𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 (𝟏) | 𝟏𝟖+

lv. consumed.

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The hunger in Morrow's dark dilated blight eyes shouldn't belong there. Despite the tumbles in their love, he never viewed her as if she were deserving of his bloodshed. Now, he hunts her as if she were a flea waiting to be crushed by a giant, a hare running from the wolf's jaws. It's the same body that's supposed to love and cherish her, but it's filled with the darkness of a man set on destroying all sources of light.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She bursts out of the sanctum doors into the corridor, frantically looking over her shoulder to see if the alpha chases her. A starved growl echoes against the stone walls, followed by the dragging of that silver sword. Rage swells from inside of her at the sight of that single weapon, because it only means that Rhimme knows his weaknesses. The were hate silver. The wyng hate iron, and yet, Morrow stalks her without feeling pain, all because he's trapped in Rhimme's control.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow appears at the far end of the corridor, encased in his black wings. She's never been afraid of him. Not until now when he's unpredictably volatile.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen shakes her head, tears caking to her skin. "This isn't you!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎No words come from him as he edges closer to her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow, listen to me!" she cries to him in an attempt to be the voice of reason. "Rhimme's got you under his control! You don't really want to hurt me, do you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His fingertips remain scorched in blight, the poison infecting him for the second time. His infection is purposeful, a simple reminder that everything she has is only a fleeting moment in time, that she can lose him with the snap of Rhimme's fingers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A ravenous growl breaks through his gritted canines. She doesn't want to hurt him, but she can't take his blows if he decides to attack unless she defends herself. It's not Morrow, she tells herself on repeat. If she doesn't fight back, he'll tear her to shreds unless he finds clarity. And if she does choose to fight... she'll never forgive herself for what she'll do to him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tears continue to stain her cheeks as she tumbles backward, her spine colliding with another set of double wooden doors.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Please, don't do this," her sob echoes off the cathedral glass ceilings. "It's me! It's Elowen, the one you love, your mate!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His pace increases, his strides longer as the distance between them closes. He bares his sharp jagged teeth, his features twisting with a hungered lust for blood and carnage.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There is no light in him now.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Only Rhimme's consuming darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She pushes through those double doors as the icy breeze of the outdoors swaddles around her skin and rakes at her single feathered wing. A courtyard. She studies the dark silhouettes around her, noticing that it's mostly blight-shrubbery and gardens overrun with mutinous weeds. She needs to hide, because she knows she can't outrun Morrow on her scrawny legs.