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PRP Swallow me whole with the moon on my back

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Inactive Character
Inactive Character
Statistics
Species
northwestern wolf

Sex
male (he/him)

Age
7 years

Height
Very Tall

Weight
Average

Build
Stocky

Eyes
blue

Fur
white, silver, tan, brown, iron

Scent
burned oak

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Rating
1L - 1S - 2V

longing, wistful, dignified, stern
#2
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skill: heartboken · ( 1 of 5 )


Blue eyes blinked slowly open, vision blurred; his eyes were crusted and felt thick, so he spent a moment to blink away his weary sleep. Habit drew a hand to the corner of his right eye, his goal to rub the closed lids to free them, but something big touched his cheek instead. Immediately his eyes snapped open, hands—paws—pushing against the ground to get him upright. A beast's paw sat beneath him and he bristled, his lips pulling back over his teeth—but he could not make out the beast. No, when he turned to view it, it was always just beyond his vision, its tail trailing his sight. He felt a guttural snarl rip from his chest and this surprised him. Somnus had never snarled like a beast before, though he may have been close...

But as he turned, he realized the beast's paws were moving in tune to him, its tracks beneath him. A chill froze his blood.

He was the beast.

Studying his paws, he focused on the way the white of the beast's legs ended at the toes, like the fingerless gloves of his armor. He felt the beast's lips relax, his gums dry and sticky from being exposed. Within his chest he felt the beast's growl, rumbling and angry and confused.

What manner of nightmare was this? Had he even been asleep?

Like a poor puppeteer he turned the beast's body, suddenly clumsy on his legs when instinct did not move his muscles. He found it difficult to move smoothly but at the same time it felt almost as natural as breathing. It was easier to steady on four legs but he still found that he could stumble and catch in his footsteps. With the beast's sharp eyes he scanned his surroundings. If this was a nightmare, it was incredibly real feeling. Perhaps the most unholy thing he had ever experienced. Unholy... Instead of looking through the scenery, he took a second to look at it.

It was beautiful. Stained in a blush that he could only imagine his family would enjoy. Some kind of place they'd drag him to on a lazy weekend...

Stellia, he stammered, choking on the name as he began to turn wildly again. She wasn't there. Or over there. Or... Stellia? he called, louder. For the first time since he woke, he felt his nose draw in the scents around him like some kind of outreaching grasp—and had he ever contemplated looking for his daughter by scent? It was ingrained in him then, some primordial knowledge, something that he could feel and understand as a part of him. A part of the beast.

Reluctantly, he let himself rely on the beast's nose, but the absence of her scent made him panic. Her scent, soft and floral and sweet, was not here. Her shimmering hair in the sunlight, her laughter rising in the air, the way her eyes regarded him like he was the pillar of the world: they were all missing. Was this how she had felt, when she accepted that death meant these things are gone forever? Was this how she felt when she realized her mother would never lift her again, never walk through the door to smile at her again...? Had he left her, too?

He crumbled. He'd never felt his legs shake the way they did now and he found the beast was gasping for air.

He had died. He had died and gone to hell to live as a beast for his sins. As he struggled to collect himself, he found solace in the absence of his daughter. At least whatever fate he was given was not also passed to her.

Somnus was not religious, but he found himself closing his watered eyes and praying for her safety and her happiness. If anything, he knew his brothers- and sisters-in-arms would not leave her an orphan. She had family in the knights but for her father to leave her, too—he shook his head. Maybe this was temporary. Maybe he would wake and find her sitting on the bed with a bundle of flowers to greet him: "You slept in again!" she'd gripe though a laugh.

Blue eyes blinked slowly open and he was met with the same blushed meadow as before, and while beautiful, it was utterly and wholly absent of Lia. She had been the only thing he had left in life, his purpose for living and being and breathing. He could not help but wonder if she thought the same of him. Would her world now feel so empty, even if it was full of the life around her?

A knot of regret twisted in his chest and he felt his heart die. Such was hell.

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Inactive Character
Inactive Character
Statistics
Species
northwestern wolf

Sex
male (he/him)

Age
7 years

Height
Very Tall

Weight
Average

Build
Stocky

Eyes
blue

Fur
white, silver, tan, brown, iron

Scent
burned oak

Writer

Posts

Threads

Rating
1L - 1S - 2V

longing, wistful, dignified, stern
#4
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skill: --- · ( 1 of 5 )


An emptiness drifted in his mind as Somnus stood dazed, until a voice called for his attention. Glazed eyes snapped into focus and he turned his head to find its source: another beast. Instinct bristled his fur—he would, in his normal mindset, not want to appear defensive toward a stranger but he had yet to learn to fine-tune the control of his own beast.

Almost as if the two hellish creatures communicated on a different level than he knew, his felt his body relax: her stature was not aggressive, and he felt the fire that was igniting in his blood immediately begin to cool. He felt his fur smooth and his shoulders dropped slightly. This was okay. But aside from how his body reacted to her, his mind was set tumbling with questions. Was she a natural beast, or one like him, sent here to live as a beast as some kind of punishment?

Are ye well, friend?

The question sat in his mind like a weight. No, he wanted to answer. Of course I'm not. Was she? Was she quite well? How could he be? But he bit back these retorts and collected himself, trying to judge how best to word his answer. Friend. He let the word sit by itself for a moment and after several breaths, he shook his head.

No, he said finally in a genuine, honest answer. For the first time, his eyes regarded her wholly: she had bits of flowers throughout her fur and it was colored differently than his seemed to be. So they were not all the same manner of beast. Through his beast's nose he smelled soft scents like lavender and honey, where his own body reminded him of a burned-out fireplace. What does it mean for each of hell's beasts to be unique? he wondered. Why should it matter?

Is this Hell? he asked, studying her expression for changes. I am no beast... but here I stand, with a beast's claws and a beast's fangs. Why? Even if she could not answer, he repeated, Why?

Why was he taken from his life, from Stellia? Surely there was an answer. He was desperate for the meaning, because without Lia, what meaning was there?

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