[18+ Yandere Meowscarada x Reader] I'll Make Them All Disappear!

65 | Wild Side

"Step back," Cinnamon says. "She's doing something." She reignites her heels in a quick swirl of blue fire and pulls you a few steps back away from Zoroark. You're not ready to do that, not yet ready to go back to being small and weak, always staring from a distance. You do it anyway. What Cinnamon says is true—if she's not actively doing something now, Zoroark is most certainly planning on it. You and Cinnamon create some good distance, both of you heavily on guard.

Zoroark doesn't look away from you. Her mouth is bloodied and she's got some missing teeth and one eye is blotted out by cavern rubble and blood, but she does not take a second of glance away from you. With her single eyeball that is still able to see, she stares with so much force and fury—the kind of silent fury you might feel trying to escape the room with a hissing, glaring cat in it, or the look a very disappointed teacher might shoot you from across the room.

Anger portrayed through the eyes and nothing more, that's what it is. And it's scary. You feel a pang of fear throb in your chest despite all you've been through against this Zoroark who, all things considered, shouldn't be a threat any longer. She should be a sightless, mouthless corpse by now. If not that, then a stray fox fending for her next meal somewhere off in the wild.

"I tried," Zoroark says in a dead, inhuman voice—the voice of a corpse blessed with a mouth. "I tried to see the world in a better light. I fed on the imperfect, filled my head with them, drowned myself in their influence... because imperfection is the way of life. The way of life."

As she speaks, a sickly green mist rolls out of her mouth. It bends and it twists and the color makes a gradual shift into something of mint-green. It vaguely reminds you of mint chocolate chip ice cream, if mint chocolate chip ice cream wasn't ice cream at all but rather a plume of icy vapor. The smoke falls over Zoroark's shoulders, rolls down her chest, spills out over and between her thighs, then stops.

"Imperfection is perfection, my perfection," she says. "I am imperfect. I am beautiful." She laughs—a horrible noise. To you it sounds like a skeleton, risen freshly from the grave, having a good laugh over jokes only the dead can hear. She continues on laughing until it grows boisterous and so loud you want to cover your ears. Above all else, it's insane.

HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA—

"I am imperfect!" she screams, and the smoke curling around her body jerks into a cloud of static, then reforms around her arms. "I am imperfect and I am beautiful! I am imperfect and I am beautiful! I am not a flawless freak of nature! I am not a monster!"

HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA—

"Imperfection does not deserve to be purged because it's the way of life! Yes, of course, that's how it's always been!" The vapor soaks into her body as though it were a sponge. It spreads through every limb, every inch of flesh and fur on her body, its raw brightness radiating minty-green against the black of her furry coat. This natural black—her entire body—gradually turns white. "Perfection is a flaw! Perfection deserves to be purged!"

Cinderace assumes a combative stance, ready for anything, but above all else she's fixed on protecting you first. She protectively squeezes your forearm, keeping you about an inch or two behind her.

Zoroark's jaw splits open, and she throws her head back on her shoulders. That single eye—the one still visible to you and glaring intensely at you (although, now it's best to say that intensity has gone full maniacal)—rolls back all the way, leaving only a bump of white veiny eyeball. Her long stretch of crimson tinted hair, tied together by bluish-green orbs, bursts out into a staticky hairdo that swims with white instead of black. The red remains at the tips, and the orbs splatter into a million glassy shards.