﹠̲. ᴷ̳ουνελάκι.

* i'll be active this weekend!!! i just need to get over my last shift for the week first. 

*  For a quick refresher,  bunny (her nickname) aka aishah is from an aristocratic society whose motto is “eat the rich,” which in the name itself makes it quite obvious what she is.. a cannibal.  gentle voice,  oddly unsettling,  delicate posture,  rabbit-like,  a little mad,  loves animals..  etc! 

@theglorey ❤️//

* @-demonicprince-，of course you can!!

@theglorey may I drop a one liner?//

* @-demonicprince-，oh my gosh you're too kind  )):  aaaaa thank you so much!!  ♡

[the voice of rudaphor santoire dances though the hall while he ascends on his way elsewhere.  the scenery of white, wisdom-filled hair still following behind him, mumbling hymns and responses to his own questions alike.]  “(oh. oh, you poor thing——)”  [stella moved with grace,  the cuffs of her sleeves are turned outwards with delicate swiftness & pushed upward in a fluid, practiced ease.   she gestures to the wound first,  a silent ask of permission, before the stranger’s arm is lifted in her hands for better inspection]   “(you are quite lucky to be alive… a bite like this must’ve aimed to tear limb——does it hurt at all?)”

@santoire，    [a small breathy laugh escaped her—gentle,  almost musical.]   “oh,   but there’s nothing to forgive.   i found him to be quite the silly old man,   really.  endearing,   in his own way.”   [she said, voice warm with another gentle laugh,   barely above a whisper—pleasant,   but not entirely reassuring.   when she lowered her hands,  her sleeve slipped—just enough to reveal the edge of a darkened bite mark,  swollen and strangely patterned for she didn’t hide it quickly enough.]    “i came to ask for help,    ——something attacked me in the woods.   i wasn't fortunate enough get a good look at it.”   [a pause for aishah smiled—  polite,   serene,  and terribly out of place.]   “..but,  it bit me.”

—— how may i help you?

@undamned，    [a courtesy nod,  her way of acknowledging thanks. the vivid crimson that stained the pristine white fabric,  the color almost too perfect,   bold, regal even, too alive to be ignored.  a flicker of amusement and appreciation passing over her features as she imagined the possibilities that such a hue might inspire,  each thought delicate and precise.]    "what a beautiful red..   it would make the most exquisite gown,  don't you think?”  [it was nothing but an innocent question birthed from rotting flesh,  and with how her voice carried the same naïve innocence as her gaze.  yet there was no mistaking the sincerity behind the question.]   “do you see how it shines when you hold it there?   such elegance in the smallest places..  how lovely;   a shame it won't keep its color forever.” 

@theglorey [perhaps it was that feminine rage that blinded her need for presentation. a rare thing for someone like martha—who had spent years blending in, deceiving both the murderer and the martyr of man and monster.  she, the eater of others—the apex predator, had made a mistake.  a mistake only the eyes of a white rabbit could find upon the red wolf.  anyone else,  and neither she nor they would have ever noticed]    thank you,  [simple and quiet,  a soft blow of wind in winter air.  she takes the handkerchief, pressed it against the right end of her chin. upon white was now a speck of deep red—a warning, perhaps.  one only dissectors of literature will understand] 

@undamned，    “even in the smallest traces,   you cannot help but devour…   is that what makes you so special?”     [her voice produces a fine line between mockery and generosity for a single finger would point over the tiniest speck of blood,     one so minute only her eyes could see.     she produced a pristine handkerchief,    gracefully extending it as though presenting a rare jewel.]     “here,”      [aishah murmured,    a faint,   knowing smile tracing her lips.]     “little stains like this are far too precious to ignore.”

@lycanine，    “quite hilarious,   actually.”    [said the aristocrat,  a lilting laugh slipping past her lips as she brushed invisible dust from her silk sleeve.   the joke—whatever it was—seemed to amuse her alone.]      “oh.   you’re…   not amused?”   [she tilted her head—soft,  curious,    almost rabbitlike—her eyes narrowing just the slightest,   studying them.]    “have i accidentally frightened you?” 

the darkness behind his eyes bursts into gardens of deadly nightshades at her choice of words. hunger. drive. instinct. the feeling of wine colored liquid running down the sides of his fingers and the prize of bruises. wonders how she looks feral with starvation and at the edge of madness. he'd quite like to go hunting with her one evening. "that's my girl." he cleans her up to the best of his ability but even he knows that you do not have to be pure to be rid of nature. "one must feast for health for it is of most importance. no need to beg for temptation to leave when you could simply give into it." fighting it, however, was intriguing to watch from an outsider's perspective. he releases a brief laugh. "and who said that I did not care? I care for all of my friends."

@saintbled，    [the sensation—linen meeting flesh, and blood meeting cloth—it sits somewhere between pain and penance.   her hand tenses at moments,  and  then releases at others.  from the pulsating stings that bites her hand to the tremors of ease,  Bunny could only catch the ghost of a breath.]      “This one wasn’t a hen.   a crow,   perhaps?    it was mean with clever eyes.”    [She flexes her fingers,   subtly.   beneath the  skin,    blood had already begun to pool—silent violets,   and sickly blues blossoming like petals along her knuckles and wrist,   leading to decorate her body like the canvas she is.]    “It fought back,   but..i was hungry.”    [Rich,  red,  and half–feral───she savors the memory in fragments:   bathed in the brown of the earth and the red of flesh,   that was all she allowed herself to remember.]   “Careful,   you seem to care more than what you lead on..mathis.”

they all go into the ground one way or another. he shoots her a secretive yet mildy amused look as she playfully mocks him but says nothing more. he nods approvingly to bunny as she reaches for the piece of cloth. "good." and takes it upon himself to dap the blood within her palms. the clean, white linen greedily takes the crimson. it licks it up like a dehydrated dog that whines for more and more. mathis's hues gaze up until they meet her own. he rotates her wrist, checking for measurements that he simply missed. he sounds at ease in that english accent and english coat of his. "and which little hen did you catch this time?" soil tends to clump together, leaving him wondering if it will take more time to dig it out. or which tools will be necessary for cleaning underneath the nail.