[ P ] The Reckoning

face full of teeth white, but not smiling—

Victory was in its sweetest form. Others rejoiced for the king, but I rejoiced for selfish reasons. This type of victory laid a foundation for my ego, the kills made, the blood shed. The injuries sustained. It was all worth it on a certain level that I couldn’t exactly speak on. This reflected in the way that I walked, in the way that I carried myself through the forest. Even with my neck bleeding and thrashed, even with my body sore and tired - I walked like royalty. Corpulent skull was high, as if to balance a well worn crown. Visage was stoic, eyes forward, ears forward. My tail was low, however. My dominance surely wafted from me in radical waves. The epitome, the image, the very aura of being royalty was painted well on me. I felt it, I looked it. So one day, I would be it. But I wondered - would being in the army get me there? The thought tickled the back of my mind often. But first, something most important must be taken care of.

Even in the midst of all of the fighting and blood spatter, the sounds of bones breaking and necks snapping, souls fleeing the organic bodies - I thought of her. The Witch. Unworthy still of knowing her name, unless I could locate her, I left the battlefield and searched for her. There was no time to rest, to time to heal.

A moth to a flame.

Would she hail me knowing I had survived? Would she deem me worthy knowing I could kill and not falter? Would she regard me in a more accepting fashion? All she’s seen of me is a low ranked soldier, jailed after being beaten. But this - this was a side of me she hadn’t witnessed. The murderer. The fiend. The king who would stop at absolutely nothing to gain what he wanted even if that meant leaving a bloody wake. Ambition burned hotly beneath my skin, pulsing through my veins. It seared my insides, fueled my passion, and now - I downright ached for her.

She would be mine.

My obsession.

My one eye devoured the forest, soaking up the trees and leaves. It sought the flash of white amongst the earthen tones, the brightness even under her dingy, unkept fur. I had to be careful, my mind could play tricks on me, responding to the painful burn of the ache in my belly to see her. Her perfume was present, fainter in other areas, so I followed the strongest scent trail.

A streak of white. It drew my attention. Was it her? I changed direction slightly to follow it, but a daunting laugh echoed in the opposite direction. Regal posture would not falter, but an irritated grimace plastered across my slightly bloodied and scar ridden face. Silver lips twitched in a small sneer, my one eye scouring my surroundings to try and capture the Witch. Another ricocheting giggle from the woman, a passing of alabaster, a growl bubbling from my throat and resonating in my chest.
You will show yourself now,
Baritones growled in demand, no room for argument or games. If she continued to toy with me - the end result would be vicious.

—all teeth, but not smiling

code // art

you said i killed you
haunt me then

—be with me always—

take any form
drive me mad

This is her web, she is the spider—he is the fly. She's laid the trap, and now all that remains is for him to take the bait. Of course, good little soldier that he is, he had gotten distracted by war and bloodshed and victory. If he thinks she had not watched every moment of prowess from afar, he would be wrong. Parathion has watched him in nearly every waking moment, and she watches him now.

She lets the forest swallow him whole.

She wants him to get lost in the viper’s den—she wants him to understand the wilds of her home, that this is the cruel wilderness that called to her feral heart, much in the way that he does now. Parathion never lets him see all of her; she teases, ghosting through the trees, leaving pieces of herself behind. She laughs at his frustration, and the sound echoes—the birds mimic it. They like this game as much as she does.

Where the vines seem to yield to her passing, allowing her to flit through like a ghost on the wind, they do nothing but hinder White Timber. The forest carries his growl to her, demanding she heed him; Parathion laughs again, a cruel and taunting trill. She changes direction, vanishing entirely into the underbrush without another sound, leaving him with only the chirping birds and a distantly bubbling stream to listen to.

Her pathing is deliberate, arcing wide before she circles back, allowing his frustration to build. She wants to see his teeth—she wants to feel them in her skin. Catching sight of her prey once more, the witch slithers closer, approaching with lethal quiet from his left side. She moves quickly, seeking to swiftly close the gap between them before he’s aware of her presence, her muzzle stretching towards his ear. “Or what?” she purrs, her eyes zeroing in on his bloody neck; she leans closer, hungrily, and promptly tries to lick it. Not in a manner of concern or worry, but one of raw possession, an all-consuming need to taste him.

code // art

face full of teeth white, but not smiling—

It never ceased to amaze me that the woman adored to frustrate me, then get within fang’s reach. She finally came to, her tongue slithering from that pretty maw to lick at my fresh wounds of triumph, and I took the opportunity to execute a quick bite to her neck in response. A vicious snarl accompanied the action, though I wasn’t sure the blow would actually land. Silvery lips curled to reveal the lethal bridgework, rigidly cut ears pinning, corpulent skull rising. Was she proud of me? Did my deeds go unnoticed? Is my worth greater now?

“You test me, woman.”

Baritones growled, but while my body was alight with fury and remnants of war, my eye was hungry, soaking her body up of her curves. But she was right. The Witch, void of a name, was right about the way the army used me. My ambitions were too strong, too bright for this part of my life and I had to move on. I wasn’t sure how just yet and so without a plan I would not move from my lowly ranking. Not until something else was in full motion.

“I’ll know your name now.”

Deep vocals emitted in a low, almost guttural snarl, the demand hot and heavy on my breath. My body was hardly able to contain itself anymore as I lashed again for another blow to the Witch, but this time to her scruff, to attempt and latch myself there and hold. She would be mine, I will take, and she will give, and soon this world will bow to me. Not to the Kings who fought over lines in the dirt, not the kings who would sooner send their men and not themselves – White Timber.

A heavy rump began to pivot so that we were parallel, but my attempted hold on her scruff didn’t waver unless she were to wriggle her frustrating self out of it. I knew just how slippery she could be. Another growl sounded, resonating from deep within my chest to give voice to how little patience I really had now. I wanted her name, I wanted her mind, I wanted her soul, I wanted her heart, and I wanted her body. It would all be mine, this hour, this day, or she would see just how cruel I really could be.

—all teeth, but not smiling

code // art

you said i killed you
haunt me then

—be with me always—

take any form
drive me mad

He snaps, teeth and fury and frustration—just the way she likes him. She craves his fire, his fury, every twisted broken thing about him. She doesn't shy away from him, because she craves the burn of his teeth, too. She wants to leave her mark on him with equal vehemence. "You test me." She grins, crooked and mischievous, and purrs, "I know." She will have him no other way. But she will have him.

Always with the demands, this one. Parathion can't help her amusement that he thinks they will work on her now, after all the times she has refused him. Over and over again, she pushes him to the point of breaking, because she does not know how to yield. For him, she thinks she just might.

She chuckles softly, and as though he has anticipated her disobedience, White Timber is lunging for her, arching over her and sinking his fangs into the nape of her neck. Her laugh turns into a snarl, an eager sort of sound, goading and hungry. She can feel the trickle of blood down her neck, staining her white fur red, feeding the earth below her feet. It's tempting to keep this game going, to see what he might do if she gets him angrier, but there is an inherent, instinctual part of her that would rather sink into him, and relent to the dominant hold he has on her.

He swings into her, twisting her scruff in the process—she bleeds more freely, breathes more heavily, finally hisses an answer, "Parathion." A poison. She makes no effort to escape his hold; instead, she leans closer, pressing the length of her side against him both in possession and invitation. "And you're mine, White Timber," she growls vehemently, despite the fact that it is he who has his jaws locked on her flesh. She would kiss the ground at his feet if he told her to, but he is still hers.

She will have it no other way.

code // art

face full of teeth white, but not smiling—

Finally, a name for my witch. Parathion. I did not sound it out loud, nor did I test it eagerly in my head. I stored it, shoving it to the very edges of my mind as if it were a prize to be coveted. Did many others know her name? Was I the only one privy to such a gift? I made a silent promise to myself in that moment. Whoever else knew her name, they would be slain. I would add skulls to my collection until her name was extinct to all others but me, and me alone. Golden eye burned with satisfaction, a fever building in me that threatened to consume and light my entire body ablaze. Electricity in my toes begged to crackle from its fleshy confines, as I positioned myself to be able to take her in full. When she sank into me, even with blood dripping and a growl, I knew she had granted me her body - and so I took it.

[fade to black]

At the end of it all, we were a mangled, bloody mess. It was everything to me. She was everything to me. But I wouldn’t tell her that. Instead, I let anger show. Slowly, ever slowly, I was figuring out just what made her tick. She was more clever, wittier, lighter on her paws than me - but I was putting all the puzzle pieces together. Even if she held my heart between those teeth, and even if she could crush my soul with one look - I wouldn’t let her know it. She had all the power over this great beast, all the say in the world, but I wouldn’t dare offer her the satisfaction of knowing it. And so, I let my rage seep from every pore, even if my heart was beating so fast due to ravaging her in the best of bloody ways. Silver, marred lips peeled in another snarl, letting her know in the only way that I knew how, giving her a message. She wouldn’t be touched by anyone, ever again. She was only mine, and I would kill for her. I would fight for her.

I would kill her.

I took a step toward her, letting our shoulders touch and the warmth between our bodies to intertwine. My soul flared, nostrils reacting to her perfume, the way the blood stained her white fur made it all the more beautiful in some way. A low rumbled reverberated in my chest, as if to growl but just short of it, a breath seeping out from between bridgework as if I were to say her name aloud - but I killed it before it could sound.
"Now patch us up."
The command was spoken in deep foundation but ended in a clip of finality. Neither too harsh nor too soft, it was given and it would be obeyed, simply as that.

I waited. But my patience would not last very long either.

—all teeth, but not smiling

code // art

you said i killed you
haunt me then

—be with me always—

take any form
drive me mad

It is enough. She drives his fury to greater heights until they are both volatile beasts entwined in a macabre display of blood and bodies. She loves him this way, this feral creature at her paw, because she has made it so—she will share him for nothing, and she can feel it in the way he drags her into him that he feels it too. They will undoubtedly be the death of one another, but it will be glorious and violent and beautiful on the way down.

fade to black
In the aftermath, she is flushed and feral-eyed, her heart thrumming with a rapid contentment she doesn't think she has ever known before. It has taken her bleeding at White Timber's beckoning, his driving her to the forest floor and dominating her, to quiet her demons—she has never craved connection to anyone the way she does him, and nor would she entertain for one iota of a second the idea of submitting to any other soul in this world.

Leaning into him, blood trails freely down her neck and onto his shoulder; the crimson is already marring his chest and her withers in a morbid proof of their dalliance, staining Parathion's pale fur just as viciously as he is stained upon her soul. She will gladly wear his mark, and no other's.

Uninclined to vulnerability, his demanded, "now patch us up," has her snorting, her lips curving into a smirk. "Don't think you can fuck me into being your pet," she warns in a quiet, but venomous tone; she is amused, for now, but White Timber would be wise to remember that she is the woman who incapacitated his entire unit. He could put a warrant out for her head, if he really wanted to, but where would be the fun in that?

With a sharp nip to the side of his neck, Parathion gets to her feet, pausing only long enough to arch an expectant brow at him before she heads down a narrow trail into the underbrush. Her message is clear: follow. She doesn't taunt or tease this time, doesn't dance from his reach or line of sight, allowing him to follow her precise path through the forest that she calls her home. She has never shared this jungle with anyone, let alone the place where she lays her head to rest, but there is not a moment's hesitation to share it with White Timber.

She does not expect him to stay—not always—but he will know where to find her.

Set back beyond some rather unfriendly brambles and overgrown foliage, there rests a less-than-impressive looking tree with aged and gnarled roots, and a small hollow opens in its base—hardly large enough to fit a single wolf, let alone two. It's her finest illusion yet, she thinks. Without explanation, Parathion ducks into the heart of the tree, and disappears.

Beneath the tree's expansive root system, a crude tunnel leads down into the earth, but it opens up into an impressively-sized room with smooth walls and a ceiling high enough to stand up straight. The mere existence of such a thing is a testament to her propensity to...obsess, and it's true—she had dug until her claws were bloodied stumps, let them heal, and then dug them raw once more. Over and over, like a dog with a bone; her home is a lesson in hyper-fixation to a horrific degree. In the far corner rests a surprisingly well-structured bed of woven branches and well-kept plush furs—in the one opposite, a low wooden table sits. It's missing half a leg and is propped up on a stone, and across its weathered surface is a somewhat concerning menagerie of polished bones, feathers, talons, and other various organic items that are not so simple to identify.

And then there's...the shelf.

It's two shelves, really, that take up the entire length of the remaining walls, and they are filled to the brim with mismatched glass jars housing a dizzying array of plants, potions, and...parts. This collection is her best kept secret and her most prized possession—though she thinks that White Timber has taken up residence beside it in her heart. If he betrays her, she will use every last poison on this shelf to make him regret it.

For now, she slinks along in front of the jars while she waits for him to join her, searching with a keen eye for one of the few items she has that won't kill them both.

code // art

face full of teeth white, but not smiling—

Parathion’s words struck like daggers to the heart. She gave them like venom poured over honey, but I felt the meaning behind them and the glint in her eye. But would she see the pain in mine? Brow furrowed, the other too ruined to even exist past the claw marks of a bear. Golden eye did narrow, and silver lips pulled tautly. Before she could move away, jaws lashed out to snag at her already bitten scruff, to keep her in place a moment longer, our eyes leveling with each other - gold and emerald seeping into each other.
"Do not, for any reason, think that I will ever use you."
I dare not speak her name to the wind, it was too sacred to me. But after such a proclamation, I released my woman and allowed her to lead. The arch of a delicate, pale brow drew me in again.

I would be lying to say it wasn’t difficult to keep up with her, but while she was the wisp of the forest I was definitely the beast. She fluttered across the earth like a ghost, I lumbered like a bear. But she would not lose me, and I would not falter. And as we approached her homestead, I took in every sight in silent awe and wonder. It was so different from my usual, it was so … free. She did not live under the thumb of another, she didn’t care for politics even if she could kill from the shadows while barely lifting a paw. She hailed no kings, did not poison on their whims. Her soul belonged to herself, her mind was her own.

That was, until I got ahold of her. But I was proud to know she was not so easily tamed, not so easily broken and chained. For a brief moment I felt a pang of envy, wondering why I couldn’t be more of the same ilk. But this ambition inside of me burned too hot, demanding too much release, commanding to forge a path of its own that I could do nothing but obey it. Still, it was refreshing to see her place and experience it. I took in every sight as I followed her, struggling in places she expertly passed through, but my curiosity did not wane. With each new thing, new jar, or new shelf - I was enthralled.

But I wouldn’t show it. Fuck her.

Battle hardened visage remained stoic and calm, my one eye scouring things with a leisurely glint. My posture was regal yet relaxed. I took care not be sure not to knock into anything or break the more fragile looking items. Mindful of my rump and where it swung, I wouldn’t even offer her any words of praise. A simple rumble of a hum from my chest would suffice, choosing a spot with a bit more wiggle room to sit and watch as my Witch did her work.

—all teeth, but not smiling

code // art

you said i killed you
haunt me then

—be with me always—

take any form
drive me mad

It had surprised her—the way he grabbed her, reeled her back in, promised her his loyalty with such conviction that she could feel it in her bones. She'd said nothing, but Parathion is still thinking about it whilst she's pulling down a few jars, still thinking about it when the distinctive sound of White Timber ducking inside after her reaches her ears, still thinking about it as she mixes dried herbs into a pleasant-smelling tincture. It smells like lavender, which is not her favorite scent, but it is strong enough to hide the more suspicious aromas, so she is often perfumed in it. He may leave, be it hours or days from now, but she will send him back to Rionnach smelling like her—and when it fades, he will come crawling back for another taste of her.

Ointment in hand, she turns back to him, her eyes snagging on the stoic features of his face. Scarred. Damaged. Imperfect. Hers. Gloriously hers. Her smile is slow and conniving, as though she's holding onto a secret she isn't yet ready to share, and she slinks towards her soldier with serpentine grace, stopping only when her chest is brushing into his. "Do you trust me?" she dares softly, that smile growing, but she doesn't wait for his answer before her paw is lifting, smearing the salve into the wound on his neck. "Cur earbsa annam." ( trust me ) This time, it's somewhere between a reassurance and a plea—a promise that so long as she is his and he is hers, she will never hurt him.

Well, not enough to kill him, anyway.

She ignores the blood marring his chest—she likes seeing him this way, marked in the essence of her. She wants to linger in his pores, long after he's returned to his royalist cuckolds. Parathion presses into him, more firmly this time, plastering her chest to his in an effort to bully him backwards: towards her bed. She is a greedy, voracious thing, hungry to dig herself into the very marrow of him. Mine. Mine. Mine. It's a song in her blood, rushing in her ears, thrumming in her soul. She will not be satisfied until they're so entangled, she cannot tell where one ends and the other begins.

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