of again; in his dreams, he brought her back to life, but in the end, like in reality, he killed her. His mouth would find her throat, his tongue the pulse hiding beneath. He would drink of her blood, eat of her flesh, ingest that terrible, uncanny voice in his very consciousness and carry her closer than he had ever been to any one else. Even the Goddess he had met could not compete with the intimacy of the mad. He chuffed, clearing the breath from his lungs. His tail lashed, his muscles writhed and bunched: he had become a regular of the lower circles, too easily distinguished, too easily roused, they often left him alone.

He did not want to be alone.

---- and that was when it all came together.

His mouth picked up a stench he knew too well, knew intimately; a coldness he could not shake off, though he would never wish to. The chains of ownership tugged him hard, his gut clenching as he realized she must be near; so close, so close he could almost taste her, almost feel her flesh in his mouth. Ah, ahhh, the emotions were quickening, that dark feeling of restlessness beginning to turn with a viscous turmoil he did not even try to control. His power flickered, turning his garish coat into something vibrant and white before folding away into nothingness. He knew, he knew, and in his knowing his pace increased, hackles raised, muscles tensed. He felt her stench beginning to pry deep into his pores the closer he got. How long ago had she been here? He heard a heart beat -- and before thought became action, before any fore-planning had taken place, the nameless snow leopard, one-eyed, and marred by garish, shrieking scars, had lowered his body to the ground and pounced, exploding all of that thick muscled power into absolute action.

Was this the one he sought? Would his claws find the flesh of the darkest of Goddesses and have her fangs find him in return? A thrill of excitement surged through the stone nestled terribly in his eye socket as he fell on his prey, fangs unsheathed going for blood, as always, as always.

word count || 764

tags || Contrabelle

OOC || ello ^^ excuse the furry monster's manners. He has an obsession with Nayva