Vivarium - Spirited Highlands

Wonderful day in the neighborhood

Sun, 08 Nov 2026 13:26:15 -0500

for the babies! and

As any new father would be, Raelan was overjoyed and yet equally filled to the brim with anxiety. They were so small, he had noted on the day of the birth, all but one—and yet, still, so very small.

Eight children! Eight! He had made the comment to Vidalia as a joke, a jest to poke and prod at the seven already settled on coming—but eight perfectly, beautiful kids were more than a blessing he could’ve ever imagined.

He—a father to EIGHT? Astonishment was not the word to describe it, but neither did he have one to name.

And though he badly wanted to stay holed up in their room, where the smell of milk and his new babies wafted around him like a warm hug, he was still the Lord Commander, and that meant he still had another set of responsibilities to endure.

He had left at first light, ensuring that the territory itself was as protected, that things within the castle were well underway and moving smoothly. But once he finished his morning routines, the father returned to Vidalia’s room.

His shoulder pressed against the weathered door, creaking it open, until his eyes landed on the eight piles of fur he got to call his own. His smile was instinctive, wrapping across his features as he stepped closer—only lowering himself when he was near enough and sending a quiet breath of air toward their nestling bodies.

Hello, my loves, he whispered in quiet awe.

I See The Writing On The Wall

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 16:47:05 -0500

Takes place November 5th near the highland tunnel.

Afternoon sunlight was already beginning to thin through the autumn canopy, and Willadeene was determined to make the most of what remained. Winter was creeping closer, and the last of the fall herbs wouldn't gather themselves. She moved briskly between the dying patches of greenery, snipping what she could find and tucking each little bundle into a large skinned hare hide that she had been using as a herb pouch. Every leaf counted. Every root, every sprig. She'd be damned if she spent the first frost wishing she'd worked harder.

Unfortunately, her gathering had brought her rather too close to a great bloody cave. Its dark maw yawned between the rocks, and Willadeene found herself glancing toward it every few moments. Ach, she didn't like that. Not one bit. There was something about the place that set the fur along her spine prickling.

Come on, ye miserable wee weeds, she muttered, hurriedly gathering another handful. Just a bit more, then we’re goin’ home. I’ve nae intention of spendin’ the night beside some beastie’s front door.

a dream left behind

Sat, 07 Nov 2026 15:41:40 -0500

兆し

backdated to 11/6, set the morning after this thread

Dawn of the third day comes, and already the two men are moving. They've got a lot of ground to cover—the landscape thus far has simply stretched before them, endlessly, and in three days they have not made any new discoveries.

Kizashi will not return to his lord lacking in substantial information, and so he runs a tight schedule, regardless of any complaints that may fall from his companion's lips. Surely he'd known what he was getting into the day he'd agreed to travel with the likes of Kizashi, and surely the results of such an agreement have been of no surprise.

Still, Kizashi is not the type to let his men suffer in their service to him—at least, not all the time—and so he's just about to turn his gaze to Kuronami, the offer of a break rising to his lips, when something catches his eye.

A figure in the distance, obstructed by the passing of tree and shrub. Kizashi slows then, head lifting in silent communication to his travel partner.

Japanese | Common

frolicking through the fields of divination

Fri, 06 Nov 2026 15:30:21 -0500

兆し

backdated to 11/5, set the morning after this thread

Night had well and truly fallen, with the stars on full display, by the time he'd spotted Kuronami's dark figure in the distance. By then the forest at his back had settled into its nighttime quiet, save for the occasional rustle of vegetation and the soft, intermittent calls of whatever creatures reigned in the night.

Kizashi had become comfortable beneath the cover of the trees, leaning against the broad trunk of one while the darkness gathered around him. There, at least, the overhead canopy offered some reprieve from the open sky—and its watchful occupants.

He'd been content to wait there, with little more than the woodland's ambience to occupy his mind. The approach of the dark silhouette did little to disturb this patience, his blue eyes leveling easily upon the dim violet that came into view.

Only when the other man came within striking distance did he finally move, rising from his sit in a single, fluid motion to give a silent greeting to the Taiishō. Nothing formal—a dip of his muzzle, a nod of acknowledgement—before he motioned to where they would rest for the night.

It is morning now, and already they've been traveling for some time. The forest has given way to more open ground, and the steadily strengthening light has brought details into view that the darkness had concealed: the uneven rise and fall of terrain; the sparse collections of trees and low-growing shrubbery; the faraway mountains that stand in blurred relief against a pink sky. Kizashi takes note of these things as they trot along, his attention moving from the ground beneath their paws to the distant haze beyond.

There is little about their surroundings that he allows to escape his notice, though he remains otherwise quiet.

Kizashi is not normally one for idle chatter, and so he's content to move in silence, offering no effort to fill the space between them. Still, he keeps an ear trained upon the man beside him, receptive to whatever he might have to say.

Japanese | Common

there is a song

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 22:23:00 -0500

Winter is fast approaching - Satomi can feel it in the way the wind cuts through her fur straight into her bones. She misses blankets and cloaks for this very reason - even at her thinnest as a human, she could bundle herself until she was more fabric than person.

Now, it seems like all she can do is try and sun herself like a lizard or cram herself into the furthest corner of a den to keep herself warm.

And it's not even particularly working today. The sun is at its highest peak and still Satomi is shivering as she walks in an attempt to get her blood moving and body at a more acceptable temperature.

But she's still dreadfully weak, and her legs wobble beneath her, and her breath is thready in her lungs. It's frustrating, but necessary, she reminds herself. She wants to build that strength back up, and the only way to do so is to move.

The girl sits down abruptly - or more likely her legs have given up on her - and she heaves a heavy sigh as she looks up at the sky.

A gray cloud moves to cover the sun, and she wonders if it's an omen.

the shadow of the moon

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 20:12:32 -0500

A breeze rustles the long grass of the moors, cherry blossoms dance in the daylight as they float through the sky like pink raindrops. Coating the surrounding lake, the Taiishō stares up at the torii gate, taking a moment to recall the last time he’d seen the beautiful red structure such as this. The man is in a trance for some time, frozen like an onyx statue as imagery of his past flashes in his mind’s eye. The wind combs through his thick, wispy cheek fur, giving a gentle shake to himself to snap out of the haunting memories.

In times such as these, Kageyama Karina comes to mind. Kagetsu as well, though he’s made many appointments with them as of late— one rather important meeting, to which Kuronami intends to keep the Seshitsu in the know. It pertains to Kuronami himself, though even if it hadn't, sharing the whispers and goings-on of the Shogunate is the silent vow he made to the moon lily. He’s spent enough time ruminating over his deeply buried emotions, so he sets out towards the Kageyama shrine where he can only hope the lady of the home is present.

Surrounded in more blood red scenery, Kuronami walks along the edge of the pond just outside the shrine with reverence, his paws grazing the extended legs of the dangerously gorgeous spider lilies. He is careful not to disturb them, greatly respecting the violent plant and the one who associates with it. Violet eyes scan the horizon in search of a splash of white in the mix of red and greens; just as Kuro stands out in his midnight pelt, Karina reflects the opposite in her snowy adornment. The recognizable scent of citrus tickles his nose, and the Taiishō’s face softens to an already welcomed smile.

He stands at the edge of the pond, calling out towards the shrine. Lady Kageyama, might you have a spare moment for your Taiishō? Kuro knows the answer is yes, but he wouldn’t be so rudely presumptuous to not ask first.

クモの洞窟

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 19:50:35 -0500

As the day began to come to a close, Kuronami found himself to be a tad bored, restless, even. He’d made efforts in seeking out those who had already arrived in the Shogunate, past or present, though he’s certain there are more he has yet to come across. As he saunters through the open highlands, there is a lingering and ominous mound that latches to his psyche, calling to him to a strange structure he’d not investigated thoroughly. If the moors are to be his home, Kuro intends to become knowledgeable of every nook and cranny of the place.

The sun has nearly set now, casting him in camouflaging shadow while he sets out toward the oddly constructed cave he’d seen in passing. Just south of the river’s fork a protruding, black cave emerges from the horizon. At least, in the beginning, it had appeared as just a small cliff side especially when view from the north looking south, but Kuronami had suspected there was more to it than meets the eye. Instead of travelling across the bridge which would be more out of the way, he discovers there is a pinch in the stream that he can cross by stepping along some steadied rocks. If his paws get a bit wet in the process, so be it.

Kuro arrives at his destination just as the sun begins to descend down the horizon line, the sky dimly lit. Lowering his head to the ground, violet eyes scrape his surroundings while he investigates the grassy maw of the cavern, tail swaying lowly in thought as he inches his way closer, cautiously, alert.

flowers for the damned

Thu, 05 Nov 2026 01:02:48 -0500

兆し

Kizashi has left the moors with little consideration for goodbyes—those who need to know where he is going have been informed of his planned departure, and anyone else, he figures, would hardly miss his presence. And so the ground passes beneath an assured stride, from sunup to sundown, with little room for regret, or longing, or any manner of guilt that might twist itself beneath the ribs of a different man.

Night has fallen, the sun having dipped behind distant mountains, by the time the samurai feels satisfied with the day's progress. His stride breaks, slows to a leisurely walk as he passes beneath the first trees of what he knows to be Eastrenhold's forest. He knows he would find their castle should he veer a bit northward, but their fortress is not the destination he seeks. No—their treeline is merely a meeting place, and here Kizashi will await the arrival of Kuronami before they venture onwards together.

The Taiishō had some business to attend to, he'd said, and had agreed to catch up once he'd finished.

And that is fine, Kizashi thinks, as the open sky that has stretched for so long above him is finally obscured from view. As he is swallowed by a web of encroaching darkness, its strands thickening the further he ventures into the space beneath the deciduous trees.

He will simply find something to occupy his time.

Japanese | Common

She's Singing to me, "Glory!"

Tue, 03 Nov 2026 13:37:40 -0500

Vidalia birth thread. Babies will be tagged as they are born, when you are tagged feel free to post. Only and will be allowed within the birthing chamber at this point in time. Allow Raelanto post first.

For tracking and visibility purposes: , , , , , , ,

There were few things in this world capable of humbling a queen.

War, perhaps. The bitter indignity of defeat. The slow and merciless passing of time, which took from kings their kingdoms and from mothers their children. Vidalia had known each of these things in one lifetime or another, and had endured them with all the stubborn dignity expected of a woman who had once worn a crown of winter upon her brow.

Yet, as the fourth day passed since her children were expected to enter the world, she had come to the rather unflattering conclusion that there was no indignity quite so thorough as being enormously pregnant.

She could scarcely remember what it felt like to see her own paws.

Her once elegant figure had long since surrendered to the demands of motherhood, her abdomen grown so impossibly round and pendulous that even the simplest movements required delicate thought. The weight of her unborn children hung heavily beneath her, stretching the skin of her belly taut and pulling unpleasantly upon her spine whenever she attempted to stand. Her teats had grown swollen and tender in anticipation of hungry little mouths, and the delicate hollows of her waist had disappeared entirely beneath the heavy burden she carried.

Seven children, Willadeene had suspected.

Seven.

Gods old and new, it was a wonder she had not simply burst.

The thought might have amused her had she not been quite so thoroughly miserable.

Beyond the thick stone walls of Eastborne, autumn had descended upon the coast with a ferocity that seemed almost personal. Rain battered the narrow windows of the royal chambers, driven sideways by winds that howled against the battlements and sent the restless sea crashing against the cliffs below. Thunder rolled across the heavens with enough force to shudder through the ancient masonry, and every so often, lightning illuminated the chamber in brief, ghostly flashes of silver.

It was precisely the sort of night upon which the old women of her homeland would have warned against bringing children into the world.

Vidalia, however, was beginning to think she might welcome the intervention of whatever gods were listening, provided they saw fit to relieve her of the considerable weight beneath her ribs.

Do you suppose, she began, casting a sidelong glance toward her knight lover, that if I asked them very nicely, your children might consider vacating their accommodations before winter?

There was a peculiar emphasis upon the word your, as though Raelan alone were responsible for the current predicament in which she presently found herself in.

It was a rather unfair accusation, admittedly, but she found that she did not particularly care at this point in time.

The great bed' had been prepared days ago. Fresh linens (or as fresh as they could get in the ruins of Eastborne), thick animal furs, and soft blankets had been gathered into a generous arrangement within the birthing chamber. Now all she could wish for was a hearth that burned steadily to ward against the damp autumn chill permeating the chamber.

Willadeene had seen to the necessities, ensuring clean cloths, fresh water, and the various provisions required for a royal confinement were readily available when the hour finally arrived.

And for four days, those preparations had remained untouched.

Until tonight.

At first, the discomfort had been easy enough to dismiss. A familiar tightening across the breadth of her abdomen, accompanied by the dull, dragging ache that had troubled her for much of the past fortnight. She had grown accustomed to such sensations, to the restless shifting of little bodies beneath her skin and the occasional sharp complaint of a paw pressing against some unfortunate portion of her anatomy.

But this was different.

The first truly uncomfortable cramp had come some time after the evening meal, beginning low within her belly before drawing itself around her flanks and settling into the aching muscles of her back. It had remained for several long moments before gradually relinquishing its hold.

Then another had followed.

And another.

They were not yet terribly close together, nor had they become unbearable, but there was a peculiar deliberateness to them that she could no longer mistake for the ordinary grievances of pregnancy.

Something was beginning.

Vidalia had said very little of this discovery.

Instead, the northern queen had occupied herself with the increasingly troublesome business of arranging her bed to her liking.

A blanket was pulled toward her with considerable determination, gathered beneath one foreleg, and tucked against the swell of her abdomen. She inspected the resulting arrangement with a critical eye before deciding it was entirely unsatisfactory. With a low, irritated exhalation, she seized another corner between her teeth and dragged it several inches closer.

There.

No.

That would not do either.

Her tapered ears flattened against the top of her cranium.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Vidalia understood that this rather compulsive rearranging served no sensible purpose. The bed had been perfectly comfortable an hour ago, and there was no earthly reason why the same blanket should suddenly require repositioning for the fifth time. Nevertheless, an instinct older than memory insisted that something was not quite right. There was too much space behind her, too little beneath her belly, and the fur closest to the window had somehow become intolerably cold.

She had just resolved to correct this latest offense when another cramp seized her.

The movement stopped.

For a moment, she remained standing awkwardly above the disordered nest, her head lowered and her forelegs planted apart to accommodate the tremendous breadth of her stomach. A slow breath escaped her nostrils as the muscles beneath her swollen flanks tightened, drawing taut with an uncomfortable pressure that seemed to reach all the way into her lower back.

Oh.

There it was again.

She closed her eyes.

It was not yet the sort of pain that frightened her. She knew enough of childbirth to understand that the worst remained ahead, and she had weathered the ordeal before, in another life, beneath another roof. Yet there was something terribly humbling about recognizing the first unmistakable signs of an approaching trial and knowing that no amount of royal authority could hasten its conclusion.

Her body would proceed according to its own ancient wisdom.

A queen could only endure.

When the contraction finally subsided, Vidalia released a breath she had not realized she was holding. Her shoulders slackened, though a lingering soreness remained nestled deep within her hips.

For several moments she simply stood there, listening to the rain.

Then, with a weary little huff, she resumed her efforts.

It was only when she attempted to turn herself around that the full absurdity of her predicament became apparent. Her swollen abdomen brushed against the piled blankets, forcing her to take several short, ungainly steps before she could maneuver herself into a more favorable position. The movement sent a heavy, unmistakable shifting through her belly, and she paused to glance down at the enormous curve of it.

One of her children appeared to be moving.

A small protrusion traveled beneath the taut skin near her ribs before disappearing again, followed by a peculiar fluttering sensation lower down.

Despite herself, Vidalia's expression softened.

For all her complaints, all the sleepless nights and aching limbs, there remained something profoundly tender about the knowledge that so many little lives depended upon her. She had carried children before. She had loved them before. She had also known the terrible grief of a life in which such blessings could be taken away.

Perhaps that was why the prospect of meeting these children frightened her nearly as much as it delighted her.

She lowered her muzzle toward the broad curve of her stomach, brushing her nose against the warm fur there.

Soon, my loves, she murmured, so quietly that the words were almost swallowed by the storm. Though I should be most grateful if you would make up your minds.

Another low rumble of thunder answered her.

For a little while, at least, she could breathe comfortably. Vidalia carefully eased herself down onto her side. The descent was neither swift nor particularly graceful. Her forelegs bent first, followed by a laborious lowering of her hindquarters, until the great weight of her abdomen finally settled against the yielding furs. A deep sigh escaped her as the strain upon her back diminished.

Her gaze turned to her knight, and something quieter passed across her features.

I believe, she began, pausing as another faint tightening stirred low within her belly, that we ought to have Willadeene made aware.

She did not yet ask him to summon the midwife. There was time for that, she suspected. Her waters remained intact, and the pains, though increasingly insistent, were still separated by generous intervals of relative comfort.

Nevertheless, the words seemed to give shape to something that had until now remained only a private suspicion.

Their children were coming.

Vidalia swallowed, then extended one forepaw toward him across the blankets.

Stay with me awhile, won't you?

Outside, the storm raged on, heedless of the small and momentous beginning taking place within Eastborne's walls.

And beneath the warmth of her lover's gaze, the northern queen waited for the next pain to come.

Just keep on running, running.

Tue, 03 Nov 2026 05:23:52 -0500

Skill: Heartbroken

It had been many many moons since Reign had been slaughtered by the beast but his heart still ached, still burned with the intensity of loneliness and sorrow.

Though the wolf didn't let it show.

Creole had gone back to the dignified stoic individual that ruled the isles beside his children. The powerful Dragon the would pad to the beaches this dawn to watch the sun rise and set fire to the sky. As he came to the sands he slowed his pace, eyes scanning the beaches and observing all the shells and driftwood that lay scattered, the miniature creatures and Sealife that had washed upon the shore the previous night.

A smirk laced his maw as he heard the waves washing up on the beach, the hush and shh of them as he neared the edges of the water. Creole stood there for a moment, his citrine optics slowly blinking a few times at the sun which only peaked above the horizon, the sky still dark and purple with twilight while thee day started to chase away the darkness.

His smile fell as the vision of his wife slithered into the cracks of his brain and he sighed, lowering his nose to point at his paws for a second before lifting his head to stare deeply into the heavens.

Slowly he would sit, placing his rump down on the soft pale sands, his tail coming to wrap around his hips as he settled down and gazed into the firmament to lose himself in his emotions and the rising dawn.

Волка ноги кормят

Mon, 02 Nov 2026 19:13:44 -0500

She's in need of some place to bed down for the night. These highlands are so far removed from terrain she's familiar with; no biting cold that cuts its teeth upon jagged rock, no sprawling mountains that reach the skies, no blistering boreal forests. Even as autumn's hand begins to extend itself, there's a strange humidity that clings to her coat and leaves her itchy.

Oxana isn't committed to loathing this land yet, but it's not giving her any reasons to reconsider doing so either. Yet.

Tentative, transitory. Yet.

Because in the distance a building looms like an obelisk against the dying sun.

With a contemplative sniff and shake of her body, she presses forward to investigate.

Scream, Scream like the wildcats do

Mon, 02 Nov 2026 00:08:25 -0500

Set on Oct 31st! Cryptid time

It was their birthday, their first as proper pack leaders!

The Dragon Festival has been planned for months now, berries and fruits set aside and fermented until just right, Nephthys had even helped prepare specifically for this night. It was a day of celebration, a hunt to start off the morning and then they dragged the deer to the beach, where the real fun had begun. This would be the pups first drink too, unless they snuck a bite or two without Nephthys's knowledge, in which case...good for them!

Drinking, feasting, and even more drinking!

The moon was bloody and red, just for them, just for the dragons of the biggest damn island in the world.

Nephthys was well and truly drunk by the time the sun began to set, a picture of love and tenderness that was so rare to see out of the stone hearted woman, Vasili getting rubbed up on in front of everyone that hadn't run for the trees to avoid socialization or their snuggly mother, getting his own snuggling in too and...she probably said something! Not like she'd really remember later!

The sun was just barely above the horizon when the usual noise of the jungle just....stopped.

No monkey chattering, no birds, no.....nothing.

Except.

The trees moved.

Not all of them, but there was something big in the jungle tonight.

Nephthys was in the sand, sprawled on her back in the dying light, her head back to look at the trees with a squint of those bright purples. Vas, did you? Use new berries? Her words were slurred, as she tried to pierce things together.

fire and roses

Sun, 01 Nov 2026 22:06:29 -0500

one welcome! himari is enjoying some spicy time. not in heat.

Himari is no stranger to sins of the flesh.

She's never been insatiable - never required as much sex as most, - but she's had a great deal of it regardless. Good, bad, gentle, rough, vanilla, outlandish, Himari has seen it all.

And yet her own pleasure often took a backseat.

Such was the nature of her job. Please the men, and occasionally the women, who requested her, get paid, and get on with her day.

It was a job.

So it may come as a surprise to many to find that Himari has had very little experience with pleasure outside of these paid-for services. An occasional night here and there to scratch that itch or satiate the need to be touched in any way, and then out by morning.

Rarely does she indulge herself.

But she's been aching all day.

The physician thanks whatever gods exist that she's been alone for the majority of the day. Her mind has been wandering, her hips squirming with discomfort whenever that spot between her thighs began to throb.

She has done nothing about it. Not yet.

But the sun has fallen and Himari is emboldened in the dark.

The lakeside is serene and quiet. Himari settles on her back, looking up at the stars. Legs spread, moisture already gathering between them from a need long-unsatisfied.

It takes her several long moments to feel comfortable enough to reach a paw down, and her breath catches when the pad of it brushes against her core. Her hips twitch up into the contact eagerly and a shaky breath leaves her lips as she slowly, carefully begins rubbing slow circles that send electric signals up her spine.

Himari closes her eyes and focuses on the feeling, intent on taking her time tonight.

gone and forgotten

Sun, 01 Nov 2026 19:52:24 -0500

Tlalli had come to understand the world was much larger without walls. There were no familiar voices to tell her where she ought to stand, no hands to correct her when she strayed, no gentle reminders of what was expected of her. Only the wind, the earth, and the terrible quiet of a world that did not know her name.

She had found herself at the edge of a cliff, staring out over a sea of green. It was pretty, she supposed; perhaps her mother would have liked it. Perhaps her father would have praised her for finding such a place. It was a sickeningly warm swell of emotion in her chest at the thought, but it only seemed to remind her of the warmth of their own home and the little rituals that had once made her feel so loved. The sting of a reprimand, the careful tending of wounds, the beautiful colors left behind on her skin. She remembered how she had smiled through it all. How grateful she had been to be loved so much.

And then, like every memory of home, he was there. Pushing food towards her when she had not earned it, standing between her and her parents, how he had always dared to interfere with things that were not his to mend. She remembered the nights he had sat beside her, how she had mistaken his kindness for cruelty, how she had offered him the only words she knew would hurt. She wondered if somewhere, somehow, he remembered them, too. If they stuck. She wished they had.

Her paws shifted against the dirt, worrying at the moist earth. She imagined his face beneath it, shoved until he was smeared with memory of being dirty, of being unloved for being so. Envious, she wondered if he was receiving the love she had worked hard to deserve. If he was forsaking it like he always did when he got in the way. Even worse, she wished he was dead like she was.

It might not be real, but it's real to me

Sun, 01 Nov 2026 00:30:19 -0400

backdated!

she is discontent in her hunt.

without her savior, she is lacking purpose. without her heart, she is lifeless.

even the friends she has hidden within her fur do nothing to ease the discomfort in her blood, in her mind. they crawl through the dark silks of her coat, nestle against the warmth of her skin, and disappear beneath the paler curtain of her mane. she pays them little mind, even when delicate legs brush against her cheeks, when one wanders across the bridge of her nose and settles between her eyes.

w҉h҉e҉r҉e҉ ҉ is she? why is she hiding from her? this is not a game Jorōgumo enjoys, and yet she plays it with a bleeding heart all too willing to be wounded.

days have passed with only herself for company. days in a new world where she does not know if she is to be alone or not. abandoned, again.

no! no.. not this time. she knows better.

she knows.

and yet, the thought has found a home within her anyway, an ugly little thing, crawling through the tender places of her mind so often she can feel it there, even now. it makes her shudder. makes her worry. makes her afraid.

it is deep into the night hours now, and the sky above her is blanketed in a heavy shroud of dark clouds. the stars, usually beautiful in their shine, are out of focus, hidden from her. even the moon, bright in its home, shines dimly.

she looks toward the sky often as she searches the moors on slow but equally restive steps. her head hangs low, ears perking at every passing sound, and wine red eyes remain narrowed, the silver within them catching what little light dares show itself. the woman moves with a peculiar grace, her long limbs carrying her through the tall grass with hardly a sound, as though she fears disturbing the things that sleep beneath it.

vanilla and sweet, blooming flowers. she knows the perfumes better than her own, and the sudden taste of them upon her tongue makes her mouth water and pupils blow wide. she was close, yes. so close that her heart begins a wild, near-frantic pace within her chest, beating so roughly against her ribcage that even her breath trembles, and her mind fills with one thought only.

sen. sen. sen. sen.