Let's get one thing straight: This is not about love.
Or-- is it?
Doesn't the lion love the hunt? The slaughter? Or is it just the aftermath-- belly full, blood on the snout, bones and skin arranged like scripture at the feet-- the brief but fleeting, always fleeting sense of fullness. Holiness.
It is a thin line she walks. Unspeakable danger if she should look at him in a certain way, or zipper shut the sultry, whining distance between them. Her heart pounds with the double-edged thrill of the hunt from both sides-- wolf and lamb-- pulsing in her pretty little neck like a lighthouse to his hungry eyes; home. come home. this way.
beware. the rocks.
Ah, there it is, two words, "show me," growled like a dog who cannot understand the bone is not his,
not yet,
maybe not ever.
She smiles, delighted, just as she steps back from the cover of the trees into the moonlight. Moonlight that paints her like a goddess, or a dream, and all her edges become illuminated in silver, and all her shadows become the deep black-eyed blue of night.
Step by step she goes to the water. When it first licks at her hocks she does not flinch at its coldness. No it feels warm as blood to her, inviting as starlight, and a sudden eagerness enters her eyes, something not at all related to the smell and the heat of the gold-streaked dog before her. Home, she is home, and this time she is– maybe?– not alone. Step by step the water rises to her knees, and then her barrel, and then, easy as breathing, it happens. Leg fuses to leg to tail. Spine lengthens. And lengthens. And lengthens. Delicate grey frills bloom down her back and belly, scaled and shimmering in a multitude of little constellations as they reflect the generous moonlight.
It is an unveiling. The most intimate of performances, and at it’s conclusion she floats snakelike in the dark, frothing water, watching him with large jade eyes. It's not clear, then, exposed, if she's a demon or an angel, monster or miracle. It is a question that only time and closeness can answer. It is perhaps a question best left untouched. The world deserves a little mystery, a little darkness.
A little simpering, simmering darkness.
“Come on, Erasmus. The water's nice.” Her voice is breathy with impatience even though she blinks slowly, lazily, the image of having all the time in the world. She wants him in the water. In her world. Where she could wrap her tail around his neck in a vicelike grip the second he took things too far. Because that's what you do, isn't it? Take things too far? I know you. Poor thing, you can't help yourself. "Don't be a stranger." She smiles sweetly, heartbreakingly beautiful-- not sure, but wondering if he has a heart to break.
A N A N D I
@Erasmus your words are such a delight to read<3
some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing
☾
